IT'S SATURDAY, I MUST BE IN....BELFAST

Ah, beautiful, historic Belfast. Where the immortal words "You're heeeeeeeeere, there's na-AAAAAA-thing I fear" worked on so many levels. Consider:

THE WORK

Another month, another far-flung consular outreach mission.  Past missions of the Embassy to Belfast were famously busy, exhausting and frenzied, but this year turned out to be quite smooth and manageable, not the least because of a veteran consular staff that was so seasoned and tested, they literally rolled off the van, set up the equipment and began taking in clients in under 10 minutes. I liked to pretend the clackity-clack of cameras, computers and printers swiftly being snapped into place was one of those Rambo-assembling-his-rifles scenes.

Although even Rambo would not have stood a chance against the kids' Calvin-picture taking (at least, not without dangling some magic susi)

My favourite, most satisfying part of the job: welcoming kababayans back to the Motherland's fold. In larger groups, there will always be someone who says hay salamat, Pilipino na uli, then there will be another who replies hindi naman talaga nawala sa puso ang pagka-Pilipino, eh.  I may or may not begin weeping and hug someone at this point.  Anyway, we're often asked what are the requirements to re-acquire/retain one's citizenship.  Quite simple really, all you need are: 1) completed forms; 2) oath of allegiance; and 3) dramatic backlighting.  

I only post these pictures because I've been told I have a face for radio (and a voice for blogging)

THE CITY CENTRE

Considering its storied and eventful past, the city was quite peaceful, relaxing and pleasant.  Indeed, there were strong indications while we were in Belfast that once deeply divided groups had finally come together and settled their differences once and for all.  I'm talking of course, of that weekend's New Kids On The Block/Backstreet Boys unification concert.

AND FINALLY, THE MASTER OF DISASTER

With some hours to spare before our return flight to London, the team had a chance to pass by Belfast's spanking new museum built to mark the 100th anniversary of the Titanic's one and only voyage.   We didn't actually have time to go inside, but it was obvious from the crowds coming out that the exhibits were sufficiently moving and touched the public's century-old fascination with the tragedy.    

Jack and Rose, however, were not quite able to re-create their magic

JACK BAUER'S "24" CLOCK WOULD NOT HAVE STOOD FOR ANY OF THIS

THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN 400 DAYS AGO AND MY LUNCH BREAK THIS AFTERNOON

(blip...blip...blip...blip...blipblipblipblipblipblliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip)

400 days ago: Almost right outside the Embassy in Trafalgar Square, London unveils its Olympic countdown clock to mark 500 days 'til the start of the games

and consecutive days of grey

400 days ago, less a few hours: The clock breaks down

"maybe you hit the 'snooze' button"

399 days ago: Hilarity ensues as a lad mag sends its...um, "reporters" to the site carrying signs "so low tech, we won't break down!"

you could tell it was a classy magazine because once the photo-op was done, the girls left simply by going to the corner and hailing a taxi

387 days ago: The clock is defaced during one of London's strikes/rallies/demonstrations

that's either a paint splat, or the clock just shed an emo tear

161 days ago:  those "occupy" people trying to be noticed around the world reach Trafalgar Square, but no damage is reported this time because of around the clock police protection   

Get it? The police were around the clock, you see. 

71 days ago: Britain's Got Talent films a flash mob promo next to the clock.  

somewhere, Susan Boyle goes "meh"

This afternoon: London very loudly lets everyone know that there are just 100 days 'til the start of the games. . . 

on your mark, fishnet, GO!

. . . which is a very stressful reminder to me as office concierge that very soon my life will be turned upside down by the incoming delegations, and I may just keep yelling "dammit Chloe!" to no one in particular.

   

 hence, I'm all Bauer McSquinty for the next 100 days

FOR PASSPORTS, PRESS 1. FOR FALSE TEETH INQUIRIES, PRESS 2. FOR A DOMINATRIX, PLEASE HOLD

In an obvious wala 'yan sa lolo ko smackdown to this blog's "Consular Query of the Day" feature, the UK foreign office just rolled out the latest in its "ludicrous inquiries/bizarre demands" series. Among their greatest hits:

• A man asked a consulate in Greece for information on how to go about putting a chicken coop in his garden
• A national pleaded for assistance translating "I love you" into Hungarian
• Complaints were filed over the quality of plastic surgery, and a jam that would not set.
• A man called to say he was stranded at the airport by his dominatrix.
• A request was made to get someone to throw a coin into the Trevi fountain for them, because they forgot while they were on holiday, and they want their marriage to succeed.

Well played dear sirs, well played. But I've said it before and I'll say it again -- that's the difference between other foreign services and ours: we WOULD have helped out a guy who lost his false teeth.

Assistance-Tooth-Nationals!