So who are you? How old? And you've got a jury with you to verify this? No? Sorry, can't let you in

Afternoon all. The last few grumbles pounded hastily out on my increasingly ailing laptop have, I noticed, been a little bit "out there", sort of wishy-washy arguments with myself (because, let's face it, in reality who is going to read this barely cognitive regurgitation?) about vague themes like genre or far flung futures we're all going to be too old, too ill or dead to see let alone take part in. So this one's a little more down to Earth, here and now, right up your street, okay?

ID cards. No, this isn't talking about government plans to make us all slice a bit of our eyeball off and stick it to a computer chipped credit card next to a pubic hair for DNA purposes just so we can verify that yes, we are allowed to buy that half pint of milk you psychologically stunted whale, yes you, squeezed behind a machine with a conveyor belt and a bigger vocabulary than yours even though it's entire audio output is made up of beeps. I'm leaving that particular brimming Daily Mail ridden pot on the back burner, because something a bit more likely to happen is slipping by unnoticed thanks to the interference being run by all those crying about how non-PC carrying a card that says who you are, who you actually are, as if it's anyone's business.

At the moment there are three ways you can prove your age for a night out, buying razors from Tesco or getting in to your next gore ridden fright fest at VUE. You can a) use your passport, b) apply to learn to drive and use your provisional or full licence or c)use the government approved Citizen Card (the only government approved proof of age outside of the other two.

We are at a stage now, though, where you need to pay £50 to get a provisional (and £300-£400 to learn) or need to want to run the risk of losing £83 worth of passport to go out. Why? Well, I don't have one of these citizen card type things but my less loving, less stunning and less tall (not to mention less old) sibling does. And guess what? These government approved, "sure-fire" and reliable cards? That's right, half the places don't take them.

Wetherspoons, for example. They have the application forms on the bar. And guess what? The waitress said she couldn't accept it as ID. She did, in the end, but still.

Chicago Rock Cafe didn't let her in with said citizen card. Why? Well, here's the cheeky bit. Stevenage Borough Council have apparently ruled they're easy to forge and so can't be accepted, even though they are a) supposed to be accepted nationally and b) about as easy to forge as a passport. Brill.

So that's the end of this short rant, anyway. Forget having to carry copies of your fingerprints and an artist's impression of identifying marks on your sphincter with you to prove who you are, I'll leave that to the clamouring tabloid fodder. We're stuck now where you have to be a driver or be prepared to lose tons of money and hours of your life if you lose your passport. What if you don't want to drive? What if you've never been abroad and therefore have no passport?

Easy, just wear a trenchcoat with photo albums of you from birth to the now lining the inside, carry your birth certificate, have your parents on a leash and, preferably, grandparents, and steal the relevant Domesday book page with your family name on. They'll either let you in or section you, your call, but hey- you won't have lost your passport.