I'm off of the flight from Newark. The immigration officer was very disturbed by my emergency passport; "But why did you let your old one expire?"she asks repeatedly "I don't understand?" I finally replied, "I'm incompetent and have poor life skills." This actually seemed to please her- a traveler was finally speaking the truth; what she had always known in her heart was confirmed. And for her, I could not progress until I admitted I had a problem.
"My name is Matthew, and I am a passport expire-er"
I'm now in the labyrinth of Heathrow, trying to get from terminal 3 to 5.
This may or may not be achieved.
Sent from my HTC PURECONFUSION™, a Windows® phone from AT&T that is really just wants a cup of tea and my bed and for this nonsense to stop, thankyouverymuch.
The Inn of Infinite Sadness, or alternatively, Smudge and Hobbes' Traumatising Transcendental Transatlantic Trip. Being the adventures of two very large, unwillingly peripatetic, half-Bengal cats and their owner (of rather similar description) as they prepare to leave the North American continent in search of a new life in their (the cats, not the owner) ancestral homeland of Aneda. Sigh, what I won't do for a decent cup of tea.
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