I am also blogging from my phone out of sheer desperation, there are screaming immigrants and childrrn all around me. All waiting. I can't even be bothered to read the Kate Middleton biography.
Dude. This place is like a bureaucrat's wet dream. It's everything you see in the movies (one's which have immigration-infused plot lines). People that sit behind bullet proof glass, in kiosks, stamping and processing paperwork. And have done for 30 years. And will for another.
All bureaucrats are the same. They feel like they need to exercise the word of AUTHORITAH because visa work has stripped them of all their human powers. So they'll bark something random to you which makes no sense at all. Like the woman who runs the 'coffee shop' here. She's a picture.
"Naw! Naw! Naw push chairs are allowed in this aisle!"
She starts screaming at a woman wondering around with her baby's pram, and for no apparent reason at all.
This place is called Lunar House, (Loony House?) and reminds me of Home Affairs at home. Just slightly less disgusting.
Home Affairs: falling apart
Home Office: not falling apart, just maintaining a level of 'same.' The 70s same.
Home Office: people are slow but polite
Home Affairs: people are slow.
Home Affairs: you can buy a passport
Home Office: you can buy a coffee. But only at designated hours. From a woman obsessed with push chairs in certain aisles.
Home Affairs: corrupt
Home Office: bankrupt?
Home Office: Billy Joel's Greatest Hits playing in a corner. (No jokes)
Home Affairs: The smell drowns out any sound.
Almost four hours. And waiting. Tick tock.