Monty Python and the Search for the Holy Paperwork

Long gap between blog entries, I know. We were away in September and writing about sitting on the beach would be dull and braggardly. Another reason is that I've actually been working, so have, instead of wasting my time writing monologues or watching dog rescue videos on YouTube, been using the computer to work. (I say instead of, I mean as well as, of course. It's those sad doggy eyes, you see - they keep pulling me back in...)

Yes, working. The idea was to come to enjoy the Galician p&q with our feet up, having a servant fan us from a corner of the room while we waited for the valet to bring us the afternoon's first cocktail. I may be slightly overselling the likely lifestyle after leaving London behind but the general plan wasn't to work Monday to Friday any more, and we're certainly not doing that. But the extra beer money is extremely welcome, and it keeps my eye in should I ever find myself in the unthinkable position of having to let the valet go and get back to work properly.

Having an actual contract has meant I've been, finally, able to get the Spanish equivalent of an NI number. This required three trips to Ourense, about an hour's drive away, due to them twice refusing to issue me with this number because I hadn't presented the right paperwork. But I've got it now, so I've been able to register as autonomo - freelancer. More paperwork. That means I could get a social security number. Another bit of paper.

I've said to friends here that Spanish culture has a great deal to commend, but its bureaucracy is most certainly not one of them. So much is still done on paper, having to present things in person at offices of council, government, the medical centre, wherever. So much of the stuff that we take for granted as being doable on the internet in Britain just can't be done so here. You step into a bank, for example, and though you may just have checked your balance on their app, the branch is still heaving with paper files, floor to ceiling.

Some of the administration you have to get done is so time consuming, so labyrinthine, so inexplicable that even the most patient or time-rich person will give up. For anybody working full time there's little option but to place many of these routine tasks in the hands of a gestoria. These offices, literally 'management', can be found in every city, town or village of any size in Spain, and could exist only in a place where the bureaucracy is so overwhelming. They, and the asesoria, 'advisory', for higher and more complex issues, are paperwork professionals. Some functions have to go through them, but they also take on tasks that people could undertake themselves but simply don't have the time, energy or inclination, to do so, and they make a full-time living doing it.

So many of the processes remaining paper-based is exacerbated by the fact that all the agencies are separate and don't talk to each other. It's up to you to do all the legwork yourself, passing on information between them which in Britain would be shared automatically. So to get my partner's car registered in Spain, for example, was a six-month slog of paperwork. Repeated visits to various entirely separate agencies in Valladolid, some 2.5 hours' drive away, two different MOT tests after being given wrong information before the first one, and an inch-thick stack of paper which fills a ring binder of its own.

One moment in particular stands out from the odyssey that getting my personal paperwork done became. Confused by the conflicting stories we were getting about what was and wasn't necessary, we went to the police station, to the extrangeria, the bit where foreigners' affairs are dealt with. Valladoild being a large city - it was Madrid's capital early in the 17th Century - of some 400,000 people, this place was busy. Directed to do so by a police officer greeting and directing people as they arrived, we took a number from the machine and sat to wait our turn. After some time we get to our turn, take our seats at the desk, and on explaining what we want, are told we're at the wrong desk.

Which desk is it, then? Can't tell you. Ask the police officer. Right. So we go back to the police officer, tell him we just need information on the process of so-and-so, and he tells us which desk it should have been. Another number taken, another wait. We come to our turn at the desk - literally right next to the first one we'd sat at, I mean right next to it, the first agent could have just told us where we needed to be - and our next 'helper' promptly gets up and goes out for lunch as soon as we sit down.

Frustrated now, we're looking round for a bit of help. Do we have to just wait for the agent to come back? Have we wasted our time completely? Seeing our predicament, the meet-and-greet police officer sits down at our table and gives us the information we need, which we'd already told him was what we were there for, in less than thirty seconds. Leaving the building some 45 minutes after we'd entered it, we commented on how comical a circumstance it was, but neither of us were laughing.

This was some two years ago, and it's taken 'til now, with a contract of work, to be able to actually get all that stuff done. I'm very happy to have all this stuff in place now - it makes a post-Brexit future for me, as an immigrant, a much less uncertain prospect. But plan A (you know, fan bloke in corner, valet. Perhaps a butler for larger entertainment occasions, strictly on an ad hoc basis. That plan.) would have been a lot less trouble.

I can even get biscuits into an entry about the referendum...

It's been, again, a long time since I made an entry here, but the third-ever national referendum in Britain, and one held on such a fundamental matter, seems suitably weighty a subject on which to return.

At time of writing, we're perhaps eight hours, and certainly less then 12, from knowing the final result of the vote that seems, thanks to the ludicrously negative and bitter campaigning, to have taken forever to arrive. I had to queue to cast my vote this morning, which suggests a high turnout, so at least all the effort both sides have put in may have been worth it from the point of view of voter engagement.

It does seem to have been something that people genuinely care about. Mooching around a farmers' market in Oval recently - very good chorizo Scotch eggs to be had there - there was a civilised debate going on between two fairly eloquent reps, one from each side. This was being amplified though speakers so the whole market could hear, and indeed there was a decent smattering of people sitting listening. This debate, though perhaps atypical of the campaign as a whole in that the speakers were at least civil and didn't interrupt each other, instead alternating at the mic, still threw up some ridiculous claims from each side that were all too typical of what we've been hearing over the past few months.

The Leave campaigner, for example, trotted out the standard bollocks about the £350m fee we pay every week to the EU, a number long since discredited since it makes no account of either the rebates we receive or the mitigating benefits we're paying for - see this rather marvellous piece from John Oliver for a much better response that this layman can come up with. In turn, the Remain campaigner retorted that for every £1 we spend on the EU, we get £10 back. She offered absolutely nothing by way of evidence for this number, merely giving her opponent the rope with which to hang her. This was somebody on the same side of the debate, broadly speaking, as me, but who'd still managed to make me snort with derision at what she'd said.

Overall, the two rather nicely summed up the biggest problem with what amount to the sticks with which each side has beaten the electorate lately - there's been nothing genuinely convincing from either side. As far as I can tell, the Remain campaign has largely been about all the crap that could fall on our heads if we pull out. While I can, of course, see that, couldn't they have focused the main thrust of their argument a bit more on the positive, rather than treating them as some kind of side show? The Leavers' argument, however, can pretty much be summed up as 'Hurrumph. Bloody foreigners.' Not even close to good enough, lads.

It's only fair to point out that, as somebody whose partner is an EU citizen who came here a long time ago, and who hopes to move permanently to Spain with that partner, my own position would be rather simple even without all the 'facts' that have been spat at us during the course of the campaign. My partner has worked without a break ever since she got here, and has certainly paid more tax than I have during that period, offering considerably more to our society with her career in teaching and the charity sector than I ever have with mine in advertising. We'd like to live in Spain but come and go to Britain and elsewhere as we please. We'd also like to do this without having to get married, or either of us taking the other's nationality. So to me this is a no-brainer before either side even put their case to me. 

I like to think, though, that I'd want something a bit more substantive than 'if the immigrants would only sod off everything would be OK' to make up my mind, even if I weren't living with one. But in the event that there was nothing, absolutely nothing, to go on, I still think there'd be a way to decide. Let's imagine you had, for whatever reason, not the slightest knowledge of what each side was campaigning for. Not an inkling. You've been living as a hermit for ten years so for all you know, it could be about whether chocolate digestives should be banned from having a layer of caramel added between the choccy and the biscuit base - you just have no idea what's going on.

But you've come back from your little hole in the desert ground, have realised from the hubbub that this is important, and need something to key on before you cast your vote. All you'd need to do is take a look at some of the standard bearers for the respective campaigns. They've given us nothing more useful to go on, so that's as good a criterion as any. So, let's see...

On the Remain side you've got the leaders of the main political parties, a lot of high-profile business leaders and quite a few celebrities. Not exactly the champions you'd send in to joust for your honour, but hold on - have a look at this lot on the other side. Yes, there are business leaders on this side too. But... Gove. Boris Johnson. Nigel fucking Farage. 

Quickly! Give me that pencil. Decision made.