I can't remember exactly, but it was either Karl or his brother Groucho who said "I don’t want to belong to any club that would have me as a member." It's easy to get those two Marx brothers mixed up.
So with those wise words ringing in my ears, I'm pleased to announce that I gave been granted permanent residency in New Zealand. Yes me, a scruffy kid from a Hartlepool housing estate. How did that happen?
Actually it all seems far too simple. After just two short years, and a handful of months, I was eligible to apply for residence. So I did. I filled in a couple of forms, attached a couple of documents and payment and that was that. Just a matter of waiting a month or so and there it was. Permanent Residency. Or to put it more simply, I'm allowed to live here indefinitely and come and go as I please. Like a resident really.
It does help that I don't have a criminal background (other than the occasional theft of beer mats from pubs) and happen to have a skill that is in short supply. For once, a civil engineering degree is something worth having. Granted, it won't help you pick up women or get you prime tables in swanky restaurants, but it will allow you to work in far flung places such as this.
After the initial surprise had passed, I examined the contents of the package for some more instructions. But that's all there was. Just my British passport with a visa certificate stuck inside and letter. No instructions, welcome book or informative pamphlet on living in New Zealand. I'm not sure what I was expecting but it all seemed to be a little bit of an anti-climax. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't expecting a fanfare or invitation to the Prime Minister's house for a gin and tonic, even if he is nearly a neighbour, but something would've been nice. Maybe I'm being unreasonable - I know there are those who would die to have such a great opportunity. Quite literally in some cases.
But, there's always a but, there are a couple of limitations. And whether these are a deal breaker will depend upon your ambitions. In a nutshell, here they are;
So what next? Well I could hang on and apply for citizenship. As far as I can tell, the only difference would be that I could get a cool black New Zealand passport. Tempting, but I'm happy with the burgundy European one that I currently have. Or at least I was. Now, when asked to present my passport, I feel like I have to apologise profusely and proclaim loudly "it wasn't me!" It used to be just the picture inside the document that was embarrassing, now it's the whole bloody thing! It could be worse, at least I'm not American.
No that's it for me and I'm overjoyed with it. And when it comes down to it, the biggest advantage to being given this status is that I finally feel less like an outsider. Belong perhaps?
Right, well I'm off. There's Sauvignon Blanc to be drunk and a Barbie to be lit. Those lamb chops won't cook themselves will they! What? Well I have to make more of an effort now don't I!
So with those wise words ringing in my ears, I'm pleased to announce that I gave been granted permanent residency in New Zealand. Yes me, a scruffy kid from a Hartlepool housing estate. How did that happen?
Actually it all seems far too simple. After just two short years, and a handful of months, I was eligible to apply for residence. So I did. I filled in a couple of forms, attached a couple of documents and payment and that was that. Just a matter of waiting a month or so and there it was. Permanent Residency. Or to put it more simply, I'm allowed to live here indefinitely and come and go as I please. Like a resident really.
It does help that I don't have a criminal background (other than the occasional theft of beer mats from pubs) and happen to have a skill that is in short supply. For once, a civil engineering degree is something worth having. Granted, it won't help you pick up women or get you prime tables in swanky restaurants, but it will allow you to work in far flung places such as this.
After the initial surprise had passed, I examined the contents of the package for some more instructions. But that's all there was. Just my British passport with a visa certificate stuck inside and letter. No instructions, welcome book or informative pamphlet on living in New Zealand. I'm not sure what I was expecting but it all seemed to be a little bit of an anti-climax. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't expecting a fanfare or invitation to the Prime Minister's house for a gin and tonic, even if he is nearly a neighbour, but something would've been nice. Maybe I'm being unreasonable - I know there are those who would die to have such a great opportunity. Quite literally in some cases.
But, there's always a but, there are a couple of limitations. And whether these are a deal breaker will depend upon your ambitions. In a nutshell, here they are;
- Firstly, I'm not allowed to hold public office. Which is a shame because, with the elections coming up next year I thought I'd give John Key a run for his money. No matter. I'll have to find something else to occupy my spare time. But I can now vote so I guess I can still influence the election in a some small way.
- Then there is the problem of sport. No, it's not that it is compulsory to attend All Blacks games but that I can't represent New Zealand at international sporting events. Whilst All Blacks attendance might have given me pause for thought, I can't see my 5,000m time improving that much.
- Finally, I don't have the right to work in Australia without first obtaining another work permit. Given that there are all manner of creatures over there that want to do you harm, and I don't just mean the inhabitants of Adelaide, I can live with this restriction.
So what next? Well I could hang on and apply for citizenship. As far as I can tell, the only difference would be that I could get a cool black New Zealand passport. Tempting, but I'm happy with the burgundy European one that I currently have. Or at least I was. Now, when asked to present my passport, I feel like I have to apologise profusely and proclaim loudly "it wasn't me!" It used to be just the picture inside the document that was embarrassing, now it's the whole bloody thing! It could be worse, at least I'm not American.
No that's it for me and I'm overjoyed with it. And when it comes down to it, the biggest advantage to being given this status is that I finally feel less like an outsider. Belong perhaps?
Right, well I'm off. There's Sauvignon Blanc to be drunk and a Barbie to be lit. Those lamb chops won't cook themselves will they! What? Well I have to make more of an effort now don't I!
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