Preparations....

PART 1.

The problem with stressing all the time and never doing anything is that well you stress all the time and never do anything. Therefore 5 days before I was scheduled to fly I had no Visa. This was not entirely my fault as a) the Bangladeshi High Commission from the layout of their website wants to make it as difficult as possible to enter their country, and b) I wasn't in my country until 2 weeks before I left... See me being dum had not thought about the fact that I could not send off a postal Visa application without my passport so arrived home two weeks before my scheduled departure with no visa sitting on my doorstep. A trip to London was definitely in order...

As to get from Glasgow to London (thanks to our wonderful train network) you have to go via Newcastle I decided my easiest option was to stop off at Newcastle and pay my flat a visit. Unfortunately my awful flatmate was there to meet me off the train so a wee mini tour of Newcastle was in order. In one day we managed to fit in: two games of scrabble, chai tea, pea soup, an art exhibition featuring old school photos mutilated in an amusing way by string, and cider all rounded off with fish stew. Impressive eh ;-). Unfortunately while I had been away my room had been stolen from me by an oversized giant (aka Tom) who had added a bike, porn movies, and a mattress protector to my already perfect room. A slightly softer night's sleep was appreciated mind...

Part 2: LONDON aka CAPITAL CITY VISA TIME

Wanting a cheap train ticket, I booked a ticket that got me to London at 11.45am leaving exactly 1 hour and 15 mins to get me from London King's Cross to the Bangladesh High Commission, I viewed this as a challenge. Trying to hide my map of London so as not to look too touristy and just sneaking even more obvious glances at it, I somehow managed to get across the city to be greeted by the posh glow of South Kensington. The BHC is something less desirable however shoved away in an underground cellar and featuring what must be the only outdoor toilets in South Kensington. Inside the scene can only be described as similar to one from the stock exchange but with Bengalis instead of bankers all waving their passports. The queue for 'foreign' visitors was empty and decidedly closed. I did manage to eventually find someone to talk to who told me that he couldn't give me a Visa. After basically travelling from Glasgow to London just for this Visa you can imagine I was very unimpressed so with some crocodile tears while I concocted some very elaborate story about camping out the whole night in London he told me to take a seat. A very suspenseful 45 minutes later a Visa was granted, thank bloody goodness, handwritten and everything!


PART 3: NAN

In the same way that since I needed to go to London I might as well go to Newcastle, since I was in London I felt I might as well visit my Nan in Southampton. Now my Nan is obviously my Nan so is a very treasured person in my life, but equally this woman is something else; one of those people in which life has delivered nothing but misery and has the attitude that if something bad is not currently happening it is just because something bad is about to happen. Her views on life therefore make a depressing read, she's not good company for the easily upset. The upside is her hearing is sufficiently bad enough to mis-hear any sarcastic comments me, my dad, or brother make.

Without a doubt her much controversial views are those on immigration:
Nan's views on immigration (largely gained from a daily subscription to the Daily Mail):
1. Immigrants all eat our swans
2. Takeaways (mainly Chinese and Indians) breed guinea pigs for their meat and also use cat and dog a lot. We did explain, in the same way they probably don't eat swans, that chickens are so cheap its not worth the bother of using swan, cat, dog, nor guinea pig.
3. Immigrants all pretend to be gay to gain entry to our country.
4. Immigrants never get jobs.
5. Immigrants all live in huge houses which have been split up to house them.
6. On the matter of organ donation, the 'coloured people' have so many diseases that they can't donate organs so aren't helping the system.
7. And finally noting that not many Christians go to Muslim countries. Again ignoring all the tourists visiting North Africa.

I can't really criticise though as the woman did teach me yesterday how to make an amazing bread pudding (not bread and butter!) which I ate most of (I was criticised for this as well of course).

And now the last stop before Bangladesh starts tomorrow with a trip to a hippy music festival with my brother and even hippier (than the music festival) father for a few days of glamping...

You wouldn't think I was leaving the country for 2 months on Saturday, oh dear...