When a man is tired of Peterborough he is tired of waiting for his passport.
Starbuck's Tazo Chai Tea Latte rocks my world. However, by the time you're on your third of the day (there is NOTHING else to do in Peterborough, and if you try to walk round the Cathedral you pitch up on a ring road and it takes 20 minutes to get back into the town centre) it wears thin - and expensive.
I spent what felt like a fortnight there today, waiting for my passport -- I thought I'd be able to get away with the normal two-week service but I might need to go away on business at short notice so I had to do it the "premium" (i.e. we scalp you for the privilege of queue-jumping) way.
(A) they didn't tell me there was an office at Durham, only offering me Liverpool (gorgeous old offices in the India Building - where, incidentally, my dad used to work when he was in shipping in the mid 50s!) or Peterborough.
(B) Since the "new photo regulations" it seems that they're rejecting, oh, about 90% of the photos people brought in. I am sure it's just a coincidence that there's a photo-me machine at the back of the passport office that's 50p dearer than any one you might've encountered before. Oh yes. Not a scam at all. Nononono.
(C) Peterborough. F---ing hell. I did once break a journey to London there to try to find the Nene Valley Railway but I gave up after half an hour (it was shut, from what I could see) and continued South. It's got a very nice Cathedral. It's got a few interesting old-ish buildings dotted round the market square. But for the most part it's a paean to grey concrete and not-quite-London/ not-quite-East Anglian accents and pram-faced chavettes with ugly babies sucking sausage rolls. I didn't find a single restaurant that looked like it could serve an edible lunch in the centre of town. I didn't find a single interesting non-chain shop, apart from a nice Chinese supermarket down the bottom of Bridge St (I've got lots of noodles and sauces and snacky things). If you could imagine the most mediocre town in Britain, and then take the excitement out of it, that's Peterborough.
So that was my Friday, and it sucked...
Still, it could've been worse. I got home to an email message asking if I was interested in working in Basildon for a French company under contract to an American company with frequent trips to Germany. I hope the agent in question understands the seven letter word in between "No" and "Way".
I spent what felt like a fortnight there today, waiting for my passport -- I thought I'd be able to get away with the normal two-week service but I might need to go away on business at short notice so I had to do it the "premium" (i.e. we scalp you for the privilege of queue-jumping) way.
(A) they didn't tell me there was an office at Durham, only offering me Liverpool (gorgeous old offices in the India Building - where, incidentally, my dad used to work when he was in shipping in the mid 50s!) or Peterborough.
(B) Since the "new photo regulations" it seems that they're rejecting, oh, about 90% of the photos people brought in. I am sure it's just a coincidence that there's a photo-me machine at the back of the passport office that's 50p dearer than any one you might've encountered before. Oh yes. Not a scam at all. Nononono.
(C) Peterborough. F---ing hell. I did once break a journey to London there to try to find the Nene Valley Railway but I gave up after half an hour (it was shut, from what I could see) and continued South. It's got a very nice Cathedral. It's got a few interesting old-ish buildings dotted round the market square. But for the most part it's a paean to grey concrete and not-quite-London/ not-quite-East Anglian accents and pram-faced chavettes with ugly babies sucking sausage rolls. I didn't find a single restaurant that looked like it could serve an edible lunch in the centre of town. I didn't find a single interesting non-chain shop, apart from a nice Chinese supermarket down the bottom of Bridge St (I've got lots of noodles and sauces and snacky things). If you could imagine the most mediocre town in Britain, and then take the excitement out of it, that's Peterborough.
So that was my Friday, and it sucked...
Still, it could've been worse. I got home to an email message asking if I was interested in working in Basildon for a French company under contract to an American company with frequent trips to Germany. I hope the agent in question understands the seven letter word in between "No" and "Way".