I got an unexpected parcel on our anniversary (and actually, another unexpected gift yesterday when Jo arrived out to the Tinhouse (and she knows why it’s called that now) with cakes for Mrs Tin and me. No pressure, dear friends in Belgium or Oz or New Zealand, I’m just saying).
My passport, which I applied for only four weeks ago, arrived that morning.
I should explain to my overseas friends that an industrial dispute in the Passport Office earlier this year has led to a backlog of 60,000 passports. This is part of the reason why we have booked no holidays this year, as I didn’t expect to see my passport for so long that by the time it arrived the the Tinsons would look more like the photo than I would.
Anyway, on Tuesday at work I got an email from Mrs Tin saying “your passport has arrived”. Immediately I replied “great, book New York”.
Now, those of you who read this blog regularly know that I like to make jokes. As you know, though, Mrs Tin doesn’t read this blog.
So she booked New York.
And on August 12th, less than five weeks away, The City That Never Sleeps will meet The Man Who Wakes At Four. Something has to give.
And the man whose inability to go through the X-Ray machines has led to him being patted down at six different airports in under three years gets the chance to see just how thoroughly he’ll be fondled by the most security-conscious airport staff on the planet.
At my age, that’s something to look forward to.