Justin Dunn’s


Midweek Sport - - NEWS -

I’VE been ne­go­ti­at­ing the terms of a new work con­tract with the colos­sus that is the Euro­pean Union.

Among other things, they wanted to know what qual­i­fi­ca­tions I had – and if I could prove them.

Well, no, ac­tu­ally, I can’t. Can you?

The last time I saw a piece of pa­per with my pal­try five O-lev­els, four CSEs and a fail­ure in RE (the lat­ter of which I’m still enor­mously proud of) was in the early 90s.

So I asked a friend who works at my old school if there was pos­si­bly – 29 years later – any­one still work­ing there who could at least say I’d been a pupil back in the black and white days.

Mirac­u­lously, there was one, and he gra­ciously agreed to write a let­ter to “whom it may con­cern” con­firm­ing that I’d spent five years there. So, job done. Well, not quite. Next they wanted me to up­load copies of tax re­turns, ref­er­ences from former em­ploy­ers, a copy of my phone bill…even my sod­ding birth cer­tifi­cate.

Bear in mind that I’m 45 years old, and thus far much closer to death than birth.

All of this has to be scanned in and then up­loaded onto an in­cred­i­bly com­pli­cated web­site where each doc­u­ment

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