God, I hate paperwork.

I hate that no matter how many pieces of paper you bring to a government office, you always need something you don’t have. I hate that the time spent at the little window before finding out you’ve lost an hour of your life is inversely proportional to the time spent queuing. And I hate the look on the official’s face saying “another bloody foreigner who can’t read” when he dismisses me along with the rest of the Poles and Czechs who don’t have utility bills in their own name because they’ve only been in the Republic for a week like me.

Can’t get a PPS number because you don’t have a utility bill. Can’t afford utilities until you get paid. Can’t get paid until you fess up your PPS number. Should I commune with the spirit of Kafka or of Heller? Belt and braces methinks.

It wouldn’t be so bad, only I’ve been on the penniless side for a while now. Let’s just say that the university has been around for long enough that minor glitches like late payment of grants don’t have much effect on the bank balances of its employees. So now I’m using my credit card like nobody’s business. I never thought I’d say these words but: thank you, Ulster Bank. Your reckless increases to my credit limit were meant for this day. Which is an opportune moment to thank my dear, long-suffering mother for keeping me fed and warm over the last year while my bank balance went south for the winter.

It feels like winter in my new house. There’s a draught through the kitchen window which doesn’t close quite right, and there’s no oil in the tank to speak of. Time for the little plastic rectangle to come to my aid again? The dregs should do me for a week or so, but I really don’t fancy getting air into the system. Buggrit, I have a cold coming on and my health is important.

Southern Observation #1: private medical insurance. Everyone has it here, or at least wants it. You think of the UK as being the vanguard of Thatcherite revolution, but the southerners have them licked. I now have the dubious pleasure of choosing which healthcare provider I wish a large chunk of my still-nebulous paycheque to be spirited away to. I have therefore amassed a small selection of healthcare forms, thoughtfully provided by my employer.

God, I hate paperwork.