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Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo found himself down the local post office this morning, turning in his application for a new passport, Mrs. R and I having planned a trip to Bermuda this summah in celebration of our 25th anniversary of first being manacled together.

We originally booked the trip last summah, so I suppose I was on notice at that point that I’d need to take action vis a vis renewing my ability to travel internationally.  (I took out a passport 30 years ago to spend the year between college and law school interning in Parliament in London, but it had long since expired and I’d lost it anyway.)  I deny emphatically any suggestion that I deliberately put off this application biznay for so long after said notice, but so much else has been happening this year (and regular friends of the decanter know this to be the case) that I admit to perhaps squirreling it away in a drawer of my mind and maybe telling myself that I had plenty of time left and nothing to worry about.

It was the sudden realization that it’s May already, coupled with Mrs. R’s wholly-credible threat that if I couldn’t go to Bermuda because of my own slackness, she was jolly-well going to invite the Former Llama Military Correspondent, one of her closest gentleman friends, to accompany her instead, see if she didn’t, that suddenly had me frantically hunting up my birth certificate and messing about on the State Department website for instructions about expedited processing.

Thus, also, my trip to the bost office today.

All in all, it was not a-tall an unpleasant experience.  You can do these things by appointment, you know, so when I turned up punctual as ever (it’s a mania of mine), the counter-wallah was expecting me and ready to go.  He turned out to be courteous, competent, and efficient.

I had to get a photo done for the application.  “Now,” my guide said, “State Department regulations allow that you can look a little bit happy, but you can’t over-do it.  A faint smile is okay, but don’t show any teeth.”

“Don’t worry,” I replied, “When it comes to scowling for the camera, I’m a pro.”

For what it’s worth, he laughed at that.  (He also laughed when I mentioned Mrs. R’s threat.)

The result made the face I pulled for my new driver’s license photo of a couple months back look positively giddy by comparison.

So there we are.

I’ll have more to say about the trip itself later on this summah.  So far as I can recollect, it will have been only the second time Mrs. Robbo and I have been on a plane together in all our years.  There’s a story behind both that and behind the fact that Bermuda is our destination this time.  Stay tuned.

Oh, and I deliberately stuck a couple of Fawlty Towers references into this post.  Any friends of the decanter care to spot them?






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