The babysitter arrives, at $25 an hour, and you slam the car door and get out of there, heading for VicRoads to get your licence changed to your married name.

You get there in good time, marriage certificate in a firm pincer grip, and look knowingly, perhaps a little too so, at the people with one and two year olds hanging off their calf muscles, like some huge, noisy skin tag.
Yes, some could say you were indulgent and you don’t need a babysitter for a mere errand, but in your experience, government agencies are a pain that is best born alone.
It’s a whisker after 9 and the place is far from pumping, but 90% of the seats are full and the red numbers on the overhead counter are clocking towards middle age.
In any event, the queue is long enough for you to look around for an escape: the fast deposit box, the ATM, the electronic vending machine, something, and there it is, an information desk, with one person in line.
Red number for the big daddy queue in hand, you have nothing to lose, so you stride over to the “information desk” – there’s no need to underestimate what they might be able to do for you.
In a flash you’re at the front, and you whip your head around from where you have been studying the management techniques of those with children with a glimmer of ignoble, nigh sadistic, pleasure.
Friendly face, polite tone, concise request and I reach to pull the marriage certificate from my bag.
“The certificate from the church won’t do”.
“No fear, “But this isn’t from a church, I didn’t get married in a church.”
Get with the program, as if I’m going to get tripped up on that one with more than 50% of people having civil ceremonies these days. The teller looks at the certificate thoughtfully, like a photo of a strange insect - this seems promising.
She turns to her superior and points to the certificate, “It says Commonwealth of Australia.”
The superior smiles at me, but her lips roll into her mouth and her forehead crinkles – aaargh sympathy – no, worse, pity. “We need the official marriage certificate, from the Registry.”
“But this is what the celebrant gave me, it is official - it’s the only certificate I have.”
More forehead crinkling, a tilt of the head. Shit. New angle.
“This certificate was good enough for the ANZ bank – I went in and showed them this and they changed all my accounts to my married name.”
Subtext – all ye who dwell in the realm of red ink and live by the law of strict interpretation and anal retention acknowledge the unassailable status of banks as masters of your universe – if it’s good enough for them it’s bloody good enough for you.
“Ah yes, but [unintelligible verbal phrase] passport [unintelligible verbal phrase] government [unintelligible verbal phrase] new requirement. But it’s much quicker if you get the marriage certificate over the internet.”
Turn around, exit VicRoads, return home, pay babysitter.
I am sent a cheque for $50 in the mail for the benefit of my daughter.
In a wave of responsible sentiment I have decided to put any money coming to her in an ING account called “Eliza”, but of course in my name, because she is not old enough to open an account.
I am most pleased with the ING account because it has given me reassurance that the tiny sum deposited will not be entirely eaten up by account keeping fees, and may even earn a gold coin in interest, contrary to my own experiences of maintaining a minute bank account at a “big” bank.
Just to be safe I call ING to check that I can in fact deposit a cheque made out to me in my married name into an ING account in my maiden name.
“No.”
“How come no?”
“ No, you need to send us a letter setting out the change in your name accompanied by a copy of your marriage certificate that has been certified by a Justice of the Peace – they are usually pharmacists…..[drone drone etc etc].”
“Ah, but I’ve already changed my name on all my ANZ accounts, including the one that is linked to the ING account, and that I needed to have as a precondition for setting up the ING account.”
“Yes, but we have our requirements.”
“And they are different to the ANZ’s? If it’s good enough for them…”
“Yes, but because you can’t just come into an ING….”
“Yes, but when I wanted to set up this ING account you were quite happy to go off ANZ’s records, if I had an account there then those details were ok for you too. Why is it different now?”
“Well, we have our requirements.” Silence.
“Can I get a solicitor to certify the copy of the marriage certificate?” You see, I know a solicitor, unlike all the justices of the peace that I see every week at my ornithology meetings…
“ Sorry, no. The address to send it to is Reply Paid……..” The generosity.
Day 3 – all roads are leading to Rome – I need to get me an official marriage certificate. It’s time to “go on the internet to get a marriage certificate – it’s much quicker”, as per my friendly advisor at VicRoads.
The website is easy to find and up and running, the baby’s asleep and all is running super smoothly.
I discover that I can indeed get a marriage certificate to use to change my name on my driver’s licence, and which I can then get certified by a justice of the peace and send along with a letter of explanation to ING to change my savings account and deposit the $50, if I print off and post, or electronically lodge, an application form BUT no certificate will ensue unless I go into the city and queue at the Department with originals of every conceivable form of ID or post in photocopies of three forms of ID which have been certified – but not by a justice of the peace – silly – by a member of the police force.
Now, what ID will I take to the police station to get certified? My passport? No, the form came in the mail a few months ago to renew that.
It said I could do it “automatically”, “with one signature” - here here - unless of course you had been convicted of smuggling children, drugs or nuclear weapons since your last passport was issued or……… your name had changed since your last passport was issued – in which case, it’s back to square one – “go to jail and do not pass go”.
I go for a lie down, a reverie into the recent past, why was it that I bothered to start getting my name changed on this stuff anyway….I’ve been married nearly 18 months and was happily letting the admin slide. Ah yes, I asked a man to come and prune a few branches on a tree.
He was happy to help out, and he cheerfully assured me that since he was going to remove less than 30% of the tree, I only needed to get a “tree works permit”. I got the permit application off the internet - too easy.
Then I only needed to send in some ID to show who I was and that I owned the place. Only problem was the ID showing I owned the home was in my married name and the ID showing who I was was in my maiden name. No problem, I thought, this is the time to get the name on my licence changed over……..
I had a dream. We lived in a world where men changed their names when they got married. The details of all marriages were entered on a website by the person licensed by the government to officiate the marriage. The happy couple were given a reference number.
All government and other agencies and institutions accepted this reference number as evidence of the marriage and changed their records as required.
But I don’t have time to dream. I’ve got to call the babysitter, find a photocopier, write a few letters, find a justice of the peace, drive to a police station and get down to the post office.
While I’m at the post office I might make an appointment to see the postmaster about a new passport. How efficient. Although I’ll probably need to show the ID I haven’t got in my current married name to make the appointment.
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