This evening (Sunday) my girlfriend Kate was due to fly to Turkey for two weeks' holiday by herself (said holiday booked before she met me). We were initially philosphical about this, but over time started thinking about ways to get me to come along. The final compromise we came up with was that I would join her for the second week. I go to www.bargainholidays.com and book a cheap flight for next Sunday. Easy.

Preparations are going well until Thursday night when she discovers her passport is missing. She spends Friday trying to think of locations it might be, but comes to the conclusion it's gone. Friday night she spends turning her house upside down -literally - but in the end we decide she'll have to get a new one. In less than 48 hours.

Fortunately she's done some research. She needs a birth certificate, which she's never had - her parents have it. They live near Bristol, we're in London. The main passport office, located on Petty France nearSt. James' Park, London, is also supposed to be very busy on Saturday. But there's also a subsidiary office in Newport, South Wales.

So the plan we comes up with goes thus:

1. Get up at 0600 hrs, get in my car and drive to Bristol to collect her birth certificate.

- This we do, leaving about 0640.

2. On the way, stop at a Post Office and get a passport application form.

- Easier said than done. We arrive in Bristol about 0900, having stopped for fuel along the way, and start looking. FOUR TIMES in succession we are told that this post office doesn't keep these forms, but the next one along does. . .

3. Stop at her parents' and get the birth certificate.

- This goes OK. We leave just after 10, taking time to have some coffee and fill out the form.

4. Drive to Newport, locate the passport office and start queueing.

- Well, we get arrive in Newport and park at about 1115 hours. We get to the passport office at 1130.

Which is closed. For renovation. Has been for weeks. Despite us being told it was open. This is, of course, a disaster. We're completely stuffed. Phoning the main national line does us no good. Petty France Passport Office is still the closest, and it closes at three in the afternoon.

So, after comforting one extremely distraught girlfriend, we get in the car and I drive back to London. We leave Newport at 1145, stop halfway for more coffee (I can barely keep my eyes open) - but had to make do with Coke since that service area's coffee shop is closed, yes, for refurbishment. This break lasts 20 minutes.

We arrive on Petty France at 1415 hours. I've driven from South Wales right into Central London in two and a quarter hours. I park the car (yes, I managed to park in London!) and Kate storms into the building to do whatever it takes to get a passport - tantrums, making a scene, anything. What had she to lose?

But none of that is necessary; all it takes is one word, "Newport." Turns out she's not the only person who's been messed around this way; so, even though everyone else who was turning up at the same time got refused, they agreed to see her and granted her application.

So, a happy ending. It was a long, hard day, and no-one can believe I managed that drive. Didn't even go maximum speed, sticking instead to between 80 and 90. Only slowed down to 70 when I went past a police car.

I moved from western CT to State College, PA to be near a girl. I was mad about her. Even if that didn't work out, there was still a friendship. Yes, she'd be going home for the summer, & yes, she'd be going to Japan in the fall. But she'd be back anyway.

And then, 3 weeks after moving here...she told me to fuck off. Because I was pissed at ther lack of trust in me.

Fortunately, I lucked out & found Heather. Too bad she's in Atlanta. But I will be as well, soon.