A two-year, self-imposed embargo on foreign holidays has not been the end of the world. Horizons may have been restricted, but there have been plenty of local opportunities. Day-trips up Deeside for example, assumed the cachet of expeditions to the source of the White Nile.

Nevertheless, the recent easing of restrictions has piqued our interest in more distant places and holidays. It also led to a frantic search for my passport that last saw light of day around two years ago. Eventually it turned up in the holiday toilet bag. Where else would it be? Relief was short lived.

On opening, a worryingly youthful photo glowered back, suggesting both passport and possibly, its owner, were nearing expiry. Closer inspection confirmed urgent renewal was required. Fair play to the Passport Office, online renewal seemed straight forward, even for the technologically challenged. All I needed was the relevant information, a credit card, £75.50 (why the 50 pence?) and, oh yes, a digital photo.

I’ve never had much luck with passport photos. The last one bore a startling resemblance to a 19th century serial killer or, in slightly better light, an outtake from a Hammer House of Horror movie. Nevertheless, obtaining a new photo shouldn’t pose much of a problem. I could either use the booth at the local Tesco, as recommended by the Passport Office, or ask someone to do the needful.

Being a cheapskate and remembering the problems encountered by Gregor Fisher’s Baldy Man in a photo booth, I conscripted the in-house Annie Leibovitz and her trusty iPad. A few warning bells rang on noting the 16 rules to be observed for DIY photos. Fools rush in and all that, and we pressed ahead, avoiding, or so we thought, the more obvious elephant traps. There wasn’t a pot plant growing out the top of my head and, after having coughed up £75.50, I certainly wasn’t smiling.

With misplaced confidence and insouciance, the online application was fired off, complete with home-made digital photo. Any sense of satisfaction was rapidly dissipated on receipt of a text revealing the photo had failed to match requirements. An automaton had given me the thumbs down. Apparently, I wasn’t looking directly at the camera and there were problems with the lighting and colour. Apart from that, it was absolutely perfect. I’ll spare you further details, but, as they say, practice makes perfect and, after several more attempts, the new passport was delivered.

I was less than impressed. Was this what all the hype and fuss was about? The new blue (it looks black to me) document was supposed to be the passport to Boris’ sunlit uplands. En passant, it was always possible for the UK within the EU to have a blue/black passport, but that didn’t sit well with the Brexiters’ agenda.

Everything about the new version is flimsy, cheap and nasty, making it the perfect symbol of Brexit Britain. Indeed, the quality is so poor I doubt if it will survive ten years regular use. How odd that the £260 million contract for the new passports went to a French/Dutch company with factories in Poland. The loss of 170 skilled UK printing jobs was just collateral damage.

Far from enhancing national prestige, Brexit and the blue/black passport have led to the UK’s slide down the Henley Passport Index, measured by the number of countries a holder can enter without a visa. The UK now sits behind the likes of Japan, Singapore, South Korea and Germany, but phew, we’re still ahead of Afghanistan, Somalia and Yemen.

Home Secretary Priti Patel, is a fan of the new document. Ms Patel, probably the dimmest bulb in a low wattage cabinet, claims the new passport, “will once again be entwined with national identity and I cannot wait to use it”. As we stand in lengthy non-EU passport holders’ queues, we can surely find consolation and pride in Ms Patel’s words, knowing our pound-shop passports are symbolically entwined with post-Brexit national identity.

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