Deportation

I haven't blogged in a few days. I hope you'll all forgive me when I explain that I have had other things on my mind. I was genuinely worried there that those "lovely" people at the Home Office were going to confiscate my shiny new husband. But they didn't. Instead, they extended his student visa until January 2008. So I can at least keep him until then. In fact, by then he'll probably be so sick of his constant tea-making and general lookingafterBecky duties that he'll be glad to be deported!

So, yes, we spent yesterday at the Home Office in Croydon. Croydon - what's that all about then? Is the walk through its soulless streets meant to demoralise visa applicants before they arrive? Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here? As James so astutely pointed out, town in which the local McDonalds removes all its seats has to be pure class. It wasn't an effective move - the chavs just loitered there in a standing position instead. But enough Croydon-bashing...

Well, not quite enough. I think the world needs to know my opinion on this matter:

Croydon epitomises everything that is Wrong about suburbia. Go and visit - you'll see. Wrong. Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong. (Mad Irish Julie - please get in touch with Layla and ensure that "Croydon" is put on her Wrong List)

I now have to go and write two essays. That's my punishment today for taking a mini-break in Croydon yesterday. But at least I get to keep my husband!