I can't remember the last time I went on a holiday. As a self-employed freelancer, holidays are an intrusive luxury I simply can't afford.
Well, there were the four days in Pembrokeshire in mid-October. They would have been delightful, but when our twenty-something sons joined us twelve hours in, they brought with them all the chaos and debris that is usually the realm of teenagers. So that doesn't count.
So, the last real holiday was a week in Malta three years ago. Mrs G had lived there as a child and this was a significant trip. And through the tears and reminiscences we had a perfect time.
Then came last Thursday.
I had occasion to need my passport to verify something or other. Good lord, the photo still looked like me. I'm not growing any more hair, so that wasn't a problem. But the darn thing was thirteen months out of date!
So, a quick phone call to the passport office fixed up an interview for a full moon Friday...
Yesterday actually...
We motored along the far banks of the Severn, avoiding floods and traffic until we realised that the time was cracking on, so I really put my foot down.
Newport looked amazing in the crisp winter air. Amazing architecture, both ancient and modern and we reached our destination with one minute to spare.
I tumbled into the office, poured the contents of my pockets into the security man's bucket. Nothing much of note. Phone, small change, gum - that kind of thing. Then upstairs for the interview.
Just a waiting room with others waiting. No interview. Just handed the forms in when my number was called. Then the first hitch. My photos were too thin. The wrong shape. So into a handy photo booth in the corner of the waiting room to add five pounds to the Welsh economy.
Handed in the photos (which actually looked like me for once) paid the money and headed back down to find Mrs G and Coco The Wonder Dog who had elected to travel with us.
Happy in his crate, we found a multi-storey in the centre of town, took the lift and emerged into the town centre. Much building work wherever we looked.
Into the nearest pub. 'Are you dog friendly?' 'Nah - and you won''t find anywhere in the centre that is, either!' I looked around and thought, well, you let THAT lot in! Didn't voice it though. Part of his ear had been bitten off.
CTWD would be just fine crated and asleep. So we went off in search of Americanos. Crowded streets full of Christmas shoppers. An old bloke accosted us. 'Everywhere you go there's a bloody foreigner following you...'. I answered him in Dutch. 'You foreigners then?' 'We're English. Does that count?' Then I went on to point out that it's a big world and that really, we're all the same... Deaf ears. Probably a UKIP supporter. Great start.
Coffee and a giant chocolate chip cookie. Starbucks. Not my favourite. As always, messy tables and a bit of a smell. Purple plush seats though and a good view of the street.
Outside, a pretty girl in a white bobble hat, anorak and backpack smilingly approached the passers by. The silent rebuffs took on myriad forms. In the twenty minutes we sat there, not one person stopped to listen. She had no clip board, no leaflets. We were intrigued. The smile remained, but no one stopped. What a thankless task.
Outside, Mrs G went her way and I thought I'd investigate Bobble Girl. She ignored me. The first willing victim and she ignored me. Ho hum...
Caught up with Mrs G and shopped.
Later, I made my solo way back to the car with some heavy bags and Bobble Girl approached me. At last! I'm not the Invisible Man... Greenpeace! Ah! I'm a supporter. She was all the way from Cheltenham. Had been in our shop. Thought I'd recognised her.
We chatted, the smile was genuine, we parted on the best of terms.
Then I bumped into old UKIP again. As xenophobic as ever. CTWD was happy to stay in the car, and I needed to get to the Passport Office. Four hours had flown (with a pleasant lunch in between) and I needed to locate the place. Took a hopeful short-cut down a back alley behind the dog unfriendly pub come nightclub.
I was dressed like a businessman; grey Lauren overcoat, Burbury scarf, olive green trilby...so I must have looked a little incongruous hauling the twelve yards of black chiffon covered with sequins out of the skip halfway down the alley. But I'm not going to let a length of chiffon go to waste. There was a black feather boa too, but it came out in pieces and that was a step too far. Must have been quite a hen night though. Or stag do - you know what rugby players are like!
So, my second trip to the Passport Office required me once more to empty my pockets. Same as before, but this time accompanied by twelve yards of glittery chiffon. I didn't have a bag, so there it was, a huge sticky bundle of dubious provenance. I know. I know. I must have looked a little odd.
I was past caring at this point.
Upstairs, waiting room, full, me in business garb with glittery bundle.
The passport was ready. I was more than ready to leave the country.
Mrs G was not at all surprised with the chiffon. We go back a long way. I can only imagine what old UKIP would have to say.
We roared out of town after paying through the nose for the parking and we headed for the Severn Bridge (free from the Welsh side) and England.
An hour later we were at a marquee manufacturers discussing false ceilings. Like you do. Then home for Cypriot potatoes and tuna.
coda;
When I was a boy, I heard of the 'World Passport'. I thought it was a wonderful idea. I loved the idea of border-less travel, of being a 'foreigner', of being vaguely exotic. But in the real world there are borders and squabbles and war and other nasty stuff.
But I did travel. I did become a foreigner. And briefly, there were no borders in Europe, no checks...then things changed a little.
But, for half of my life. I've always been an outsider. On the inside.
This week our town has a Goodwill Evening. The theme is 'Make Love, Not War!'. In my world, there is still hope. Peace and Love to you all.
