Winston, if I were married to you I'd put poison in your coffee...

...Nancy, if I were married to you, I'd drink it!

And after a really bad night of vomitus velocitus frequentis I'm beginning to wonder if Mrs Chipshaker hasn't been getting ideas from Lady Astor.

Several times during the night, I made the dash to shout for Huey down the big white telephone - an affliction I'm sure in this instance came from my darling wife's attempt to poison me. At least I've managed to convince the kids that was the case anyway. Chipshaker Jr is now watching every move Mrs C makes. Seems reasonable to me, and, for a 10 year old, he has a remarkable grasp of the concept of circumstantial evidence - I ate the same food as everyone else, but I ate it two hours later and I was the only one chucking up all night, ergo, it must have been tampered with.

Admittedly, he was doubtful at first, and rightly so - no 10 year old should think such things of his Mother, but I managed to convince him eventually

"Who came to see if Dad was okay when he was being sick at 4am son?"

"err me Dad"

"That's right, you're a grand lad, and where was your Mum?"

"err asleep in bed Dad"

"Exactly son, she hasn't even got a guilty conscience - keep an eye on her for me eh?"

It's really rather amusing now to see him taking such an interest in his Mum's culinary skills, and even more amusing when I get the dark looks for corrupting the kids - even the most unpleasant of illness can have a humorous side!

But joking aside, a bit of further research has led me to take my initial jest more seriously than I perhaps did at first......

After an evening of traipsing through mountains of paperwork, the visa applications went in yesterday, only to be promptly rejected. Turns out that, despite me sending in a marriage certificate, a joint bank statement and all the passports, those nice people at the High Commission want more evidence that we are living in a sustained marriage. Fair enough, there are some very dodgy people about these days. So, I dig out all the paperwork I can find to prove that everything is in joint names. Bank account number 1 - statement shows joint names, bank account number 2 - statement is in joint names, same goes for account number 3. Things are going well so far and it's on to the utility bills. Gas bill - statement is in...my name. Electricity bill - statement is in....err my name, Council tax - statement is in......my name. Telephone bill - statement is in......my name! I can see a pattern developing here. Television licence, water rates, cable TV.....everything in my name!! Even the joint credit card is in MY NAME!

Turns out, all the money coming in is in joint names, but everything you can be blacklisted or go to prison for not paying is in my name!! So not only am I being slipped the odd dose of hemlock in with my spinach and ricotta pasta, but I'm also in danger of going to debtors gaol if it all goes badly wrong on the money front!

You have to admire that kind of subtle ingenuity!

Anyway, you can imagine I wasn't especially gruntled this morning to find out that the Immigration people weren't overly happy with the applications made. As well as the marriage thing, it seems my complete lack of any professional qualifications, and only having A Levels to my name isn't particularly impressing them at the moment. Dear me, I can remember the days when not everyone who worked in the accountancy profession had a degree in microanalytical zoology, or other such irrelevant subjects awarded simply for spending three years drinking copious quantities of dark mild and smoking roll ups!

Then there is the question of references - they want some of them as well, particularly from my current employer, to testify that I have obtained a little bit of specialist knowledge after spending in excess of half my lifetime doing the job. Quick call to the faceless minions in the dark underworld of HR and I find that 17 years only entitles me to a two line letter stating my start date, my leaving date (which hasn't come around yet) and my current position! Mad Frankie Frazer got better references than that after serving 20 years in HMP Parkhurst! What price loyalty eh?

Not a good day really - it kind of came home to me today...if I don't get the work permit, I don't have a job in New Zealand.....and I no longer have a job in the UK either!

Haha te whenua, haha te tangata