O Canada. Thank you for your stunning vistas, your majestic trees, your placid seas and most of all, your endless bureaucracy.

I just paid 235 US dollars to write a TOEFL exam. An exam testing, through writing, speech and multiple choice questions, my ability to speak English. Despite having English as a first (and only; Klingon doesn't count) language. Despite attending high school, university and medical school in countries that have English as their primary spoken language. Despite flying colours in the MCCEE which is administered in, natch, English.

This Canadian application process can't be good for me. I alternate between white-hot bubbling rage, utter despair and cheerful denial. My skin is peeling, my hair is falling out and I'm eating everything that's not nailed down. (And no, we can't attribute that to the sunburn, hair-dye or last-night's-baking frenzy).

To add insult to injury, I have to do my TOEFL in time for results to be sent to Canada. Which means this Saturday. At 9am. In Werribee, a pox on the land between Melbourne and Geelong. I will have to get up at 6:30 to train to bogan-central in order to speak into a microphone and have my English skills criticized by a panel of faceless robots.

I am supposed to be moving, picking up a Turkey and basking in the new spring sunshine.

Instead, I will be using hand sanitizer to remove the waxy germs from the communal test headphones.

Do you see where the rage comes from?