I drove over to the solicitors yesterday.
It’s not a very long drive – around ten miles – but it’s on narrow twisty roads that seem to attract a hell of a lot of traffic. To add to this there must be a dozen [at least] roundabouts and constantly changing speed limits not to mention roadworks. It’s also an area notorious for speed traps.
Anyhows I arrived at the solicitors bang on three which was the appointment time. I parked in their front garden and went to the front door which was locked. It was also plastered with those fucking Virus notices about masks, hand hygiene and all the usual crap. There was also another large notice telling me that all business is to be transacted in the porch. That’s a nice little touch of confidentiality – visit your solicitor where every passer by can see you? I rang their doorbell and a bloke answered.
I told him who I was and that I was to collect some papers as per arrangement. He nodded, said he had them ready and could I show him some identification. So I whipped out my Driving Licence and my Public Services Card. He said that was fine and could I show him proof of Herself. So I showed him her Social Welfare Card. He shook his head.
“It has to have a photograph” says he. “A Driving Licence would be fine”.
“She doesn’t drive. In fact she’s an invalid and essentially bedridden” says I.
“I’m sorry to hear that but I need a card with a photo on it. It’s the law.”
“I don’t have one. She doesn’t have one. What alternative will you accept?”
“Anything with a photograph” says he and muttered something about money laundering.
“Just as a matter of interest” says I, “what is the point of photographic identification if you don’t know what she looks like?”
This stumped him for a while.
“I have her passport and it’s only slightly out of date. Will that do?” I tried.
“No. It has to be up to date.”
“But she’s still the same person she was when the passport expired. She looks the same and has the same details.”
“It has to be up to date” he repeated.
I was getting annoyed. In actual fact I had already arrived and was really annoyed.
“Look” says I, “You can see the situation. I have proved I am who I say I am and the papers are in my name so let’s just cut the red tape and get on with this.”
“Sorry” says he. “I can’t. It’s the law.”
I gave up. Jobsworth wasn’t going to budge. The officious little cunt had won the round. I sat in my car in their front garden and had a pipefull to calm the nerves. I emptied my ashtray out the door and drove home empty handed.
Maybe I can forge the date on her passport?