Not one to be easily deflated, my excitement levels remained at ‘high’ and I didn’t come totally clean that I had indeed been hoping for final pronouncements that day.
We’d put a lot of thought into the timings for this important day. We weren’t going to leave anything to chance, delayed trains, missed connection, getting lost, so we had left home by 0745, heading for Tonbridge and a greater choice of trains, should either the Hastings line or the Dover line have problems! Well, the very early start proved unnecessary, as when we asked for our tickets, showing our Senior Rail Cards, we were told that the first train from Tonbridge to London that we could use our Rail Cards on wasn’t until 0910 and we had planned to catch the 0830. Oh well, frankly we had so much time in hand that we might as well wait the extra half an hour and put our Senior Rail Cards to good use. So, prepared for a wait, we settled into the waiting room and, as much to pass the time as anything, I went off and got myself a takeaway coffee - not wise! We were waiting on the platform as the train duly arrived. Just as we were about to board, I realised I’d left my hardly touched coffee in the waiting room! Quick sprint back, and the coffee was retrieved, We had an uneventful, somewhat silent owing to nervous tension, journey to Waterloo East. From there we had to cross to Waterloo Main Line Station and find the platform for our connection to Wandsworth Town.. By this time the unwise coffee was beginning to make itself felt and Richard was muttering about a ‘comfort break’ too. However, because we were now behind our initial schedule, we were keen to get on and at least get to Wandsworth before stopping, so with grit teeth we plunged on to find our connection.
South Western Railway carried us efficiently to Wandsworth Town station with no problems, but on emerging it was uncomfortably clear that we should alleviate our discomfort before even starting to search for the London Visa Application Centre! We find a coffee shop and while I ordered two coffees to justify the use of their loo, Richard disappeared around a corner, armed with the code for the door lock written on a tiny piece of paper. I sit and look at my coffee. Time ticks by. A move nearer to the loo, in order to aid a quick changeover, seems a sensible, if not an essential, idea. Rounding the corner I find a distinctly desperate Richard, peering shortsightedly at his tiny piece of paper and punching buttons on the door lock with force, but with no response from the door. Help is sought and Richard gains entry with relief! My turn next and as I emerge I find a wide eyed, agitated Richard right outside the door. “Don’t close the door, I left the briefcase in there!”
Mission accomplished and with all our belongings intact, we set off to find the Visa Application Centre with the aid of our phones and surprised ourselves by finding it quite quickly and easily. We joined a multi cultural queue waiting outside, of which we, as white caucasians, were in the minority. We worked our way fairly swiftly to the top of the queue, were ticked off on a list, pointed towards another door and told to watch for our code to appear on one of the monitors, which would direct us to the appropriate official. The nerves have subsided a little as we are clearly at the right place, at the right time, on the right day and are expected!
We settled down for a spot of people watching. We were in a large room with two long counters and about twenty positions where the business was done. The official sits on one side going through all the reams of papers they are being presented with, and the nervous ‘applicant’ stands on the other side of the counter. The scene was business like and ordered. There were no dramas, no one was frogmarched out, there were no raised voices - quite disappointing really but probably better for the nerves! The numbers on the monitors slowly ticked by. We were roused from our reverie by suddenly noticing our code had popped up and it was our turn. Butterflies in stomachs returned as we made our way to the appropriately numbered spot at the counter. Our official was a mild, slightly balding, softly spoken chap. I was delighted to discover that I was not going to be interviewed separately. Richard handed over his immaculately prepared sheafs of documents and photocopies when requested, they were stamped, some were photocopied, we were asked our reason for wanting a Visa. We said “we want to enjoy a longer time with our family in France, to enjoy immersing ourselves in French life and to travel around and see more of the country”. He seemed happy with that explanation, we added our signatures, and handed over our passports. He told us we should hear one way or another in a week or two and pointed us to a door at the far end of the room. Expecting to find ourselves outside the building, we skipped through the door, only to find ourselves being directed to separate curtained cubicles! Was this a strip search?! Fortunately all they were after was a mug shot and our fingerprints - phew!
The next door did finally lead us out onto the street again, pink and sweaty and with a developing headache. Wandsworth, or at least that part of Wandsworth, is really rather lovely; pedestrianised and full of interesting little shops and restaurants. We made a beeline for a nearby Thai restaurant and toasted the success of today with pints of ice cold lager and paracetamol. We even took photos of each other, pink and sweaty, and beaming from ear to ear. Maybe, just maybe, we had succeeded with our first big challenge? 🤞
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