London Immigration
Moby | 17/12/2007Arriving in London from the Netherlands. Its supposed to feel kind of like home right.
The Motherland of our little colony at the ass end of the world.
But first you are greeted by immigration. Today is a good day. 60 People in the EU resident queue. 0 in the Foreigners. In fact there’s only 1 lady dealing with those called foreigners.
I approach in a happy mood, thinking this has to be the easiest border crossing. But things have already gone awry. Freshly back in the land of mobile connectivity, I thought it smart to store Jamie’s address at which I would be dossing on my new dutch Sim card. Which to my surprise on disembarking the plane has a default PIN.
Bummer. But I know the suburb, which Ive put on the form, and have a good memory of the map.
She: Whats your address in London
Me: I put it in my new phone, which has a PIN, And now Ive locked it trying to guess the default PIN. But I’m pretty sure I can find it, and if not, find an Internet cafe…
She: So you have no address
Me: I do, but I just bought this SIM, and now its locked, but if I get online I will have it.
She: How long are you planning to stay in the UK? Her flicking through my almost full 48 page passport
Me: About a month, I need a new passport, so have to wait for that.
She: What do you mean “about a month”
Me: Well the time it takes to get a new passport and see a few friends.
She: How much money do you have.
Me: $xx,000
She: What currency? You have been travelling a lot. When do you finish.
Me: Aussie Dollars, 8 Months left…
She: And then what?
Me: Find a new place to live and some way to make money.
She: Raising eyebrow…
Me: But the main requirement for where I’m going to live, is that it must have a nice beach, that’s warm, sunny and has good winds for kite surfing.
She: Well that’s not here then! STAMP.
