WHAT’S ANNOYING HIM
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