ARRIVAL...

So here I am… Sitting on my arse on the floor of the arrivals terminal at Gatwick and the interminable wait just goes on… And on… And on… And on…
The flight arrived on time but there’s still no sign of her.
Finally… At half past midnight she comes walking through, pulling her case.
I don’t know who made the first move but we’re just hugging kissing in the middle of the floor and I can see and feel the tears in her eyes on my cheek.
“Any problems ?”
“A few…”
Hung up at immigration because she has a refusal note on her file for a visa caused by me not taking six months worth of my original bank statements on holiday for a previous visit when we applied for a visitors visa…
I’m all for tightening up the system but this is ridiculous.
She’s here because she’s entitled to be, but still they find ways to make things difficult.
It’s beyond any reasonable form of comprehension, but she’s here now, and that’s what really matters.
I’ve been here so long that it takes a tenner just to get me out of their short-term car park opposite the terminal.
Now if only Thames Valley plod have switched off the variable speed limit signs we can cruise straight home… Well, we can up until the coned off sections anyway.

There were tears back home in The Gambia when she left, as it will be the start of a new era for the kids.
Housai’ and Hassa’ are splitting up and going their own ways.
Sainabou will be stopping work and becoming the ‘mum’ of the compound and Mariama’s guardian when Fatou gets her visa to join her husband Vincent in Glasgow.
Fatou does have a small problem though…
She’s trying to make a deal with her father to rent the beach bar from her.
He wants it, but is not prepared to come up with the money as he’s ‘family’ but Fatou is holding out knowing she can get the price elsewhere.
Good for her.
I know what sort of ‘family’ he is… I had to go through the worries with Haddy when Fatou was taken ill and the tight-fisted sod wouldn’t pay for her hospital stay…
We’ve also got another little ‘un in the family.
Fatou has become the guardian of little Jalika, whose Mother was her best friend at school.
Unfortunately Jalika’s Mum died when giving birth and her Father now cannot cope with a six year old child, so Fatou said she’d take her on and this was acceptable to her Father, so now we’ve got another little one to look after.
I know her because she comes round the compound sometimes to play, she’s tiny for her age and quite shy, but that will soon change…

Ebrima’s wife, Fatou Manta Jarra, has just given birth to Ebrima’s first son Samsidine, and he’s overjoyed about that because they’ve been trying for so long.
Now little Ami’s got a younger brother.
Maybe the anti-smoking lecture helped ?
I’ll find out later.
He’s not that well at the moment apparently, and is having to take time off from work and as a former self-employed bloke myself, I know how difficult that can be sometimes.
Oi ! Darling… Enough.
I’ve been awake since six this morning and it’s now half past four the following morning… Any chance we can get some kip ?

Waking up the following morning not having to go to work is great, but waking up next to Haddy is even better…
Now all we have to do is find her a job.
Wasn’t that an easy sentence to read ?
I have to admit it was pretty easy to write, too…
The reality of her first month back over here was something else however…

I’m going to try and stay as matter of fact as possible when writing this.
If by chance you find any humour or sarcasm or cynicism in the writing then I’m afraid that’s just the way of the world and if you think there are any hints of criticism or that I’m excoriating (nice word that) a completely useless system you might also have a point, but hey ?

So Haddy’s been in the country two weeks now and we visit one of the local agencies to get her registered on their books so that she can get a job…
Passport ? Check.
Visa clearance for work ? Check.
I.D. card ? Check.
National Insurance number ?
Errr… Not yet, but hopefully this afternoon ?
So off we traipse to the local tax office to apply for one but they tell us that it’s now Job Centre Plus who supply them.
Ok… Walk down the road to Job Centre Plus.
The guard on the door asks us why we’re there ?
Guard ?
Yep !
The local Job Centre Plus needs a guard at the door…
Apparently people get irate and go for the staff in Job Centre Plus’s…
So…
Stand in that queue.
Her turn.
“I need a national insurance number so that I can get a job”
“Passport ?”
It’s proffered…
“Ok, go home and ring this number”
So we go back home and ring the number…
“Job Centre Plus… How can we help ?”
“I need a National Insurance number…”
“Ok… Let me take a few details…”
These are then given and taken over the telephone.
“Here’s a temporary number, you can use this number if the agency find you any work…”
Apparently the form she needs to fill in will be with her in two weeks and all she will then need to do is fill it in and return it, and she’ll be sent a National Insurance number.
Ok… Are you with us ?
Is it clear so far ?
So Job Centre Plus sent us home so that we could ring Job Centre Plus ?
Yep ! You got that bit right.
Makes you wonder, doesn’t it ?
Maybe it’s to keep as many people employed in Job Centre Plus as is humanly possible ?
It’s not as if people aren’t going to ask for the form that will enable their employers to pay them for doing a job, is it ?
You can’t get a job (officially) without one so why not cut out the two week wait for the form to arrive ?
Well, I’ll tell you…
Your guess is as good as mine ?
Now she needs a bank account.
My bank, Barclays, don’t want to know…
See… I told you I’d publicise your helpfulness… Not !
She has no official credit history so they can’t make any checks so basically she can get stuffed…
It wasn’t actually put like that, but that’s what they meant in so many words.
What about a joint account ?
Only if I change all my utility bills and accounts… Like gas, water, electric etc to include her name, then they’d be happy to open a joint account, but not before…
This of course could take months and that’s only if it’s done successfully without any of the foul-ups which the afore-mentioned utilities are renowned for ?
Hmmm ?
Is it me, or is all this shit just designed to stop people getting a job ?
I can basically falsify my details to get her on the system (shit-stem… thank you Bob Marley…) and the bank will then accept this, but it won’t let her have an account unless I tell lies ?
Yes… I think that’s basically it ?
I refused…
Told him to stick it actually, and so we were then escorted to the door…
Jesus Fucking Christ !
How fucking mental is that ?
Oi ! Barclays directors and shareholders…
Here it is for the record…
And I quote…
“Are you fucking wankers on the same fucking planet ?
Any of you cunts ever heard of the word ‘integrity’ ?”
Because quite frankly I have my doubts ?
So we’ve hit a snag…
No bank account unless I falsify information.
Try a building society… And it’s exactly the same deal…
I have to pretend that she’s been here for ages and get all my bills and standing orders changed to include her name, and then and only then, can she have a bank account ?
Fuck ‘em !
It ain’t gonna happen.
Now I’m at war and if they don’t like it, then it’s just tough shit !
There is no way I’m going for that, so let’s meet these cunts head on and see what occurs…
‘No I won’t back down… You can stand me up at the gates of hell, but I won’t back down…’
And thank you Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers for the appropriate quote from the song…
Just on the off-chance we tried H.S.B.C…
“We do have an account that we can open for your wife but she will have to pay to use it for the first year and then it will revert to a normal current account…”
And otherwise ?
“Otherwise we’d have to ask you to do the same as Barclays did…”
Ok…
I object in principle but I’ll pay for it because she needs a bank account.
(It’s called a ‘passport account’ if you’re interested, and it costs a tenner a month for them to ‘administer’ it)
But it’s hers, and nothing to do with me.
She gives the guy her details, shows her passport (get it ?) and the account is opened with fifty quid of my money…
Ho hum…
Does anybody else get the idea that banks are the most usurious and unhelpful institutions on the planet ?
I’m not knocking H.S.B.C. because they actually opened an account for her, but come on…
How long have I been a customer at Barclays for Christ’s sake ?
Sorry Barclays, but I’m not going to forget your unhelpfulness…

The agency are now calling with offers of jobs…
And finally the official form turns up for the National Insurance number…
Get this…
‘Thank you for attending the interview… Here is your new National Insurance number. Please give it to your employer etc…’
Hang on…
Interview ?
Did I miss something ?
She answered a couple of questions over the ‘phone like ‘full name’ and ‘permanent address’ but an interview ?
No… There was no interview.
Anyway, we fill out some of the form but I’m thinking that there is one huge glitch somewhere ?
Shouldn’t she get a National Insurance number AFTER she’s filled out the form and not beforehand ?
Then I notice the bits on the form that apply to me…
Hang on…
I’m not the one applying for a National Insurance number…
I’ve had the same one since 1969.
Haddy asks me for the details they want, and I tell her to leave it blank.
I don’t believe they have the right to my personal data on her form so they can get stuffed, too…
Or in other words…
FUCK OFF !
It’s just more officious bureaucratic bullshit to put in their unsafe computer system.
I’m not applying for a number, my wife is… So leave me out of it, please…
I never did find out what the ‘Plus’ meant in Job Centre Plus but I believe they left out the word ‘incompetence’ at the end ?
Job Centre Plus incompetence…
That certainly has a ring to it…
Sounds right, too.
Needless to say we hear nothing back from Job Centre Plus about the lack of my details, so the reality is it’s a ruse to get your private information that they don’t need onto another governmental computer system…
Big Brother is definitely alive and well.
But we knew that all along, didn’t we ?
We just didn’t really want to admit it to ourselves…

You ever get that feeling that everything is broken and just doesn't work anymore ?