no ferrero rocher for me

I won’t be invited to the Ambassador’s reception.  He won’t be spoiling me with small golden chocolates.

And to be honest, I don’t really care.

I’ve been spending far too long at the russian embassy these days, what with a trip to Moscow for work on the horizon.  When I say I’m going to Moscow the usual reaction is “wow, fabulous, that’s so cool” to which I usually reply “I’d rather have my cock cut off”.

Frankly, it’s a miserable place with a couple of fancy churches and a big square.

Anyway, last time I went the visa process was so arduous that this time I was determined to get it right first time.  Last trip had involved three visits to the embassy before they were willing to accept my application.

The first refusal was due to me having printed the form out on two pages instead of on one page ‘back-to-back.

The second refusal was due to my printer having ‘reformatted’ the page and the printed area was three (yes three) millimetres smaller than it should have been.

Third time was lucky and it was accepted – albeit grudgingly.

Oh, and the third time I got the phone number of the guy next to me in the queue.  lol.  He turned out to be queerer than a southern baptist preacher.

But I digress.  This time round I was determined to get it right, so after two hours queueing outside in the rain, and a further hour queueing up inside the embassy, I finally got to the front of the queue.

I strolled up to the counter like a kid who copied his homework off the internet and therefore knows it’s fabulous.

“Yes, sir, all is correct here” said the gal from the east.

“I thank you” said I, curtsying.

“But you have filled out the form in blue ink.  Zis is not allowed!”

And at that very moment I heard the angels weeping in heaven.  For they too are helpless against the mighty russians.

Reader, if this process has taught me anything, it’s that when the counter bitch says no, it’s no.

But that doesn’t mean I give up trying….