TheBanyanTree: Bureaucracy, Cabbages and Kings

[John Bailey]

Monday October 27, 2003

BUREAUCRACY, CABBAGES AND KINGS

I ran out of excuses today so, suitably prompted, I presented myself, my 
documents and a small fee to have my driving licence registered at our new 
address. The process started when I was caught in a moment of weakness:

"What are you going to do today?" Graham asked, all innocence and wide eyes.

"Oh, I dunno. Not a lot. Read, probably."

He picked up the next length of planking in readiness to stick it in place 
on the kitchen floor. "It's a nice bright day. Why don't you go over and 
get that driving licence thingy done and dusted?"

I gulped, and searched without success through my box of excuses, reasons 
and evasions. "I suppose I could."

"Go on, why don't you. Get it over and done with."

So, a picture of meekness itself, I pulled out the file I'd been trying to 
lose under a pile of manuscripts and set to filling in the form -- 'Please 
write plainly in black ink' -- and gathering the documents needed to prove 
my identity. We're changing over to a new style of driving licence, you 
see, with a photograph of the holder which has to be laminated onto a card 
much the same size as a credit card, so when you record a change of address 
you have to fulfil a new set of requirements.

First thing was a photo, duly inspected and certified as being a true 
likeness by a responsible person who has known you for more than two years. 
I left almost all such people back in Somerset so this was one of the 
reasons for the long delay in getting the job done. It's one of those 
official photo-booth identification photos of course, the ones that produce 
a good likeness of someone you don't quite recognise as being yourself.

Next, my birth certificate. Not a copy, unless it's an official copy, but 
the original document itself. This is a piece of parchment paper from the 
1930s that, like me, is beginning to be a little tatty around the edges and 
rather fragile on the folds. It has a couple of what look suspiciously like 
liver spots, too, further reinforcing the similarity in a rather sinister, 
Dorian Grey kind of fashion. Interestingly, it bears a penny stamp with the 
head of King George VI, and that set me to thinking about the way things 
used to be, how Kings and Queens come and go, and how we used to measure a 
man's allotted span by the number of reigns through which he lived...

"Why have you stopped?" came a stern voice from the kitchen floor.

"Oh, sorry."

Then, they would have liked to have my passport but mine has lapsed and so 
is disqualified. Funny that. You are supposed to provide a current passport 
for a photo-identity driving licence but you need a photo-identity driving 
licence to support your application for a new passport. I sniffed, sensing 
something wrong there, something in the quantum department, requiring 
explanation much as does the question of the precedence of chickens and eggs.

"You've stopped again!"

"Ooops!"

So, reading the small print and treading my way carefully around more 
'ands' and 'ors' than are decent in any sentence, I discovered that they 
would accept a recent bank statement as a substitute for the passport.  Off 
I went to dig out the latest one. Looks quite good, actually. I'd have been 
rather proud of it in the old days, noting the complete lack of red ink. Of 
course, they're all printed in computer black now but you know what I mean.

"What is it this time?"

"Nothing. I've finished."

"Right. Off you go then."

"Okay. I shall come back bearing my new licence, or laminated upon it."

"Don't be clever. Just drive carefully."

And off I set into the morning sunshine, a neat file under my arm and all 
my excuses left behind, quite worn out.

It wasn't so bad, really. The Driver and Vehicle Licencing Authority is 
housed in a monolithic building on the skyline over Swansea, rather 
forbidding and Stalinist in style on the exterior but they've done all they 
could to make the reception area modern and welcoming, and the lady who 
went over my papers with me and checked that I'd filled out the form 
correctly was as friendly and helpful as anyone could wish. I paid my four 
pound fee, smiled, said a nice thank you, and walked back out into the 
sunshine, job done. The new licence will be in the post in the next couple 
of days, all safe and sound until the next time. They tell me that renewing 
a new photo-card will be much more straight forward. That remains to be 
seen. I suppose it's possible but experience doesn't encourage me to expect 
anything in life to become more straight forward. Now, in the old King's day...

Lordy, but I dislike bureaucracy.


--
John Bailey   Carmarthenshire, Wales
journal of a writing man
<http://www.oldgreypoet.com>