Talking about Black Dogs and Photo ID

Met up with Andy this afternoon to discuss the still hazy plans for flat hunting. Went to the launderette with him while he waited for his clothes to dry. 40 pence plastic cups of coffee from the dispenser. A group of good hearted (as Andy described them) baseball-cap-and-tracksuit types with a raucous baby.
After the launderette, and back at Andy's place, scribbled figures on a piece of paper; how much money will we have to move, how much for the deposit, when do we pay the first months rent?
Talk about photo ID (I have none, nor Andy, -my passport is lost and expired, I have a paper driving license with my address on from 18 years ago).
We must apply for a 'Citizen Card' - more talk of how to do so - birth certificates (I lost this too, -my life is full of lost things- probably at the address my driving license is still registered to; Belmont Road in Uxbridge) or maybe getting a bank official to verify the forms, but, according to the website only if they 'know you'. What does this mean, 'if they know you'? Who knows anyone who works in a bank these days on a personal basis? After I get back from Andy's flat I ring Dad. He says that a copy of the birth certificate can be organised relatively cheaply and quickly. The Citizen Card can be dispatched in as little as 24 hours. We probably won't need any ID until some point in September, when we hand over deposits and rent, sign contracts and say goodbye to our single room capsules we have slept in far too long.
Walking back from Andy's, the air was all lukewarm and clammy, the grey light rattled in the evening disquiet.