Something I read on Pog's blog reminded me of something that happened to me a few months before I went to New Zealand. Let us begin prior to the beginning...

[Abridged. Very]

I used to go out with a gal called Sarah. Now, she was stressed out with her job, and decided that she really needed a week off lest she removed her own face with a lemon zester. And so she invited me to go with her to Dieppe for an overnight. I thought this to be an idea of not inconsiderable brillitude. So I accepted. We were to leave on Thursday, at midday.

Wednesday night / Thursday morning, getting on for 1 a.m. Owe decides it might be time to pack. Looks in drawer for passport. Closes drawer. Re-opens drawer. Looks again for passport. Empties drawer, item by item. Puts stuff back in drawer. Wanders around for a bit, massaging his forehead. Empties drawer item by item again. This happens a few times. The passport never transpires. Owe applies himself. Where else would it be ? Half an hour and much futile rummaging later, it occurs to him - it's in the New Zealand Embassy in Haymarket, as he's applied for his working holiday visa. Fuck. Double fuck. Treble fuck. A vast multiplicity of fucks.

As the lovely lady's week of graft detox was building towards this event, to let her down would have been shameful. Plus, she'd have dumped me - no question. There was nothing for it but to get the earliest possible train from Brighton to London, and petition the embassy. I couldn't sleep anyway, so I hopped in the shower at about half past four, and made my way to the station. It is worth noting that the streets of Brighton are mobbed by huge, hideous seagulls at dawn o'clock, all slashing and scattering bin-liners, and being a general menace. This was unsettling. It is also worth noting that after my shower, I had dried myself off and dressed for the day. In case anyone was wondering.

The website had told me that the embassy would open at nine. I got there at eight, and found that it would - in fact - open at ten. Tits. So I went to St. James's Park to sit by the lake, read Empire and watch the ducks. I was very stressed. This calmed me down. Or at least it did for a bit, until two ducks started having a massive ruck, right in front of me. I hadn't seen ducks fight before. They twatted each other with their wings and quarked a lot (like a bark, in quack form). A policing swan swam over and broke up the argy-bargy; but by this point it was too late - my head was unquiet once more. So I headed back to the embassy.

There was already a bit of a crowd forming in the lobby. I sat down, clutching my phone. I had texted Sarah to tell her what was happening, and hadn't heard back yet. Then I started to think I was having a flashback. 'Why is my phone sweating ?' I thought. This train was hijacked by Russel; a fat, over-excited American. He wanted to talk to me. It occurred to me that most people there were excited about the fact that they were about to embark on a fab new adventure on the other side of the orb; and not sleepless, extremely anxious stress-goblins, shitting themselves over the thought of severely letting their girlfriend down and subsequently having their asses ditched. I still didn't want to talk to him, though. I thought it best that I was left alone, and hurried to the front of the line. So it was to my massive dismay that - when we were ushered up to the embassy at ten o'clock - the wretched rotund ratfucker (who had arrived after me) let two attractive young ladies (who has also arrived after me) ahead of him *and me* in the queue. If Russel had been privy to the deeply wrong thoughts I harboured about him thereafter, he would have spent the rest of his days in a shivering, sweaty, cold blancmange of corner-bound blubber. He was probably the swellest chap in the world; but right then I thought him the rottenest cunt.

The waiting room. TV screens showing a four-minute looped video of dancing, beaming, vacuous chefs / firemen / ballerinas, and pensioners waving frantically from lakeside hillocks as the camera flew overhead. Come to Life. Come to New Zealand. With the most horrific cheesy soundtrack, comprising of contrived tribal-style beats, wailing guitar widdlery, and Bill Medley and Jennifer Warns-style duetting, earnestly repeating the refrain 'Come to Life'. As I wanted to put my boot through each screen during the first airing of this vomit-sodden calamity, by the sixth time I was practically catatonic. I was still clutching my phone as if it were the only thing keeping me sane, but I was rocking back and forth much more visibly by the time they called my name. I felt like I'd been there a week.

They had my passport.

Everything lifted. It wasn't lost in the post. I could go to the ball. I told the young lady at the counter that I loved her, and explained how she'd saved my relationship. They even gave me my visa on the spot. I danced out of the embassy. It was sunny. I gave all my coins to a tramp. I got a tube. I got a train. I made the ferry (well, seacat). As we set out to sea, we cracked open champagne. Though, as Sarah's day was just starting, I felt like it was time for bed. But I had made it.

Epilogue

We'd decided to go a little deeper than Dieppe, and so got a train to Rouen. We drank, ate, laughed, drank, ate, made friends with the world's stupidest dog, drank, managed to eventually shake the dog, drank, and then went back to our hotel. I'm not going to tell you exactly what happened next. Although most of it was (exceptionally) good, through no fault of our own, something bad happened. We had a lovely following day wandering around, going to galleries, sunbathing, eating and drinking (well merde, we were in France)... But still there was the thing. And something would have to be done about it. This gave the lovely day something of an edge. We got back late on Friday evening. I didn't see Sarah on Saturday.

On Sunday, my flatmate Nathan and I sat out in Brunswick Square, soaking it up and drinking beer. I texted Sarah, and she agreed to join us. Shortly after she did, Nathan went for ice-cream. Sarah looked at me earnestly. "Owe... We need to talk."

"Oh fucking hell... You're not going to dump me again, are you ?"

"Um... Well, yes. Sorry. I'm going for a walk now. I'll see you around."

"Bye."

Two minutes later, Nathan returned, brandishing ice-creams.

"Hey. Where's Sarah ?"

"She just dumped me and left."

"Shit. What am I gonna do with this third ice-cream ?"