My beloved rang me this morning from Germany. He only ever rings me for two reasons: either he’s at a loose end or he wants me to do something. I always know when it’s the former. He’s got nothing to do so assumes I must be in the same boat. This is rarely the case. He’ll start the conversation by asking what I’ve been doing. My response is always the same. ” Don’t do a Nigel on me!” Nigel is my brother-in-law and he rings my sister at least 5 times a day to check up on her. My sister has the patience of a saint. If my beloved did the same, I’d change my telephone numbers and not tell him.
So, at 10:00am in the morning, it was far more likely that he wanted me to do something for him. I was right. He had lost his passport and by telling me he was effectively passing over the problem. Yes, my beloved is never unduly inconvenienced by the loss of money, credit cards, documents, personal belongings or even me. No, he knows that I will sort it for him.
He rang just as I was leaving for my 2:30hr ride. I was not delighted to hear from him particularly given the problem. Richard and his passport have become separated on a number of occasions but his passage in international waters has always been soothed by me. In other words, it’s not been a problem for him. I know the drill and within minutes I had advised him what to do in order to ensure his return to France tomorrow. I was tempted to omit this stage but recognised that it would only cause me more problems further down the line.
I then set about resolving how he could get a replacement passport on Monday so that he could fly to the US on Wednesday. Of yes, when my beloved does something he always goes for maximum impact and disruption. The very helpful embassy staff in Marseille advised me that while in theory it was possible to enter the US on a temporary passport, it was probably not advisable. Given that my beloved is tall, blond-haired and blue-eyed this may well have worked, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
I have arranged to catapult him to the front of the queue at the embassy in Paris on Monday morning. He cannot fly to Paris as neither Easyjet nor Air France could confirm that he’d be allowed to fly from Nice with only his German driving licence to confirm his identity. So, that means he’ll be going up on the train on Sunday afternoon. In addition, I’ve printed off the necessary forms, dug out his birth certificate and arranged for our Doctor to certify that his photos are indeed a true likeness of him. Now, I’m just savouring the remaining few hours of bliss before his return.
