Today was a Major Adventure

When, in the middle of August, I realised that my Maltese passport had expired, I did not think too much of it. I assumed that renewing it would simply involve sending it and a large cheque to the High Commission. Sadly, this turned out not to be the case. Malta has moved to biometric passports, so I had to attend in person to have my fingerprints taken and so forth. Now, this would not normally have been a problem, since I am in and out of London a lot for work, but I had not actually been on a train since my cancer diagnosis, and I have been paranoid about avoiding places of potential infection. However, I wanted that passport, so I decided that provided I caught trains in the middle of the day, travelled first class (to avoid the children, mainly) and sat as far from other passengers as possible, I should be fine.

Accordingly, this morning, I set off for the 10.28 train. I knew I was cutting it fine, but I decided to risk it. Arriving at St. Pancras, I made a fatal mistake and headed for the taxi queue.When did the London traffic get so bad? I cannot remember jams like it for years. We were grid-locked. Eventually, I abandoned the taxi and legged it, but I am very far from fit. I arrived, gasping, at the High Commission at 12.55 for what should have been a 12.30 appointment. I was directed to the First Floor, with dire warnings that it was unlikely they would see me since they closed for lunch from 1 till 2. I leaned on the bell and waited.

A female voice answered. I am not Maltese for nothing. In thirty seconds flat she knew that I had come all the way from Nottingham, that I had cancer, that I was due for chemotherapy tomorrow and that my journey had been held up. I then drew breath and expressed my deep and abiding apologies for my tardiness and asked if there was anything she could do. She let me in. She would ask her colleague.

Her colleague was wonderful. I cannot praise him highly enough. He explained that we had to hurry, because the computer system was due to go down any minute. He did all the bits for which we needed the computer - like the photos and the fingerprints - then went on to check all my forms, of which there were many. When I had first made enquiries about renewing my passport, it transpired that the law in Malta had changed and that my birth had to be registered there. As it happens, I was actually born in London, although we returned home when I was a babe in arms. My parents, it further transpired, had been most remiss and had not bothered to register my birth in Malta as well as in England (why would they?). So, before I could renew my passport, I had to register my birth. This necessitated endless information about my grandparents (do you know where and when your paternal grandparents were married? No, neither did I. I am grateful to a cousin for providing this information), and my original, long, British birth certificate which, fortunately, I had.

So, by 13.15 there we were. All the forms checked, everything entered into the computer. The nice gentleman said that would be £88.50. I handed over my card. They don't take cards. I had not thought to take a cheque book. 'There's a bank next door' he said, helpfully. I grunted, then remembered that I had been to the bank the day before. I counted it out and, fortunately, had enough.

By the time I collapsed into a seat beside my cousin at the Terrace Restaurant I was shattered and almost an hour late. I was also aware that my return, pre-booked, rail ticket was for 15.15. We had a lovely lunch, catching up on all the family news. We downed a rather nice bottle of pinot grigio with our fish, and laughed a lot. But you will not be surprised to learn that I missed my train and am writing this on the 15.30. I don't want to think what today has cost me. I think I shall give London up for another little while!!