Beauracracy and Hastings
Since Martin and I have been here, we've been trying to sort out all the little things that make life easier. Such as, gettting me an EFTPOS card so I can access our money without having to ask Martin for cash each day! Until now, we haven't had proof of address, so we've had to wait. So, finally, armed with all the documents I needed, this is what happened:
(in an email to Martin)
So I just went into the bank.. I handed the girl behind the information desk my form and told her what it was. 'That's fine,' she said, with the air of dismissing me.
'um...don't you need my id and proof of address?' I hinted helpfully.
'Oh, um, let's have a look'. She wasn't looking on the right page, so she walkie talkied one of the people in the offices. I then waited for ten minutes before being let into a small cubicle. I handed over my forms, feeling very prepared and efficient. He went away to photocopy them. About five minutes later, he returned with a problem. My name on the proof of address is different to my passport. So unless I can show proof of address with Lucille instead of Lucy, there's nothing he can do, sorry.
'Are you serious?' I ask him incredulously.
'Yes,' he says with hands in prayer position, preparing for an outburst from me I guess. He wasn't disappointed.
'Surely we can get around this somehow?'
'No, there's nothing I can do,' he says with a tight smile. Ech.
'Well, I have no proof of address with my full name on it, because I never ever ever use it on anything except passports.' Silence. 'Oh well, I guess that's no bank card for me then for the next year.' I huffily say. He STILL made no move to think of a solution. And then...
'If you ring the council they could change your name, the silly thing is if it just said Mrs L Ryan that would be okay,' he offers.
'Yes, but you know the councils here, that would take forever,' I reply getting a dig about british stuff. 'What about my driver's license?' that might have Lucy on it...
'Is it British?'
'No' I say knowing what was coming.
'We only accept British licenses,' he says, of course. 'Plus we'd still need something to match your passport.
I pack up my bags and mumble a polite thanks, because that's how I was brought up.
Aaaaaaaaghghhghghghg!
So I will continue to get a daily allowance from the husband. Kind of funny when you think about it.
Over the long weekend, we packed our bikes onto a train and high tailed it to the sunny coast of Hastings, South of London. We optimistically packed our togs like good little Kiwis. Well, needless to say, the weather was predictably windy and wet, but we didn't mind in the end. We managed to get some fresh sea air, picnicing on the pebbly beach and nearly being blown off our bicycles riding along the seafront.
The area is known as 1066 country. It is absolutely steeped in history, as a lot of England is. We pushed our bikes (well, I did) up to visit the first Norman castle built on English soil by William the Conquerer. We watched an old but almost 3D doco on the battle of 1066. It was quite entertaining. Martin then indulged me by agreeing to visit Smuggler's Cove. This attraction is exactly as it sounds. It outlines the history of smuggling and taxes etc. That doesn't sound terribly interesting, but picture walking deep down into narrow caves, with dim lighting and holographic smugglers beaming out information and warnings. Also, lots of hands on game type things, and mechanical smugglers telling tales etc. Of course it is for children, so I was delighted.
The Old Town in Hastings is very quaint. Cobbled paths and windy tracks around the hills. The shops and pubs have that historical feel, so we mostly enjoyed riding or strolling about. I also discovered a new tequila cocktail at a two for one place on Saturday. That is always good fun!
On Monday, we decided we'd seen enough of Hastings having climbed two small mountains and exhausting our feet. So we caught the train back to where we came from, stopping off in Battle on the way. More rain, but we cycled on up to Battle Abbey, which was a fantastic tour of where the Battle of Hastings actually happened. That King Harold...what's 'e like? Big beautiful old Monastary, ruins and again, thick with history. After a rather informative trip around, we exited for a Ploughman's Platter at the pub with very sticky tables and questionable cleanliness. We quickly hightailed it across the road for 'tea and scones' yum (with thick clotted cream and jam) what a treat! Then it was home again home again jiggidy jig.
Just in case it wasn't obvious, our togs never left our bags.
(in an email to Martin)
So I just went into the bank.. I handed the girl behind the information desk my form and told her what it was. 'That's fine,' she said, with the air of dismissing me.
'um...don't you need my id and proof of address?' I hinted helpfully.
'Oh, um, let's have a look'. She wasn't looking on the right page, so she walkie talkied one of the people in the offices. I then waited for ten minutes before being let into a small cubicle. I handed over my forms, feeling very prepared and efficient. He went away to photocopy them. About five minutes later, he returned with a problem. My name on the proof of address is different to my passport. So unless I can show proof of address with Lucille instead of Lucy, there's nothing he can do, sorry.
'Are you serious?' I ask him incredulously.
'Yes,' he says with hands in prayer position, preparing for an outburst from me I guess. He wasn't disappointed.
'Surely we can get around this somehow?'
'No, there's nothing I can do,' he says with a tight smile. Ech.
'Well, I have no proof of address with my full name on it, because I never ever ever use it on anything except passports.' Silence. 'Oh well, I guess that's no bank card for me then for the next year.' I huffily say. He STILL made no move to think of a solution. And then...
'If you ring the council they could change your name, the silly thing is if it just said Mrs L Ryan that would be okay,' he offers.
'Yes, but you know the councils here, that would take forever,' I reply getting a dig about british stuff. 'What about my driver's license?' that might have Lucy on it...
'Is it British?'
'No' I say knowing what was coming.
'We only accept British licenses,' he says, of course. 'Plus we'd still need something to match your passport.
I pack up my bags and mumble a polite thanks, because that's how I was brought up.
Aaaaaaaaghghhghghghg!
So I will continue to get a daily allowance from the husband. Kind of funny when you think about it.
Over the long weekend, we packed our bikes onto a train and high tailed it to the sunny coast of Hastings, South of London. We optimistically packed our togs like good little Kiwis. Well, needless to say, the weather was predictably windy and wet, but we didn't mind in the end. We managed to get some fresh sea air, picnicing on the pebbly beach and nearly being blown off our bicycles riding along the seafront.
The area is known as 1066 country. It is absolutely steeped in history, as a lot of England is. We pushed our bikes (well, I did) up to visit the first Norman castle built on English soil by William the Conquerer. We watched an old but almost 3D doco on the battle of 1066. It was quite entertaining. Martin then indulged me by agreeing to visit Smuggler's Cove. This attraction is exactly as it sounds. It outlines the history of smuggling and taxes etc. That doesn't sound terribly interesting, but picture walking deep down into narrow caves, with dim lighting and holographic smugglers beaming out information and warnings. Also, lots of hands on game type things, and mechanical smugglers telling tales etc. Of course it is for children, so I was delighted.
The Old Town in Hastings is very quaint. Cobbled paths and windy tracks around the hills. The shops and pubs have that historical feel, so we mostly enjoyed riding or strolling about. I also discovered a new tequila cocktail at a two for one place on Saturday. That is always good fun!
On Monday, we decided we'd seen enough of Hastings having climbed two small mountains and exhausting our feet. So we caught the train back to where we came from, stopping off in Battle on the way. More rain, but we cycled on up to Battle Abbey, which was a fantastic tour of where the Battle of Hastings actually happened. That King Harold...what's 'e like? Big beautiful old Monastary, ruins and again, thick with history. After a rather informative trip around, we exited for a Ploughman's Platter at the pub with very sticky tables and questionable cleanliness. We quickly hightailed it across the road for 'tea and scones' yum (with thick clotted cream and jam) what a treat! Then it was home again home again jiggidy jig.
Just in case it wasn't obvious, our togs never left our bags.
posted by Lucy Loo at 6:29 pm
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