Friday 9th May 2014

Thursday.

And today I will bring you the Jelltex guide to obtaining a business visa to China.

1. Don’t.
2. No really, don’t.

It should have all been so easy, I had requested and received a letter of invitation, I had completed the application, I had signed the declaration. All I had to do was travel up to London and drop the application and my passport off. What could be simpler.

So, Jools dropped me off at the station for in time for the seven fifteen train to London. Or that is how it should have been. Instead, all was going well, I had 35 minutes before the train was due to leave, and I realised mid-brush that I had forgotten the passport sized photographs. Thus followed was me turning the office upside down looking for those left over from last year when I got my new passport. 0.7 seconds later, I realised this was futile, and so we headed to Tesco hoping that the photo-booth was working, or still there.

It was, just needed £5 in change. And then another £2 because, well I don’t know. Adjust the height of the seat, adjust it some more. And snap! And wait for the photos to be printed, back into the car, down to the station, queue at the office to get a ticket, get on the train. And phew. Relax. And then I realised that I had to cut out one of the photos and attach to the application. So, I began to plan looking for a WH Smith at St Pancras or failing that look for a stationers on the way to the Embassy.

The train filled up, I worried and worried. At St Pancras I found Smiths and got a pair of scissors and a tube of Pritt. Another tenner gone.

I had 40 minutes to get to the Embassy. I think I could have made it via the Tube, but maybe not. I got a taxi, and imagine my surprise to find the driver, not a bitter and twisted 60 year old cockney, but a sweet 20 something young lady from north Kent. We had a long chat on the way to the City, about this and that, and the ‘knowledge’ is still vital as they are not allowed to use sat navs. So, that was nice.

And that is when the fun really began, as we arrived at the Embassy and so began the long and painful process.

All went well at first, I handed over my documentation, and got an appointment ticket, and in some 20 minutes I was called forward. The clerk looked over everything and declared it not enough. The letter was not good enough. You must get a replacement, and by midday if you want it back on Monday. I was ready to give up there and then. But, I didn’t.

I called up my colleague; she was in meetings all day. I called my boss, he was unavailable. I looked at my phone and looked at the e mails. I scrolled down and down. There was someone from RKB who could maybe help. All I had to do was call, now if I just had a pen to write down her number….. I blagged a pen of someone else waiting, called Pia and someone else answered. I explained the situation, could she help me get a new letter within two hours? Yes she could.

I have to write a mail with all my passport details, dates of travel. And wait for a letter to be sent back. Hopefully.

Time passes. I get a call, letter is done.

Now, the embassy provides computers on which to access e mails, and a printer. So, log in, get my mails, download the letter, send it to the printer. I just need 20p to pay for the print. I have one 20p in my pocket. Lets hope it prints out OK. It prints and is tiny. Not good enough.

Try again from another computer. I do, but I have to get the printer to accept a fiver to pay for the print. Thus for the next 5 minutes the crowds were entertained by me feeding various fivers into the printer and the printer rejecting them. In the end someone gives me another 20p to end my torment. I take the print out to the desk. Still not good enough. Do it again from another computer.

I do, and get the printer to accept a fiver and give me change too. The letter is just about readable, despite it being formatted wrong which explains why it would not print properly. I queue again, see the clerk again. Have you got a print of the information page of the passport? NO, was I supposed to? Go downstairs and get a printout.

I go downstairs, scan the passport, pay another 20p for a print. I go upstairs and begin to queue up. Where is my passport? Hmm, maybe the clerk has it. I mull this over, and realise that I must have had the passport to scan the info page. I rush downstairs and find the printer and in it was still my passport. I sigh in relief, and head back upstairs.

I queue again, and submit the new letter, and all the other documents. He looks, looks, and all seems well until he spots the address on the letter and my application are now different. Not good. I thought he was going to reject it again, and as it was now half eleven, this was my last chance. Just change the address here in your application form, write neatly. And once this was done, all seemed well. Now, just come back at two for another interview.

I am stunned.

So, I have two hours to kill, so I find a place to have a bite of lunch. I wander down a back alley and come across a small coffee stall set up in a doorway. They are also offering chicken and/or lamb curry which smells mighty fine. But I make do with a coffee and drink it sheltering in another doorway as the rain continues to fall. I go to a pub, order a pint and a plate of chilli, which although not brilliant, was the first thing I had had to eat that day.

I head back to the embassy, queue again, and see another clerk, who looks over the paperwork, nods and says I can go. I must return on Monday when the visa should be ready, if the Chinese officials grant it. Oh and my passport, which I need for a flight to Denmark that evening, what could go wrong now?

I make my way to Mansion House, get on a Circle Line train and head to St Pancras, I had just missed a train home, so had to wait 55 minutes for another to Dover. I head to the pub for another beer, I am shattered and just slump into my seat with its fine views of the Barlow trainshed beyond.

At four fifteen the train is due to leave, so 15 minutes before I walk to the platform where the train is waiting. I snooze my way through East London, Essex and then into Kent. Once in Dover I get a taxi home, as I feel so tired and not in the mood waiting for Jools. Anyway, my phone battery died meaning I could not tell her where I was anyway. There is a message on the phone at home, she is getting fish and chips on the way home, so I make sure the kettle is boiled for when she gets in.

Phew.