Eventually, after eighteen months of comitted procrastination and stoic residence I managed to lay my greasy mitts on a residence permit. It would've gone on longer but my powers of "doing it tomorrow" are no match for the belgian authorities.
Girlfriend sternly advised me to carry it at all times and I retorted "what?, that flimsy bit of card won't last a week!". So she bought me a protective plastic thingy to protect it, matron!
That was a mere two weeks ago and since then I've been looking for opportunities to flash my sheathed identity at the first official in address. With that in mind I determined to test the validity of Schengen along with my own propensity to being arrested or killed for the most unlikely reasons.
I always wanted to try my mobile phone on an aeroplane since I heard the only reason they don't allow it is that the cell providers can't sort out the charging. I'd do it but what if something happened?
It would be so embarrasing. What with all the people being smacked into the deep blue and all that, I don't know if I could live with it. What would the neighbours think?
St Peter: Just not your day is it? First you downed an Airbus, killing everyone on board, though I'll let you off the four illegals hiding in the landing gear. They were probably frozen already unless they were foreign, those foreign types are a jolly inventive lot. Not to be trusted at all. Nevertheless, you're in the wrong queue, heathens shouldn't be queueing here.
Me: Well where am supposed to queue then mister St?
SP: What ID have you got?
Me: Just my Belgian residence permit, is that ok?
SP: Belgian eh? You need to queue over there.
Me: Noooooooooooh! I'm stuck in Etterbeek for all eternitje!
JJ
2 comments:
Could be worse . . . you could be stuck in the "Big Market" in Newcastle on a Friday night with all those wannabe "Laurens or Vicki Pollards!!"
You don't know if I might be into that sort of thing. Who are Lauren and Vicki Pollard?
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