My missus has for weeks now been having kittens about our visit to the Home Office of Immigration and Naturalization to acquire her 'Indefinite Leave to Remain' stamp in her passport.
Being from the other side of the pond and married to an Englishman (best thing she has ever done), Mrs K had to apply for her ILR after living here two years after we were married. This allows her freedom to come and go as she pleases from this country, without all the hassle everytime she re-enters the UK.
Are you still with me?
She has been persuading herself that we had not provided enough evidence (bank statements, utility bills or receipts) to convince immigration that she was a happily married and fine upstanding citizen who was not going to fleece the state for all she could get and that I could care and provide for her without any problems. Myself, I could not see any complications, but you know women.........
Arrived at Croydon with time to spare so we visited the local shopping centre. Isn't it amazing that wherever you go in this country, all the big centres are basically the same. Apart from one or two exceptions, the same stores have all mutated in these emporiums. You could be anywhere within the UK.
Re-fuelled on McDonalds. Why?
To cut a long story short. And it was a bloody long one let me tell you, we breezed through the initial interview, where the guy behind the glass barely looked at all our records that Mrs K had meticulously placed in order and labelled accordingly and as for taking the £500 required for the privilege, they nearly took me arm off when I offered my debit card.
The problems start now. Instead of waiting around an hour to be processed, we had to endure five, yes five hours sitting on the most uncomfortable seat that you can imagine. The designer of those seats was a sadist. Made of steel, they were slatted like a park bench, so after several hours of sitting on them, your arse resembled the local tram lines and it felt like the number six to Purley had run over it. They had a 'technical fault' and were very sorry but they insisted that everyone would be seen that day. It was like the league of bloody nations in that waiting room. I swear I was the only Englishman in there. We had a two o'clock appointment. Eventually, we were seen at around five o'clock. I cannot begin to think what time the people with four o'clock appointments left the building.
Needless to say, Mrs K. got her ILR and weren't we glad to get out of there.
And now we can get on with the rest of our lives.
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Laughed? I even bought a round.
Last night we went to the Clapham Grand to watch a recording for the Paramount Comedy Channel of some stand up comedians and it was all free.
If you click on to Clappers and e-mail Frances Fuller, she will send you buckshee tickets for an assortment of shows. All you have to do is turn up. After further research, I discovered quite a few websites all giving away tickets to a lot of the top shoes being recorded now.
Why hadn't I thought of this before, I ask myself? What a cheap night out and me being a mean old bastard,I just lapped it up. There was some cause for consternation though. When I was eventually persuaded under pain of pins in my eyes to get the beer in, my wallet was relieved of six quid for two pints.
Three quid a pint? You could tell that we were in the London.
The evening started with me breaking all speed limits to get home from work by three thirty to catch the three fifty two train to London (Victoria). Achieved that with minutes to spare and seconds from a coronary. What a euphoric feeling to arrive in the big city just as everyone is going home. Time for the trough. There is a nice Bella Italia restaurant just outside Victoria Station and after stuffing ourselves with some delicious pasta, back onboard a local train to Clapham Junction.
The Grand is literally over the road from the station and we arrived with ten minutes to spare before doors opening.
We queued. The wind whistling down Clapham High Street last night was enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey and Mrs.K had neglected to bring my comfy, wooly hat. Being rather lacking in the follicle department, my ears were suffering at what was the least, severe frostbite.
As we got there reasonably early and when the doors eventually opened, we were able to get a table close to all the action.
The Grand is one of those timeless old music hall theatres. Not exactly tiny, but I would describe as intimate. I mean, you could spit from the bar and hit the backcloth if you hawked up a good 'un.
The compere for the evening was Hal Cruttenden. An extremely funny guy. We could just have listened to him all night. He nurtured a good rapport with the crowd all evening and had us all in stitches.
For the life of me, I cannot remember the names of all the comics. There were eight in number and only one disappointed in the rib tickling stakes. Several times through the evening we had tears in our eyes and after over three hours of cracking observational comedy we staggered out into the chill air for the journey home.
Our sides ached and the tear ducts were suffering a drought, but what an evening.
BTW. The show is called 'The World Stands Up', but we could not find out when it is being shown.
If you click on to Clappers and e-mail Frances Fuller, she will send you buckshee tickets for an assortment of shows. All you have to do is turn up. After further research, I discovered quite a few websites all giving away tickets to a lot of the top shoes being recorded now.
Why hadn't I thought of this before, I ask myself? What a cheap night out and me being a mean old bastard,I just lapped it up. There was some cause for consternation though. When I was eventually persuaded under pain of pins in my eyes to get the beer in, my wallet was relieved of six quid for two pints.
Three quid a pint? You could tell that we were in the London.
The evening started with me breaking all speed limits to get home from work by three thirty to catch the three fifty two train to London (Victoria). Achieved that with minutes to spare and seconds from a coronary. What a euphoric feeling to arrive in the big city just as everyone is going home. Time for the trough. There is a nice Bella Italia restaurant just outside Victoria Station and after stuffing ourselves with some delicious pasta, back onboard a local train to Clapham Junction.
The Grand is literally over the road from the station and we arrived with ten minutes to spare before doors opening.
We queued. The wind whistling down Clapham High Street last night was enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey and Mrs.K had neglected to bring my comfy, wooly hat. Being rather lacking in the follicle department, my ears were suffering at what was the least, severe frostbite.
As we got there reasonably early and when the doors eventually opened, we were able to get a table close to all the action.
The Grand is one of those timeless old music hall theatres. Not exactly tiny, but I would describe as intimate. I mean, you could spit from the bar and hit the backcloth if you hawked up a good 'un.
The compere for the evening was Hal Cruttenden. An extremely funny guy. We could just have listened to him all night. He nurtured a good rapport with the crowd all evening and had us all in stitches.
For the life of me, I cannot remember the names of all the comics. There were eight in number and only one disappointed in the rib tickling stakes. Several times through the evening we had tears in our eyes and after over three hours of cracking observational comedy we staggered out into the chill air for the journey home.
Our sides ached and the tear ducts were suffering a drought, but what an evening.
BTW. The show is called 'The World Stands Up', but we could not find out when it is being shown.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
The Brit Awards
Watching the 'Brit Awards' tonight.
Presenting the award for Best International Album was Paris Hilton.
The name of the album.
American Idiot by Greenday
Priceless
LOL
Monday, February 13, 2006
Saddam in starve threat
The mass murderer aka Saddam Hussein has declared that he will go on hunger strike.
Go for it son. You have my full support. Save us all a lot of time and money if you topped yourself.
Which you will not of course, being the coward that you are.
Go for it son. You have my full support. Save us all a lot of time and money if you topped yourself.
Which you will not of course, being the coward that you are.
Stirring a hornets nest
I am convinced that the British tabloid newspapers are in cahoots with the insurgents operating within Iraq.
What other reason do they have to publish video of British soldiers venting out their frustrations on thugs who had just recently been stoning them.
Surely, by publishing this the papers concerned are inciting race hate.
This is against the law.
They broke the law of this country.
Why are they not being prosecuted?
If a British squaddie dies as a result of this, his blood is on their hands.
What other reason do they have to publish video of British soldiers venting out their frustrations on thugs who had just recently been stoning them.
Surely, by publishing this the papers concerned are inciting race hate.
This is against the law.
They broke the law of this country.
Why are they not being prosecuted?
If a British squaddie dies as a result of this, his blood is on their hands.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Winter Olympics
Did you see the opening ceremony to the 2006 Turin Winter Olympics?
What was that all about?
I love watching the parade of nations. All those happy, smiling faces and an opportunity to see that rare sight of everyone getting on despite race, religion or creed.
Although the demise of the amateur status that it once held so dear is now a distant memory, this is the one sporting event that seems to capture everyone's imagination.
Unfortunately, the opening ceremonies are becoming a battle in themselves. What on earth was the Turin ceremony trying to relate to?
Wouldn't it be better to return to just parading the athletes and then some top bod of the host nation declaring the Games, open?
Freddies last flight
One of my countries great underdogs departed this world a few days ago. That bastion of cheap air fares Freddie Laker, left his last departure lounge last week.
The man was a pioneer for affordable flights that were for the first time, within reach of the man in the street. He stuck both fingers up to the big guys of PanAm, British Airways and the like, showing the whole world that flying could be done on the cheap.
Alas, it wasn't long before the main airlines put the squeeze on LakerAir and put him out of business. He briefly surfaced a few years later, but after a while he jacked it in to set up a small airline that concentrated on island hopping in the Caribbean.
He encouraged the likes of Richard Branson to take on the big cartels in the aviation industry. The difference here, is that Virgin Airlines won.
From a humble factory floor sweeper who started life in the company I now work for, to one of lifes little'uns who dared to piss off the big'uns, R.I.P. Freddie. You showed 'em.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Cartoon capers
Sorry, but I cannot get my head around all this nonsense about a cartoon in Denmark.
Once again we see the followers of Islam venting their spleens at anyone who does not follow their chosen religion, purely over the publication of an image of the Prophet Mohammed. What they do not seem to grasp is that within a democratic, free speaking and predominately Christian society, the people therein tend to have a lot of tolerance towards believers of other religions, whether they are Sikhs, Buddhists, Mormons or whatever. Unlike countries like Saudi Arabia whose intolerant and harsh regime is only tolerated by Western society because of all that black thick oily stuff they produce.
I do not see Westerners taking to the streets calling for the deaths of all Muslims after the beheading of innocents in war torn Iraq. In the name of Islam of course.
I am not a religious man. I abhor the majority of all organised religions and this is the reason why. Correct me if I am wrong, but isn't the purpose of all this religious bollocks meant to spread peace and goodwill amongst ALL mankind? I think not. It is just a tool used by a lot of fanatics hell bent in being a pain in the arse to the decent, law abiding people of the world that make up the majority of the population.
A good point made by Polly and I quote
I rest my case.
Once again we see the followers of Islam venting their spleens at anyone who does not follow their chosen religion, purely over the publication of an image of the Prophet Mohammed. What they do not seem to grasp is that within a democratic, free speaking and predominately Christian society, the people therein tend to have a lot of tolerance towards believers of other religions, whether they are Sikhs, Buddhists, Mormons or whatever. Unlike countries like Saudi Arabia whose intolerant and harsh regime is only tolerated by Western society because of all that black thick oily stuff they produce.
I do not see Westerners taking to the streets calling for the deaths of all Muslims after the beheading of innocents in war torn Iraq. In the name of Islam of course.
I am not a religious man. I abhor the majority of all organised religions and this is the reason why. Correct me if I am wrong, but isn't the purpose of all this religious bollocks meant to spread peace and goodwill amongst ALL mankind? I think not. It is just a tool used by a lot of fanatics hell bent in being a pain in the arse to the decent, law abiding people of the world that make up the majority of the population.
A good point made by Polly and I quote
But I have a question in this regard, and it is a genuine one. I may be showing my ignorance here, but if Muslims are not allowed to create images of Mohammed, how do they know that the person depicted is who they think it is? And if that is what the cartoonist claimed, how is a northern European nib-dabbler meant to know what the Prophet looked like?
I rest my case.
Crazy people
Why is everyone so manic on a Saturday morning?
I just wanted to pop into the garage next door to give the tyres a blowjob only to discover the forecourt absolutely chocker with people frantically pouring petrol into their gas guzzlers.
Is the end of the world coming or am I missing something?
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Want cheap fuel?
If you want to beat the fuel companies and save possibly 5p -10p a litre, link onto Pipeline.
My thanks to Bluetealeaf for the link.
My thanks to Bluetealeaf for the link.
Life on Mars
At last. Something on the box that is worth refusing that last pint and rushing home to see.
I am of course referring to 'Life on Mars'. A story about a modern day detective who is injured in an accident and wakes up in the year 1973. He has to join the local old bill and fight crime the 1970's way.
Remember the day prisoners 'fell down the steps' and injured themselves helping the police with their inquiries? A mate of mine joined the old bill in the early seventies and a lot of what they portray in the storylines is very close to how it was.
Being a pubescent child of that era, I love hearing the soundtrack of old favourites like Bowie, Slade, Sweet et al. Seeing packets of No.6 fags and Party Sevens. Remember them?
And the clothes. Huge collared flowery shirts and flares......sigh. We knew how to dress then lads, didn't we?
Oh how nice to wallow in nostalgia.
When we were young, eh.
I am of course referring to 'Life on Mars'. A story about a modern day detective who is injured in an accident and wakes up in the year 1973. He has to join the local old bill and fight crime the 1970's way.
Remember the day prisoners 'fell down the steps' and injured themselves helping the police with their inquiries? A mate of mine joined the old bill in the early seventies and a lot of what they portray in the storylines is very close to how it was.
Being a pubescent child of that era, I love hearing the soundtrack of old favourites like Bowie, Slade, Sweet et al. Seeing packets of No.6 fags and Party Sevens. Remember them?
And the clothes. Huge collared flowery shirts and flares......sigh. We knew how to dress then lads, didn't we?
Oh how nice to wallow in nostalgia.
When we were young, eh.
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