Sunday 3rd September 2017

And on what should have been a relaxing day, it will be forever remembered for being "passport chaos day". But more of that later.

I think we can be sure we have vanquished the jetlag monster, as we both lay in bed until quarter past seven, despite the anger of the three cats, and them jumping on and off the bed in an attempt to stir us from our slumbers.

And as we had breakfast out on Saturday, we could have croissants for breakfast and bacon butties for lunch. What's not to like?

I have no reached the end of the compact photos of the holiday, and have now moved onto the shots from the DSLR, and as there are something 5,000 shots on it, it might take some time to sort through and edit these, as I plan to edit them in the order I took them. With the exception of the shots taken last Saturday with Dawn and Doug up the mountain on the rack railway.

Anyway, We spend the first part of the day, after breakfast, in shredding old contract documents. So, breaking the pines and then feeding it three pages into out ancient shredder at a time.

What we were left with was a huge bag of shredded paper, and despite the one who always puts off tip runs, I say, lets go to the tip first thing, then I can go to Tesco to get my photos done. Because, as part of the new passport process, I have to have new photos done, in case they realise the ones I had were just four years old and the same as in the last passport. I had a shave, tried to tame the hair a bit and look quite healthy with a slight tan. But when the shot appeared from the machine, I looked like I had been dead a week.

As usual.

Jools was in the shop, on a washing up liquid hunt as we were nearly out, and brown sugar, as it turns out i am a sugar snob as pure white granulated is not good enough, I tell myself that unrefined brown is the way to go for the perfect coffee. I am probably kidding myself, but there you go.

Anyway, with the tip run done, I have photos of the passport and we have washing up liquid, we can go home for a mid-morning cuppa, and do some gardening. And so on.

Bacon butties cooked and eaten, followed by the last of the English strawberries and cream to follow, I felt well disposed to tackle the passport form. I work my way through it and am feeling smug, when I find I have to get someone to countersign the form and a photograph to state it is me and that all information is correct. And not just anyone, a person of professional standing. And with a current passport.

Why? All I need is a replacement passport, not a new one, I have the old one, with six years life left, just needs a new chip! But no, its the same process as applying for a new one. So, Jools and I try to wrack our brains about who we could ask. Turns out that when push comes to shove, I know very few such people in the area who I could ask. I have a friend from a rambling days who used to be a solicitor, so e mail him and wait for an answer.

That comes in the evening, and he is in Italy on holiday.

ARRGGGHH

The hunt went on, and in the end I ask a neighbour, despite him being ill with a lung infection, if he could. He has no passport, but his son works for the Border Agency; and he's coming tomorrow, he will do it. Tomorrow. So, no trip to London tomorrow, that'll be Tuesday. Probably.

Sigh.

We go out foraging in the afternoon, looking for sloes and elderberries. We find sloes, maybe enough for a demijohn, now all we have to do is find the gin left over from last year! And with all the noise going on, there is harvesting going on, two combines clearing the field at the back of the house of dried beans left on their stalks. I take the camera to take a shot of the day. Yay.

But it is sorted. I hope. I could've gone to the doctor, but he would have told me I'm fat. I know this. I don't need to hear it from a man who thinks all my aches and pains are down to weight. I self-medicate my allergies rather than have to go and see him. Ever. I hope my leg don't fall off. I'll have to hop to the hospital in Ashford if that happens. And I could have gone to see the solicitor who sorted out the house. Not spoken to her in eight and a half years, so does she know me? Maybe, but I would have had to make an appointment. And paid. And maybe got the paper back in a week. No time.

I cook chorizo hash for dinner, and have another bottle of pink fizz too. Perfect. Out