Every year, without fail, on this day I tell you how old Bookwitch is now. And in case you want the latest figure, she is 17.
But today I have other news. I can now call myself the Britwitch, after spending vast amounts of money, and some time, on acquiring British citizenship.
Many thanks to my dentist, and to Helen Grant, who both put their reputation on the line to vouch for me being me. I did sit the Life in the UK test, but in the end I grew so old it wasn't necessary; nor did I have to prove I can speak English. Old age has something to say for it. The biometric man who was too cool to like ABBA when he was younger, being punk, was also very helpful and friendly. And Daughter has cajoled and helped fill stuff in and organised ghastly photos in Sainsbury's, as well as coming along today to 'hold' my hand. And the Resident IT Consultant rushed home from his morning walk to come along as well.
This is turning into a veritable Oscars acceptance speech, isn't it? There was a medal for me.
The Registrar was nice too. I even managed to speak my Affirmation properly, only stumbling a little bit on the wrong Monarch, but remembering the new one is Charles, he is King, and his number is three. We didn't have to sing the national anthem, although I could have. It's the kind of thing us little foreigners learned at school. In my case close to sixty years ago. The recording of the anthem played was rather lovely, sung by someone with a much better voice than the three of us could have managed.
It didn't even rain. The storms held off with no rain, some sunshine, and very little wind.
It'll be back to books tomorrow. Or next week.
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