sleepless in Stanmore

I can't sleep. I'm too busy trying to kick myself. Why didn't I apply for a British passport when I still could? I never thought I'd covet one of those maroon booklets; never thought my 'indefinite leave to remain' stamp could expire. But it does. If I cease to reside in this green and pleasant land, then 'indefinite' becomes, in fact, quite definite: after two years, I'm no longer welcomed with open arms. I feel cheated and betrayed. Who would have thunk it? I learned to do the crossword puzzles and to laugh at the jokes; doesn't that give me any rights?