I applied for a renewal of my British passport at the High Commission this morning.
"Times have changed," said the security guard. "We're a lot stricter than we used to be."
I was kept waiting outside the locked entrance in a -30° wind until he'd finished frisking the only applicant ahead of me and had let him through the inner barrier. Once I was allowed indoors I had to turn out the tissues in all of my pockets and remove my watch, have my bags examined and turn off my cell 'phone, which was then confiscated until I had left the premises. The guard was wearing thick gloves for protection, telling me that he'd stabbed himself once with an unexpected syringe while searching in a woman's handbag. As I didn't beep when I went under the arch I wasn't frisked, myself, and it only took a couple of minutes to hand over my application form and authorise the Home Office to withdraw $250 from my VISA account.
Within ten business days I can go through the same procedure in order to pick up the new passport; otherwise I'd have had to pay another $15 to have it delivered to me.
I have been recording this at Tim Horton's on Sparks Street where the ghost of some long gone politician on Parliament Hill, or an actor in a top hat for the amusement of Winterlude tourists, is queuing for a coffee and a bagel.
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