I'd keep it strapped to your body in future, Miss...

I'm back. And it was more complicated than I had originally planned, because I had my wallet and passport removed from my possession whilst I was in France. How nice of these people, on seeing that my bag was a little too heavy, to make it lighter for me...

I managed to get back to the UK fairly easily, which was greatly appreciated as I didn't want to live in an empty office for a couple of weeks, living off the dust mites hibernating in the upholstry. Getting back to Brussels, however, was a different story.

I think it's fair to say that customer service is not a required skill at the UKPA in London. Having been slumped in a wheelchair at a casualty desk in Belgium with a receptionist who was 'too busy' to see me, I thought I had seen it all. But the sheer bloody-mindedness of the fuckers at Victoria left me speechless. FOUR VISITS it took me to get a passport, with problems ranging from them not being convinced I had an appointment, even though I had a booking reference, to my friend not being able to fit his double-barrelled name on my passport photo all on one line, as he did on the passport form. "You should have friends with shorter names", I was helpfully told by one jumped up little jobsworth called Mr Stick-it-up-your-arse Paperpusher who refused to sign my form.

I have two degrees and an IQ of 148. I should be able to manage to fill in a form, but these days you need a degree in fuckwittage specialising in anally retentive behaviour to get anything out of this government. I swear, I'm not letting this new passport out of my sight: I can't go through that again....