International Bea

Crikey, what a palaver this was....

Normally Baby Bea has the restrained patience and the good nature of a saint. It is unlike her, as anyone who knows her can testify, to break into a howling scream at a moments notice, but getting her UK passport certainly tested hers (and Mummy's) steely resolve.

It all started well, Daddy got the birth certificate and filled in the online application form with relative ease. A seconder was found to certify my identity, our good friend Adam, father of the fabulous Herson boys, Oscar and Dexter (call me...). However it all started to go to pot when Mummy arranged an appointment at the passport office to hurry my application along. A set date and time was agreed and Mummy dutifully turned up with a tired little bundle in tow. Unfortunately there was a queue......a two hour queue. In an airless, crowded, uncomfortable room. Now this is where my good nature was tested to the limit and I have to admit that I may have cried a little (Editor: read 'wailed like the proverbial banshee'). Mummy took this all in good stead, but she was also tested to breaking point when the office finally deigned to allow her the allotted time, only to find that a terribly minor piece of administration had been left out and the office refused to accept my identity. "But she is here in my hands" cried Mummy, "who's baby do you think I would be lugging around town?". All to no avail, the passport lady would not be moved.

A second appointment was then arranged and Mummy for the second time lugged herself and me to the passport office to complete the application. But our story does not end here....

A week later we were informed that the passport was in fact ready and Mummy took a third trip down to the passport office to collect it. She had all the forms of identification that one could possibly imagine, but they refused point blank to provide her with the passport as she is not the one who made out the application. In fact they refused to even tell her if they had it in her possession. "Why?" she exclaimed "would I come down here with my passport, my proof of address, my husband's passport, our marriage certificate and our baby's birth certificate, if not to pick up her passport. Who do you think I am? An incredibly well organised identity thief looking to hack into my daughter's bank account and workplace system?!"

In the end, Daddy trudged down to the office (located, it should be said in the centre of town) with exactly the same identification details to pick up the passport. And do you know what? They didn't ask to see any of them. Apparently his signature was proof enough.

Watertight, our passport system, totally watertight.