Kevin Page: Controlling those passport urges

How come passport photos always look like a criminal mugshot?

I don't know anybody who looks "normal" in theirs.

In mine, I look like I should be spending life behind bars not preparing for an overseas holiday.

Apparently the world passport police have decreed any facial expression other than one which suggests you are a miserable sod is inappropriate for your photo.

So when I went to have mine done last Saturday, I decided to strike a blow for the little man and rebel.

A sit-in or similar loud protest seemed inappropriate, particularly as the folk at the PostShop were being so helpful, so as the camera clicked I unleashed my inner crazy ... and pushed my tongue hard into the roof of my mouth.

Now this may not seem like the actions of a rebellious individual striking a blow for the common man but what it did do was change the shape of my face a little. (Try it, you'll see.) As it turns out that may be a bit of a problem.

I should perhaps point out even though I've been here most of my life, I am not a naturalised New Zealander and still possess a British passport.

It used to be an impressive hard-cover black book complete with gold embossed royal crest on the front. Presentation at border control meant exotic cars and gorgeous women would be immediately at my disposal and I would be required to eliminate the odd Russian spy, well, it did for James Bond.

I once fronted up at passport control in Hong Kong and couldn't resist flashing my important-looking passport and uttering "Page, Kevin Page". The response, I can only assume, was Chinese for "smart arse".

Anyway, I came to Godzone in 1974 with my parents and I proudly call New Zealand home. Except maybe for the standard of food available from the fish and chip shop (sorry Kiwis I just really miss mushy peas) New Zealand has it all for me.

Obviously, I've always intended to become a naturalised New Zealander and get my NZ passport but they changed the rules a few years ago and now you have to go to a ceremony, engage in small talk with the mayor and sing the national anthem.

Unfortunately my singing voice is restricted to sports trips and then only when my throat is liberally lubricated with alcohol and something like Spanish Eyes by Al Martino requires accompanying.

So the prospect of me shaking Rotorua District councillors awake with a butchering of God Defend New Zealand, let alone the Maori part, has always been enough to dissuade me and I've just kept renewing my British passport.

So back to that problem.

I hadn't actually told the young lady taking my picture at PostShop it was for a British passport.

She assumed it was for a New Zealand one and I was too busy moving my tongue around to say otherwise.

It was only after, in casual conversation, that my British passport requirement came up.

It seems British passport photos are an ever-so-slightly different size to New Zealand ones and mine (with face stretched thanks to tongue gymnastics) is right on the line of "acceptable" or not.

I've sent it in regardless. I reckon it would be PC correctness gone mad if they turn me down because my face is half a millimetre too fat in the picture. It's not like I'll be embarrassing the British Government or the image of James Bond.

But who knows? If I am rejected maybe it'll be time to finally take the plunge, sing the national anthem and wake a few councillors up.

I just know that next time I go for a new passport photo, I'll heed my Dad's advice from years ago: "Sometimes it pays to hold your tongue."