I am officially a Limey, a bona fide Pom.
This morning alongside a multicultural group of aliens I swore allegiance - faithful and true to her Majesty Queen Lizzie her heirs and successors in accordance with the law... and stuff. In exchange for my lifelong servitude I can now (well in 6 weeks once I am in possession of an actual British Passport) enter into most countries around the world without leaping through a horrendous number of immigratory hoops. Tickity-boo, old chap, what a spiffing idea.
The actual ceremony was far less formal than I had imagined. I had dressed in a severe school-marmish way in preparation for this very serious ceremonial step towards total Britishness. Although I was pipped in the formal stakes by the gentleman of Asiatic origins who had donned full kilt regalia for this momentous event.
The registrar conducting the ceremony seemed to think we were a group of brain dead toddlers and so despite the fact that each of us was presented with the Oath of Allegiance typed and set on a laminated card, we were instructed to repeat the Oath after her three words at a time. She took great pains to explain that on the card where it said, "I (Name) swear..." we should not simply repeat the word 'name', but insert our full names. The resulting Oath was pretty poor:
Registrar: I (name) do solemnly swear...
Group of Aliens: I (garble-gungle-noise-noise) do solemnly swear...
Registrar: By Almighty God...
Group of Aliens: Byyy-Almiiiighty-God...
Registrar: That on...
Group of Aliens: Thaat-on...
Registrar: Becoming a...
Group of Aliens: Becoooming-aaaa....
Registrar: British Citizen...
Group of Aliens: Breeetish-Ceetizen....
You get the point.
Once the swearing was over I was the first lucky recipient of my certificate of new life. In my eagerness to get the wretched thing before they changed their minds I fairly galloped up on stage in the manner of a high-heeled horse. On reflection I should have practiced my walking, but I did manage to stay upright and not headbutt the diminutive official certifying me so that was something.
Luckily I turned off my telephone during this important presentation because I later discovered that my ever supportive Husband, sitting in the back row, was trying to phone me mid-gallop to critique my approach.
I was greatly anticipating the moment after we had all received our certificates and were to be upstanding to sing the National Anthem. Having avidly followed the Olympics I was well prepped on the teary eyed patriotism required for a rendition of God Save the Queen to an accompanying big brass band. Of course being Scotland, the Registrar simply hit the play button on a knackered c.d player and a dreary wordless soundtrack played while we all stood around oddly and a few new citizens mouthed the words. I had really been looking forward to watching my non-Patriotic Husband goldfish the words 'God Save our noble Queen', now the damn separatist Scots had shit in my metaphorical porridge. I turned to find the Husband in the crowd only to discover he had boycotted the entire karoake portion of the event and nipped out for a fag.
Ah well, I'm off to the pub now. So a toast:
Here's tae us
Wha's like us
Damn few,
And they're a' deid
