Bollocks.... I'm sad to say that I have gone off both Miss Portman and Miss Johansson (or however you spell her last name). Now what did these (presumably) fine ladies do to upset me you ask? Well, the answer to that is nothing. And I don't mean that neither of them came round to my flat asking to borrow a cup of sugar... although of course they didn't. I mean, that through no fault of their own I am in a disgruntled state with them and the other 300 million odd Americans (I'm assuming that Miss Portman is American and not Israeli, as the country you are born in does not necessarily determine your nationality.... and my how I understand that). And what have all these people done to annoy me? Once more the answer is nothing.... unless that is that they happen to work for the bcis/uscis/ins/whatever the bollocks else they call themselves. 'Cause you see this fine organization is in the habit of employing (poorly) trained monkeys to deal with me at every available opportunity.

Just to recap (for those at the back), when I entered this fine country back in November my surname, Nichol, somehow made it into the INS system as 'Vichol'. A simple honest mistake? Possibly. Maybe on one of the 2500 occasions when I wrote my name the N looked like a V, I don't know. Despite the fact that my name was correctly printed on my passport, visa and DS-2019 form. But anyway, somehow a mistake was made and it cost me $100 application fee to try and rectify. So I filled out (yet) another form, and posted it along with the cheque and photocopies of my passport, visa and my original I-94 arrival/departure record (which incidentally had my correctly spelt, or spelled, name). Then I sat and waited and waited and waited and waited, and nearly two months later (remember we are talking about changing a V to a bloody N) I got my new I-94 with my updated information.

Whoa, I thought, now I can go and apply for a Social Security number... Which for reasons I don't understand is needed for practically every single thing I try to do. So I get back to my desk this afternoon and have a closer look at my shiny (well actually it's more matte) new I-94..... And then I can be heard to mutter expletives for an extended period of time. Why, the ignivomous (askoxford.com word of the day) outburst? Because, despite having copies of my passport, visa, DS-2019, I-94 and every other form I have ever filled out for these people.... all of which saying that I am British Citizen, they put my country of citizenship down as Zimbabwe.

So after a conversation with a very bored, but strangely sympathetic and almost helpful, phone operator on the BCIS helpline... it turns out I have to fill out another form (identical to the last one I filled out), and make my way down to Philadelphia and try and get them to make me British, once more.

Now I shouldn't be surprised. This is what happens when your birth certificate is from a country, Rhodesia, which no longer exists. I have had two British passports, the first claimed I was born in Kwekwe the second in Que Que. I was messed around at one of the national labs in America, cause they couldn't get passed the concept of being born in one country and but being a citizen of another. How many first generation immigrants are there in America? Surely, everybody must know somebody who is a citizen of a different country to the one they were born in. But apparently, it is still such a shock that people freeze... and try to make me Zimbabwean. And then when they find out I'm British, I get asked questions like "So, were your parents on holiday?".... I'd bloody hope not. I wouldn't have thought traveling several thousands miles to Southern Africa would be recommended to heavily pregnant women. But I digress. I should start a book on what they can possibly fuck up next... my sex, my age, my visa status.... I just have no idea.

And, I'd just like to remind you all that these are the people who want to take the fingerprints and photographs of all visa holders on entry to (and possibly exit from) America. How on Earth am I meant to be expected to trust these people to look after my fingerprints and photos when they can't even look after my name and nationality. You could come into the country as Joe Bloggs, a businessman from London... and leave as Nasty Man a mass murderer from the Ukraine. I for one am terrified by the power that is put in the hands of these (poorly) trained monkeys.

On a different note my two favourite lyrics at the moment are:
"Don't wanna squeeze trigger... just wanna squeeze tits", Black Eyed Peas
and
"We first met through a shared view... she loved me, and I did too", The Streets

Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.