Claire Pregnant

Max takes a shot… more images of our day in the sun in galleries

We made the best quality sandwiches; tuna mayo’ and sweetcorn (Max and Claire high-five) for a picnic in Springfield park. Friends Mafjay, David and their kids Archie and Tiago who’s now five months were visiting from Brighton. Following yoyo like behaviour either side of the front door thanks to child/parent negotiations; roller blades!/on the grass?, bike!/too much to carry, football!/hurry up… We managed to arrive for our first sunny gathering in the park this year.

What an accomplishment! You wouldn’t think it would be SO difficult to attain a passport for a newly born baby. Sadly for me, this was no easy task. Here’s why:

In our times of global unrest, we understand that the passport application process aims to be a water tight investigation into the applicants true identity and therein creates a strangely uncomfortable feeling of being stripped naked… Not having too many hang ups with this particular issue, I found the finer details of this bureaucratic process presented the greatest difficulty. Admittedly, the rules of compliance in the application process MUST be abided by without fault and failure to do so certainly did familiarise Freddie and I with the route to the passport office and the excited ego’s of the staff who initially revelled in the opportunity of making us feel like a terrorists for wanting to enter the building, but through familiarity, welcomed us like old friends. Rather embarrassingly for me however, the main handicap to attaining a passport for Freddie was down to my post pregnant brain.

Pau and I had the great idea of travelling to Barcelona to visit his family and friends and introduce Freddie to his Catalan roots. We found a great deal online with flights and the timing suited our hosts; Pau’s family who have generously offered to put us up for a week. Just before clicking the confirm final payment button, I realised that we didn’t have a passport for Freddie - After much indecision and counter to the advice on the passport information line, we decided to go ahead and book the flights before sorting Freddie’s passport. Our mission therefore was to gain a passport for Freddie through the one week fast track service after having gained a copy of his full birth certificate, (still to do) ….tick tock…

Application form 1. Having attained the birth certificate of Frederic Gaston Ros Thornton (Hurrah), I booked a meeting with the London passport office to secure Freddie’s global exploits. My brother Myles was visiting from Australia. Borrowing mum’s car, he gave Freddie and I a lift up to the Midlands to see the folks for a couple of days over Easter. During this time, I needed to complete the application form and get it counter signed by a referee who could confirm that I am who I am in time for an appointment at the passport office on our day of return to London.

I’m at my childhood home and surrounded by suitable referees who have known me for the past thirty years. My dad contacted a friend, Derek ‘a respectable member of the local community’ of MBE standing and arranged a meeting for me to drop by his photography studio so he could sign the form. We had until midday before he went off to play a round of golf. My dad and brother then left the house together in the car and mum and I decided to push Freddie into town. My folks live in a small village on the outskirts of Melton Mowbray. The walk is a good mile along a major road whose speeding cars challenged Freddie’s buggy. We arrived in town and I mistakenly presumed that the post office was where it’s been for years until mum pointed out that it had moved to the opposite side of town. Checking watches, we were tight for time so mum offered to sprint across town to get the application form while Freddie and I met our man to charm him into being late if necessary… Mum arrived panting and there was a sense of relief. Not wanting to keep Derek waiting any longer, I offered to complete the section of the application form that required his contact details so all he had to do was approve it and sign it - My first mistake.

… I arrive at the passport office with all the necessary papers and more. My life is in my nappy bag. Pulling up to the counter, I’m greeted by a male attendant about my age - He quickly scans the application form and his immediate question dooms our visit. Pointing at the counter signatories section he says “is this your handwriting?” … It is not clear on the application form but if you read the accompanying notes it spells out that the section must be filled in by the counter signatures own handwriting. Freddie’s crying did nothing to help our being rejected… I walked out of there furious and braced myself for the one and a half hour bus journey home through Oxford Street at rush hour with all it’s angry pedestrians.

Application form 2: I booked a second appointment at the passport office which gave us the weekend to complete another form and find a new referee to counter sign it. Trying to locate someone local, Pau suggested a friend in the neighbourhood. Perfect, they were in walking distance and I could easily pop round with Freddie. I had ONE application form. That was all I needed… right? I completed all sections except the counter signatories part (ah haa, my brain does work on occasion you see). Ensuring I had everything ready, I took one last look through the form and signed it - SHIT! the tail end of my signature fell just outside the box. The rules clearly state that the signature must NOT go outside the box. My counter signatory is a barrister, I ask his opinion on this and he believes I may face problems in getting the application past, despite the fact that the line is a millimetre at most outside the box… He kindly offers to repeat the favour another day if necessary.

Application form 3: I’m not prepared to risk it. The prospect of our 3 hour round trip across London, only to be turned away to do it a third time was not an option. I decided to cover myself and called another friend to ask if he could sign for me at short notice the following morning before our appointment. He happily agreed. It involved a diversion to Islington on route to the passport office but hey, it had to be worth the trip and the sun was shining, so we enjoyed the ride. I arrived at Harry’s place with all the papers. He’s happy to help but the timing of my arrival clashes with another of his meetings. Aware that he’s keeping someone waiting in the lobby, I try to make it easy and quick. He completed the section and signed it. One thing. He asked the date. I replied “1st April” and the job was done. I left confident that this form will be the one that wins the passport!

We were on our way to Victoria, thanks to the 73 bus. I arrived in good time and Freddie was sound asleep. Stress levels were low and I had a clear frame of mind … My number was called and I walked up to the counter to be met by a friendly, smiling, female face. The guy who served me last time was attending the next counter. I clock him through the glass and offer a smile as way of saying HA! try and catch me out this time Mr… The female attendant politely asks for my application form. I go out of my way to follow the rules with this one and give it to her sealed. She passes comment on this “Ooh, sealed too…” I smile. She scans the application both sides. No problem. She asks for the supporting information, Freddie’s birth certificate, proof of my home address etc. All seems fine. She reaches for another form and began making her own notes. Phew, we’re on our way to Barcelona I thought.

Suddenly, she stopped writing. The burrows of her brow came together to form an unmissable frown “it’s dated 1st April…” flipping the application form from side to side to make sure she wasn’t seeing things… “I can’t process this.” I shook my head as though a shiver had come over me “Beg your pardon?” “It’s dated 1st April… Your application is invalid madame”. My eyes felt fuzzy and my heart beat just once - “WHAT?” - “Today is the 31st March” she concluded. At this point I was ready to vomit but could do nothing except quiver my eyebrows.

My man next door overheard the conversation and popped his head round. Amazingly, he offered some support and told my attendant “it’s OK, they won’t process it until tomorrow, you can put it through”, my attendant dared to disagree. He firmly repeated himself and finally she resumed her notes and processed the application… I owe my sanity to this man - THANK YOU whoever you are!

A few days later, before the week was out the passport arrived and Frederic Gaston Ros Thornton became a member of the international community. So here we are, relaxed in knowing that our planned trip to Barcelona will go ahead. Writing this story I’m now able to laugh at my incompetence but left with a question - Will I be fit to return to work in seven months time? DERR - A fool indeed!