Lying curled up in my bed this morning, I was willing my pleasant dreams to continue so that I didn't have to wake up to the harsh reality of the pouring rain outside my window and the fact that it was the weekend, and I had nary a plan in sight.
A heavy knocking on my door got me jumping out of my revelry and out of my warm bed.
At least, it was worth it. At the door was a delivery guy with a most precious possession - my passport!
Two trips to Edinburgh, 3 couriers between Canada and the UK, umpteen phone calls and emails (that never got returned) and an obscene amount of money and 32 days after I'd first put in the application, the Indian government saw fit to give me a visa at last.
For the record, I am still waiting on the "surrender certificate" that they are to issue me after I handed over my old Indian passport. For the £90 that I had to pay for it, it had better be a worthwhile document.
But right now, I will sigh with relief and start to look forward to a long awaited vacation and the thought of being able to see my darling Papa again.