The form did eventually download, when I was on the Heathrow Express.
#Fill out uk passenger locator form download#
“Just make sure you download the form when you get home.” “I’ll let you through,” the official finally said, with all the bonhomie of a bulldog chewing a wasp. Would I be fined £100? Banned from entering the UK? Forced to fly back to Denmark? The latter proposition was looking increasingly tempting. Nonetheless, I searched up UK-Gov on my phone. “Um, it’s just that this email literally contains the sentence ‘your Public Health Passenger Locator Form is attached to this email’,” I stammered, for I am one of those people who always feels like a criminal when trying to get back into their own country, and worries that someone has planted a gram of cocaine in my handbag en route. “No, it won’t be on that email,” she tutted, in a manner that suggested she’d been dealing with idiots like me all day, who simply couldn’t understand technology. I showed her the email proving I’d completed it, along with the reference number. But when I proffered her my phone, the attached document wouldn’t download.
“Did you not know this isn’t a requirement for travellers arriving from Denmark?” He apologised. “You’ve ticked the box that says you have to self-isolate for 14 days,” she scolded him.
My husband went first, showing her his completed passenger locator form on his mobile. What was a surprise was the attitude of the border force official. In fact, we’d expected it to take even longer. After the farrago of filling in the form itself, we’d been prepared for chaos, so the 30-minute wait to have our documents checked was no surprise at all. Still, it was no worse than I’ve found it to be in the average supermarket or garden centre. As with most situations where people are preoccupied and stressed, the concept of social distancing was the last thing on everyone’s minds. As my younger daughter is under 12, we were unable to use the faster E-Passport gates, and had to join a long queue. If only we could say the same about our experience at Heathrow Terminal 5’s border control. Our flight home from Copenhagen was smooth, pleasant and uneventful. There is a “free” email address users can contact for advice: 48 hours later, he is still waiting for a reply. That the helpline number costs £1.37 a minute, requiring you to register your debit card details, did nothing to improve his mood. At one point, my husband – not a stupid person – got so frustrated that the words “they can bloody well not let me back in, then” rang out from the bedroom.
As mine is my permanent residence, I arbitrarily chose 3rd August 2060. Users are asked to input how long they expect to be staying at their UK address, with a drop-down menu of dates that means they have to choose one in order to proceed to the next page. The form itself is confusing, geared towards visitors rather than residents. I also logged on to gov.uk/uk-border-control and filled one out for myself and our two daughters. Assuming that every adult passenger, therefore, had to fill out their own passenger locator form independently, I forwarded it to him and asked him to complete it. Twenty-four hours later, another email arrived, also addressed to my husband. It was me, after all, who was the lead passenger who’d booked the flights and paid for them. Maybe another email would follow, addressed to me. Without this you will not be able to enter the UK.” It is now mandatory that you provide information about your journey alongside your contact details before you land, by completing an online form HERE. “We look forward to welcoming you on board your upcoming flight from Copenhagen to London Heathrow. Confusing forms, rude officials – the end of your holiday is more painful than everĪlready feeling as though I’d teleported back to the Fifties after four months of home schooling, home cooking and home cleaning, it’s fair to say that the email from British Airways went down like a lead balloon.
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