21st may 2007
Sometimes everything goes a little quiet here; the builder, the geometra, the man about the well and the guys building the gates haven’t called, no-one is visiting or is about to visit, and the battery on my Black and Decker drill goes flat.
It is at these times that you are forced to tackle the Italian system of bureaucracy. We came out here determined not to be critical of the country that gave birth to the Roman Empire, fostered the Renaissance, made the Word Cup final 16 times (and won it 4 of those times). But there is something peculiar here which seems designed to have you shaking your head and wrinkling up your eyebrows at every official office in the land.
Stamps are the key to success in Italy. You have to buy them to put onto each document you sign, and you get them from the tobacconist (unlike bus tickets which you get from the bar).
I carefully collected all the documents I thought I needed to apply for residency here, and went and sat in the queue with my ticket last Wednesday morning. Unfortunately I now need to go to Rome with my Marriage certificate and all our Birth Certificates to get them officially ratified, translated into Italian and stamped at the British Embassy. I then need to take these documents to the Prefecture of Police in Perugia to be officially checked and stamped as legal documents, and then I can take them, and all the other pieces of paper with stamps on, to the Comune to be stamped and to allow the application process to begin.
Fortunately my Black and Decker drill only takes an hour and a half to recharge.
The Stupidest thing I did that day;
Forgetting that Italy were very lucky to get to the finals on at least three of those occasions.
Comments