A visit to the Consulate

Today we went to renew Destroyer’s passport, an easier process than in the past because I’d actually read the small print on the application and realised that if I applied for my daughter’s passport, my wife could guarantee Destroyer’s identity, rather than us having to track down a doctor or lawyer who has known her for at least five years.

Destroyer is 18 months old in two days, so that would always have been a struggle.

We got to the Consulate at 9, just beating a rush of Canadians. Destroyer walked around a sharp edged glass topped table, flinging blueberries on the floor for me to pick up, while La Serpiente capered and gibbered. The actual application was very simple: we handed over her passport, her certificate of citizenship, a completed form, her photos and a hundred Canadian dollars, and then we left again.

The Consulate is on the 11th floor of an office building in George Street. We’ve only ever gone in one side of the 11th floor but the Consulate appears to occupy the whole floor. I entertain a fantasy that part of it is the Quebecois Consulate, which is completely surrounded by the rest of the Consulate but keeps trying to break off on its own, or at least speak French to everyone whether they like it or not.

The Consulate is also close to Ronin, so I deposited wife and kids there and they had scrambled eggs while I went off to work, for a day of looking at data, writing performance reviews and complaining about non-Kuhnian views of the truthfulness of science. I’m sure this is storing trouble for me somewhere along the line.

Otherwise, quiet. I ran for a total of 90 minutes today and I’ve eaten two more creatine pills. The pills seem to be getting bigger with each passing day.

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