So, last time we checked in on our intrepid crusader as she valiantly did battle with Irish Bureaucracy, she’d got as far as the Social Welfare Office in Balbriggan to find it had closed twenty minutes earlier. The following day, armed now with the knowledge of opening hours (always a handy bit of info) she returned and neatly avoided getting ensnared in the queue for signing-on. She was still congratulating herself on her deft manoeuvring when she was called to the window. She described her business and was promptly handed an A4 sheet of printed paper. Quite suddenly our heroine realised she’d lost the ability to read (and almost the will to live) and requested that the information on the sheet be relayed to her verbally. It took awhile for the news to sink in: to obtain a PPS number for her 16week old she must go to an office located in the centre of Dublin City.
Quick recap: in the Registry Office (located on Pearse St, in the centre of Dublin City) DH was told to go to the Post Office to get the form for the PPS number (because we were late registering The Earl); in the Post Office I was told to go to the Citizens Information Office; in the Citizens Information Office I was told to go to the Social Welfare Office in Balbriggan; in the Social Welfare Office in Balbriggan I was told to go to the Social Welfare Office located on Pearse St, in the centre of Dublin City. Oh. Yeah. Talk about going around in circles – literally.
When I got home I rang the phone number on the sheet of paper I had been given. I was trying to wise up now and get all the information I needed before I went anywhere. I had a garbled conversation with someone who wanted to talk about how late I had been in registering my son rather than tell me what documentation I needed to bring with me to get a PPS. I finally got her to agree that I needed i.d. for me and that the birth certificate would be proof of address. It was just as well I did this. When I went to this office in the centre of town, the clerk at the desk wanted to turn me away because I didn’t have a utility bill as proof of address. He only capitulated when I said that I’d already rung the office and was told that the birth certificate was accepted documentation. Come on: it’s only an official document issued by a Government Department, after all!
In the meantime, I did manage to finish my Cheer-me-up socks in time to get them logged onto the Sock-A-Month Kal. Here they are as modelled by DS because (wouldn’t you know) they don’t fit DD, for whom they were intended – naturally! What’s the opposite of the Midas touch, where everything you touch turns to crud? I’ve definitely got the knitting version of that.