Don't anyone be intimidated by my organisation and all-round life skills, but I'm proud to announce that a mere 11 months and 8 days after my migration to the Deep South I am now a card-carrying carrier of a card known in motoring circles as a Victorian Driver's License. I will be using my Victorian Driver's License to drive my Audi down to the car sales yards, just as soon as I win my Audi in a fortuitous concourse of raffle tickets I am yet to purchase. Until, and after, that great voyage, my Victorian Driver's License will sit snugly in my wallet, and I will pretend that it is not a Victorian Driver's License, but a Victorian License - nay, a License to Be Victorian!
To Whom It May Concern, By the Grace and Favour of Her Majesty Queen Victoria, Empress of India, the Bearer Is Permitted to Wear Knick-Knacks and Notions in Her Bonnet, to Write Poetry about Cockerspaniels, to Invest in Railway Shares, to Blather On About the Crimea, and the Woman Question, and to use words like "Nincompoopiana".
Don't mention the cholera. (Or the child labour, prostitution, limited franchise, whale oil, beards.)
I'll say this for Victorian Driver's Licenses, they cost only a third as much as New South Welsh 'uns. I'm wondering if this is because Victoria only sports a third as many kilometres of roads.