It’s soup made from tinned tomatoes tonight, my new go-to soup. Quick, cheap and tasty, what more could you want? After a lunch of junk food it seemed the sensible thing to do. Julia’s teeth are now positively gleaming and her eyes are 100% tested so she’s good for another year. And me, I’m almost porous. I have so many holes in my arms I could almost be a colander.
I would tell you about everything I’ve done this afternoon, but I didn’t really do anything. Several TV programmes and some snoring doesn’t constitute activity.
My copy birth certificate came through yesterday – it was a bit of a shock, as it came in an official brown envelope with a red/pink covering letter. For a moment, it looked very threatening. I need it for proof of my ID when claiming my private pension. It’s not a very onerous form of identification as it’s a available to anyone who wants it. Fortunately, I don’t suppose their are many people looking for a moderate pension. It’s a nice surprise for someone who wasn’t expecting much, but it’s not going to keep a fraudster supplied with much more than a few groceries.
I’ve also fixed up help with proving my identity for the solicitors involved in Number One Son’s house purchase. It seems that because I have chosen to give a member of my own family some money to help with a house deposit I have yo have my morals checked. Yes, they want to check that I haven’t made my money from crime or terrorism and check that I’m moral enough to give some of my own money to my own son. Part of this is proving my identity. It’s not enough that I have a phot driving license with my name and address on it, I have to have further proof of my address. I’ve been on the electoral register here for the last thirty four years and have voted at every election but that isn’t enough either. I have to have my ID signed and verified by one of a number of people, including a medical professional, a financial adviser or a minister of religion.
So, if Dr Crippen, Harold Shipman or Josef Mengele was available, hey could vouch for me. So could a financial adviser, if they were to take time off from embezzlement and advising on how to avoid tax and launder money. There is no note on which religions qualify to sign – passport regulations stipulate “recognised religion, including Scientology” for their needs but the solicitor, who has clearly formed this list with little thought, seems happy to accept the Universal Life Church and Jedi.
In other words, the ID requirements are a mockery and unlikely to cause problems to any half-intelligent criminal. The fact that they do seem technically demanding to a solicitor merely reinforces my long-standing prejudice against the legal profession. You have to have a degree to become a qualified legal professional, a move they took some years ago, but this merely cuts out the lower classes, and does not prove that the holder of the degree is able to think, merely to remember a mass of facts, which they then trot out at some appropriate time. The judge, who, to be fair, is usually a lawyer of great intellect, then sorts the facts out and renders a verdict.
In my next post I will continue with this theme. I have enough material for at least another 500 words.
Is the title making sense yet? Henry VI, Part 2.
“The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers”