Today, I finally got my permanent accreditation badge at the EU, after being examined and scrutinised in all ways imaginable (and some unimaginable). Well, the gentle leady issuing the badge asked me if I wanted to retake the photo that goes on it. Sure, said I unsuspectingly, but when I saw the pic, I realised there must be something wrong with the camera they used.
Towards me stared the self-sufficient face of an old man, bearing only remote resemblance to what I consider being the image greeting me in the mirror each morning. A stuffy old git, with thin hair and fluffy cheeks, instead of the other way round. Yeaouwch! Is that suppose to be me?
I told my wife that I looked like Mr. Toad, and when I then showed her the picture, she started laughing uncontrollably. Naughty girl.
It didn’t get any better when I read the following definition of Mr. Toad on Wikipedia:
“Something of a fop, he is extremely rich, being the village squire and owner of Toad Hall, but is also conceited, impulsive, and lacking in basic common sense. He has a reckless obsession with motor cars, which lands him in trouble with the law.
Nevertheless, Toad is lovable and has his heart in the right place.”
Don’t say it. Don’t say it.