Visas suck

The only problem with not being born in England is trying to live here when you're a grown up. Staying for a few months is easy. But after that, you have to leap through flaming hoops for nine (yes NINE) years before you get a passport to call your own.

So in the spirit of visas sucking, two sisters (one who's just had her application rejected, and another who's finally had hers accepted) held a Visas Suck Party for the last weekend they were both going to be legal residents in London. And they asked me to help out. Which, of course, I did.

The theme was 'non EU'. So we had a Columbian drug mule, a New Zealand sheep and a bit of Russian new money floating around. Alice (the sister with the visa) and I (a bona fide passport holder) were border patrol. We spent the night interrogating all the dirty foreigners arriving at the party, then stamping their invites (custom made passports) with 'ACCEPTED' or 'REJECTED' stamps. It was awesome.


No party is complete without a bit of dance-floor accessories. So we had a giant visa, complete with mug-shot hole. One side was stamped ACCEPTED - hooray!, the other side REJECTED - boooo!