I finally finally got around to getting my passport picture taken today. It was in a dodgy booth in Spencer Street train station, and I’m not sure it’s appropriate (I don’t know how close-up it’s meant to be - the application form has specific measurements of head-size, but I’m going to try with what I’ve got) but at least (at last) it’s done. As you can see from the photo below, I wasn’t sure how many times the flash was going to go off!

Now I get Warrick to sign as my guarantor (he’s known me for long enough, isn’t my “life partner” (and frankly - thank God!), and has a passport of his own from his great Peruvian adventure) and away we go! Not literally … just the passport application process.

I’ve been talking (read: had one email conversation) with my cousin Tamara in the UK, and whilst she’s ready to pick us up at the airport, she hasn’t mentioned how she tracked down our Grand-mother’s birth-certificate (which I will need for my Ancestry VISA application). Perhaps it’s a secret? A rite of passage, maybe - only those who can find their roots are truly worthy? Yes, I’ve read too much Dan Brown (it’s entertaining, however!).

And now it’s bed time. Or lunchtime, if you’re in London. Either way, I’m posting.