So, late November, 6 a.m., I am realistically imagining the following scenarios:
- It will be too dark to read. I will be forced to make conversation with a) a batty old man who stands too close and calls me 'darling' and b) a hippy with smelly dreadlocks. Dreadlocks always smell. Don't pretend they don't.
- It will rain. A lot.
- It will start to sleet a bit.
- I will find out that the hippy in front of me was actually just keeping a place in the queue for 30 other people.
- It will rain some more.
- The batty old man will start an inappropriate topic of conversation. Probably corsets or oral sex. If I'm really lucky, maybe both.
- At midday when I finally reach the head of the queue, the Indian Embassy will decide a) I don't look anything like my passport photo (this, bizarrely is true, even though it was only five years or so ago) b) my application letter from India was published on a public holiday and therefore not valid or c) they have reached their daily quota of women in their twenties wanting a business visa.
- I will have to come back the next day. When it's snowing.
Wish me luck.