I'm glad I left myself with plenty of time to get a police clearance certificate.Today I popped in to the police station, asked at enquiries where I had to go and went there (the ominous "Room 9"). The door was open, but there was nobody there, so I figured they'd be back shortly. 10 minutes later a passing policeman informs me in a confused mumble that he thinks the offices are closed.
We both stare at the open door as we ponder his statement.
"Any idea when they'll be open?" I ask, not unreasonably. The officer shakes his head, looking at me as if to say I have a lot to learn about the ways of the world.
"Maybe," he shrugs, "maybe later." He turns from me and stares into the distance. I stare off into the distance as well, imagining a time when all this was just hills and you didn't need a bloody clearance certificate to visit another country, just a spear and a deathwish.
Eventually, like an indecisive mist, the officer floats away, leaving me staring at what I now realise is a telephone pole.
Oh well, I'll try again tomorrow.
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