A while back I was fruitlessly wringing my hands about the seemingly insurmountable problem of getting a replacement driving licence, when I had no idea where I had lived in the past and no record of my driver’s number.
The only answer, it seemed was to go the Big Smoke and physically retrace my residential steps in London, noting down all the addresses I had lived at in my 15 years there (7 separate flats). Then, by the Power of the Blog came Daftburger to the Rescue. Daftburger, as far as I can gather, is a Stoke-on-Trent Sinophile, a fellow sufferer of chest infections, a devoted canary owner, a sucker for a canine sob story and, most importantly On Wishes and Horses: a free thinker. Daftburger always shoots from the hip.
Kindly, and by the Power of Google Maps and some impressive Powers of Inquisition of the flake that writes this blog he ascertained my previous address in Stoke Newington for me which meant, that after months in the Pending pile, my driving licence could be sent off \o/
And guess what? Burger actually got the door number right and, instead of getting back a flea in my ear letter from the DVLA for my crass incompetence and impertinence, I now, for the first time ever, have a photo driving licence. I can hire cars if I want. And I can put some points on my licence which I’ve also acquired in the intervening period – snapped doing 38 mph in a 30 mph zone. Those would be my first ever points, which I consider to be quite an achievement, especially as half of those speed trap cameras aren’t meant to be bloody working. Fate works in mysterious ways…
Anyway, thank you for your help Burger and have a good holiday. When you come back I’ll need to sort out my lost contracted out SERPS pension…
I’m retweeting this story from Daftburger. It’s about a certain Miracle Bobby. Don’t get this confused with Miracle Bob, the dog I mentioned some while back, this may be even more remarkable! Over to Mr Burger:
A week last Thursday I came home and the wife had a canary in the kitchen who had just walked into the house. Now me not thinking straight, after a hard days work at my sort of job, said we’d better let it go as it may have eggs! I know, I know.
So let it go they did. And could you blame them. If someone had asked me to make an animal welfare decision after a day of making badges in a tent for children in my sort of job, I too would have done some muddled thinking. But yet:
Anyway the amazing thing is after three days of regret and general sadness he came back! We opened the door and in he jumped! We were so happy and now he’s living with us and dominates our sad little lives.
Makemeadiva notes that Mr & Mrs Burger’s life is probably a whole lot less sad than her own (note incontinent pet, half-dead fish and crippled toes…) but these things are, of course, subjective.
So now for the great reveal of Miracle Bobby, but not before we have some explanatory notes from his saviour Mr DB, who for all his lyrical swagger on the commentary sections of various blogs is probably softer than a liddle puddy cat 😉
Well what fun I’ve had trying to get a picture of the miracle man!
Since his first incarnation when he walked around as if he owned the place, and he now does, he is reluctant to come out of his cage, which he was incarcerated in on his return! He’s been out once but all he did was go on the highest curtain rail and he wasn’t coming down. He’s a lot more settled now but i’ll leave him to come out later.
So to get a picture of him without his bars, which I don’t feel comfortable keeping him in, humans eh? He does seem happy enough and perhaps feels safer in there after his three days, that we know of, in the wild who can blame him? He was singing his heart out this morning.
Whichever way you want to cut it, it’s a collective aaaaahhhh ain’t it?
NB: No Bars Bobby Burger – he’s electing to stay on his warm comfy perch even as he’s offered the keys to the kingdom.