“Congratulations, your visa has been approved.
You are now officially a permanent resident of the United States.”

It’s been just over a week now since my visa was verbally issued, in fact a week to the day since there was a knock at the door and a courier delivered the actual visa into my sticky hands. And now that a week has gone by, it’s given me time to settle into the life changing event that is about to happen. To be perfectly honest, last weekend I was a bit of a mess. Although I’d been waiting an entire year for this whole permission to emigrate thing to happen, it suddenly became very real and for three whole days, no make that *four* whole days I felt completely and utterly sick. On the Sunday, it was all too much to cope with- I stayed in bed that morning until about 11.30am, only to return to it at around 4.30pm where I stayed for the rest of the day. It seemed like the best option. It even showed up in my horseriding lesson early in the week too- I just couldn’t focus properly. But here we are a whole week later, and once again I am fine, and once again I’m starting to look forward to it.

The US Embassy in London

So my big day last Friday all started with a 5.30am wakeup call- for once I didn’t mind it this time. A quick stop in the bathroom and a quick change of clothes later and I was hitching a ride with Young Father down to the train station, ready to catch the 6.15am express to London. It was a very calm and relaxed journey, so unlike the days when I used to commute to the city during rush hour, all the time fighting to get a seat, and hoping and praying that someone would open a window to get some fresh air in as the airconditioning was always far from adequate. But at this time in the morning, I had my choice of seats from a practically empty carriage and and had a thoroughly nice time looking out of the window as we went. Everything looked perfectly pretty in the early morning sun. There was also a little mist over the river that morning, and I made a point to note that I really should get up with the birds one day in the next few weeks and head out at daybreak to take some photos. Definitely something I want to put in my memory book.

I got to Paddington bang on time which meant that there was enough time for them to grab a coffee from Starbucks. I had my usual (a venti-decaf-one-shot-whole-milk-latte) but I had to send it back twice. OK, it’s not the easiest of orders to get right and I usually have to send it back every now and again, but to get it wrong two times? The first I got was a caffeinated TRIPLE shot (hmm, no), and the second time they poured the espresso too early and so the whole thing was…well, I won’t go into that now, but I *will* make a post when we’re back in California about the art of espresso. There’s more to it than you might think….says the ex coffee-master-barista

So third time lucky and I got the right beverage, and eventually I made it onto the bus bound for the embassy. Rush hour was just starting, but the traffic wasn’t too bad. The bus turned around Admiralty Arch at the top of Hyde Park and onto Oxford Street and I gingerly made my way down the stairs, being careful not to spill the coffee that had required oh so much effort to get. The bus stopped, I got off, and then a five minute walk later and I was at Grosvenor Square where the embassy was located. Last time I had been here was a couple of years ago, not long after 9/11 and the whole place was heaving with police and security; roadblocks were in place all around the square and big screens were up around the building although they may also have been doing construction at the time. Today however, the area hummed to a much more peaceful tone and cars and taxis were skirting the square like they used to.

By this time it was 8am. My interview was scheduled for 8.30am so I was there in good time. As I walked out the little park in the square that had also reopened to the public since I was here last time it became evident that security was still tight however, unbelievably tight. Policemen with guns everywhere, and the occasional dog. This portion of the street was still blocked off- it had been pedestrianised in fact, and right in the middle was a security setup very similar to that which you encounter when you first go to the airport and check your bags in for an American flight. There was a little podium, staffed by two or three agents, and then zig-zag lines and zig-zag lines of those seat-belt type barriers leading up to a (what I presumed to be bullet-proof) glass portico. The role of these agents was to check our official appointment letters and passports and make sure we were on the list of people to be admitted to the embassy that day. They also instructed me to remove my belt and put it in my bag as we would have to walk through metal detectors before we got into the building. I was then sent to join the line of people zig-zagging through the barriers. Compared to me, most people didn’t have much documentation with them- here was I with a big heavy concertina file containing every single piece of correspondence and duplicates of every single official document ever relating to me, and they just had little slip wallets with a couple of bits of paper. For a moment I thought that I was laughably overprepared but then it appeared that they mostly had a different appointment letter to mine- the one that I had received was all black and white, whereas they mostly had letters with paragraphs of red ink on them. They were all just here for regular visas. A little note here- there was no shelter for any of the people standing in line, so had it been raining we would have had no choice but to get wet.

The glass security portico in front of the embassy building

After about 20-25 minutes of standing in this line (yay for my coffee!) I reached the front, directly oppossite the portico. I then had to walk forward to another checkpoint and again show my passport and appointment letter to another security guard, who sent me off to the side to join another queue, this time inside the barriered area, just in front of the portico doors. For the past half hour I had seen a lot of people enter the portico, and a lot of people sent back out again as they hadn’t passed the screening. They had written in the letters and had also posted it on signs outside that abolutely no electronic or data storage devices were allowed inside the embassy- no cameras, no ipods, no mobile phones, no PDAs, no memory sticks. And by ‘no electronic devices’, they also included ‘no remote control car keys’ and this is where a lot of people were getting caught out. With no left luggage facilities on offer, these people had to walk about 1/2 a mile away to the nearest place that would store items for them (the security guards had lists of storage places, the nearest of which was a pharmacy that charged £10 per item). Fortunately I’m a stickler for details and was aware of their restrictions and had packed my bag accordingly, so with one quick x-ray of my bag and a stroll through the metal detector I was quickly on my way out of the portico, past the rifle-wielding policemen and was rounding the corner of the building to the steps of the main entrance.

The stairs to the main entrance of the US Embassy

By this time it was 8.45am (15 minutes after my scheduled appointment) but I wasn’t concerned as I had read a report previously on an immigration forum that they allocate the same time to a whole block of people and once you were inside the building it didn’t matter. Sure enough when I went through the doors and up to reception, the girl behind the desk asked “Visa or immigration?” to which I replied “Immigration” and she gave me ticket with “5009” printed on it. I then turned left and went up the stairs, opened the door and entered into a giant hall filled with chairs and people, with hundreds of eyes all watching the TV screens hanging from the ceiling to see when their number would be called. Years ago I had been here with my dad when he had had to get a plain old tourist visa to visit the US and it hadn’t changed one bit- except that the screens were now flat-panel LCD. Aside from this, it all still looked very 1960s. All down the left side of the room were big glass windows looking out to the square below. Because this hall was also eastward-facing, they had tried to filter out as much of the blaring sun as they could with blinds, and had installed giant floor fans to keep the air moving. So depending on where you sat you were either frying under glass, or searching around for a coat to withstand the windtunnel blast of chilly air from the fans. At the far end of the room was a small tuckshop selling drinks and snacks, and at the rear end was the counter for the courier service that they used to deliver your visa-stamped passport back to you. On the right side of the room were windows/booths numbered 1-11 with various people hunched over talking through glass to embassy people, often speaking so loudly that you could eavesdrop on their conversations if you were in a chair nearby. Booths 12-25 were situated just around the corner, down a little corridor past the loos where there was no waiting area and it was much quieter and more private. There were also a couple of computers where you could fill in and print out applications for non-immigrant visas.

As I had walked in (8.45am) they were serving ticket #5003 so I had a bit of time to wait. They had divided people into categories according to which visa type they were applying for- Immigrant visas were all in the 5000s, non-immigrants were all in the 1000s, and “E” visas were all in the 2000s. They also gave an indication as to how many people were waiting in each category at any given time. When I walked in there were seven other immigrants, 48 non-immigrants and four “E” visas. There was also a category for Department of Homeland Security, except there weren’t any applicants for that on this occasion.

Over the next hour, they ploughed through a load of the 1000 tickets, but the 5000s weren’t moving very much. This made me a little nervous as the time between each 5000 ticket was about half an hour- what on earth were they asking?? Suddenly the pint of coffee that I had consumed the hour before had worked its way through my system, and combined with the nerves I was up and down from my seat literally every ten minutes. I started reading my book but it began to get exciting and I was worried that I would become so absorbed in the story that I would miss hearing my number, so I went into the little corridor by the loos and started looking at the paintings by American artists that they’d hung up there. They had also posted little informative posters next to each one so it was an excellent way to pass the time. Eventually 5007 and 5008 were called over the loud speakerr so I psyched myself up for being called in about half an hour, and made another trip to the loo. But yes, you can guess what happened….I had to quickly dash out again, run to the computer screen to check that my ears weren’t decieving me, and then trot down to the far end of the hall to booth #1. It was now 10.15am.

The lady behind the glass counter seemed flustered, and apologised profusely that things were taking so long. Apparently their computer system had been down that morning and they were going to try to speed things along. I handed over my passport and she disappeared off to retrieve my file. I was actually amazed at how their seemingly primitive system worked- my documents were all there! She took my ticket, stuck the number on the back of my passport, and stuck something else on my file, and then went through all the documents that it contained, checking each one at every stage. It was rather an odd feeling seeing everything that I had sent to them, and also seeing things with DrMrNin’s handwriting on them that he had sent in from his end that I hadn’t seen before. His handwriting was in England but he wasn’t. Odd. Anyway, all my documents were fine and they didn’t need to see any of the duplicates that I had taken along with me just in case. She then took an electronic scan of my fingerprints on both hands and handed back a whole stack of the various passport photos that I had had to submit at various stages throughout the process and he told me to “pick one, any one”.  Included in the stack was the infamous two inch square mugshot but instead I chose a regular passport photo that I’d had taken last summer when my hair was a better colour (hehehe).  I was half expecting her to return it as it was the wrong shape, but hey ho she didn’t and instead gave me a pink form that I would need to use for the courier service at the very very end, and also a GIANT yellow envelope with my name in GIANT writing across it containing my chest x-ray. She told me I need to take this on the plane with me to give to border control when I arrive in the US. So 10 minutes after my number was called, that was it for the first stage and she told me to take another seat and listen out for my number again so I would know when to go for my interview.

The pink form that I had been given to fill in also had written on it instructions about the next stage, warning me that I could be in for another couple of hours of waiting around. It also warned sternly that if I missed the call for my interview, I would have to go home and wait for another letter inviting me to the embassy and do the whole thing all over again. So after I’d filled out my address I skipped off the loo one more time so that I could get myself settled in comfortably and be able to give my full attention to the screens (this time my number would be called out of sequence, so it was imperative that I should concentrate). Surely the coffee was almost through by now??! But yes, you guessed it my number was called the instant I locked the door, so I had to dash out again almost sending a small child flying in the process, glance at the screen to find out where I was supposed to be, and find my way around to window #16.

Behind the glass sat a *very* nice man. He greeted me, scanned my finger, asked when we had got married and then congratulated me as we’d just had our anniversary. I also pointed out that I’d just had my birthday and he congratulated me for that too. He then looked at my form, commented on where DrMrNin worked, asked what he did there and then asked me if we would continue to be living in the same place. Turns out he was completely familiar with the area and DrMrNin’s workplace as he had once lived in the same city and in fact knew *exactly* where our apartment was. Small world! He asked how we’d met and I gave him the nerdy grad school story and he inquired as to what sort of career path I wanted to take after the move and if I had good contacts I could make use of out there. It was all very chatty, more conversational about a common talking point than anything else, not like an interview at all. And then he smiled and said “Well congratulations, your visa has been approved and you’re now an official permanent resident of the United States“. Ahh, music to my ears! And THAT WAS IT. He then took a couple of minutes to explain that I was getting a “CR-1″ which stands for “Conditional Residence” as we’ve been married for less than four years, and so because of that my residence permit is valid for two years, and 90 days before it expires I have to apply for adjustment of status. But the Greencard I get (the work permit portion of the visa) is valid for a lifetime, but I have to renew it every ten years, unless I choose to become a US citizen which I can do after seven years. From here all that was left to do then was to take my pink form to the courier desk at the back of the big hall and pay £19 for the shipping service (I got the £4 upgrade to have them deliver it before 12pm) and be on my way.

By 10.45am on Friday 15th August 2008, I was out of the building, officially a permanent resident of the United States!

Thereafter was an afternoon of celebrating with my favourite things. I wasn’t hugely hungry for lunch as I’d spent the morning nibbling though a bag of mixed nuts and feasting on jellybabies, so I went to the Waitrose foodhall underneath John Lewis (the same place where Mutti and I had bought our piggy lemon drizzle cake) and bought some big juicy green grapes, and one of those flat peaches that look like squahed bottoms that Melissa has raved so much about in the past. I’m not normally a peach person (wouldyoubelieve!) but I have to agree that these were quite tasty. I also wore my nice new swanky sunglasses that my kind husband treated me to as a celebratory present, but moving swiftly on….

After this came a wander down Bond Street looking in the windows of the posh shops full of things I can’t afford, followed by a stop for tea at MY FAVOURITE MACAROON SHOP IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD!

Ladurée macaroons are THE BEST

Have you ever heard of Ladurée? They are a Parisian patisserie and HOMYGOD THEIR MACAROONS ARE TO DIE FOR. Their website is also super pretty and well worth a look. Oh just imagine to be able to go to their shop in Paris, I would be in macaroon heaven…..

The Ladurée café in the Burlington Arcade

I discovered Ladurée macaroons after I had had my medical the other week so my stop here for tea was entirely planned. OK, so this particular cafe is just two tables outside the shop, but the macaroons are completely worth it (have I made my point?!) and the setting is just completely perfect. There are only two Ladurée shops in London, one of which is in Harrods, and then there’s this one in the Burlington Arcade, a little covered colonade of shops which is the EPITOME of elegance. It’s soooo lovely inside. Let me see if there’s a picture…

Yes, here’s one:

Photo by George P. Landow

And here are a couple more too…(click to enlarge)

Photos by George P. Landow

See? Pretty!

Sadly there is no Ladurée in San Francisco, but I am not alone in wondering and there seems to be an online discussion about where to buy comparable substitutes in the city, SQUEEE I can’t wait to sample them

Afterwards my afternoon of elegance and treats continued and I ended up spending a very happy couple of hours wandering around Fortnum and Mason which would easily be my very most beloved and favourite shop in the whole wide universe. Imagine the quality, luxury and excellence of Williams Sonoma, now imagine it being completely made over my Martha Stewart so it contains even more of only the VERY FINEST things, multiply that by SQUILLION and make it on five floors selling everything from bath towels to garden trugs and then you’ve just about got Fortnum and Mason. Hey, I’m in the mood for showing photos that aren’t my own today, so thi is what I mean.

This is the main part of the ground floor, here they sell mainly tea, biscuits, chocolates and preserves:

And here’s another part where they sell flowers:

Photo by Andrew Dunn

Fortnums is reason alone to want to go to London. A reason I like it so much is that despite the elegance and grandeur, it’s not at all revoltingly ostentatious, it’s welcoming to all, and the prices are surprisingly not unreasonable given the level and status of the store. It’s certainly not at the cheap end of the scale and I most definitely wouldn’t choose to shop there for day-to-day goods, but it’s absolutely possible to pick up beautiful things there that make excellent gifts. In fact that’s what I do fairly regularly, and the quality is just outstanding. And who could resist a present from Fortnums?

A quick trip downstairs to the main food hall to get a small bottle of Fortnums pink champagne and it was finally time to go home.

All in all a thoroughly pleasing and successful day. More importantly, AMERICA HERE I COME!

“Congratulations, your visa has been approved.
You are now officially a permanent resident of the United States.”

At approximately 11.35am yesterday morning, I finally heard the words that I have been waiting to hear for an entire twelve months. YES, ABSOLUTELY! I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP AS WISHFUL THINKING! My CR-1 spouse visa has been granted, and I am now free to set foot on American soil once more and live the life of a happy British expat in sun-filled Californ-i-a. My Greencard is through, I am emigrating. EEEEEPS is anunderstatement to say the very least.

The past week has been a blur

OK, so this post is probably going to be rather long, and rather wordy but in documenting what happened during this final hurdle it might provide some comfort and reassurance to other visitors to Peachy Hollow who may find themselves in a similar situation. I know that reading the stories of others certainly gave comfort to me, so now it’s my turn to share. I’m going to split it into two parts (the medical and the interview) so bear with me, I’ll get there in the end.

Right, now might be a good time to put the kettle on and make a cup of tea. OK, good? Are we sitting comfortably? Right then, now let us begin…

It all began a couple of weeks ago, when DrMrNin received a letter from the National Visa Center (NVC) to let us know that my paperwork was being sent to the US Embassy in London, and that my interview had been scheduled for three and a half weeks later. The letter also directed us to a US government website where I had to download some more forms to fill in, and also get information about making arrangements to have my medical. The US Embassy will only accept medical examinations that have been carried out by their approved physicians so you have no choice but to make an appointment with Knightsbridge Doctors.They actually have two locations: one in Knightsbridge, and one in the Harley Street region. When I called to make an appointment, they asked for my case number, asked when the interview would be taking place, and then allocated me a time at their Bentick Mansions location- the one near Harley Street. I was also instructed to bring the letter from the NVC, my passport, a passport photo, and a list from my own doctor detailing all the vaccinations that I had ever had. This last requirement had caused me some anxiety in the previous week- I had managed to obtain one without any trouble at all (called my local surgery, they printed it out, I collected it that same afternoon), but a couple of days later I had read on a forum that somebody had been told that in order for the list to be valid, it had to be signed by a doctor and be stamped with an official stamp from the surgery. And a signature and a stamp were not things that featured on my printout. When I called my surgery at the end of the week to get this sorted out, they told me it would take a week and there was no way they could get one back to me in time. Obviously, this panicked me as I was anxious not to cause any delay at this final stage. But not being able to do anything about it, I re-read the instructions from the NVC which merely said “list of vaccinations”. That is what I had, so that would have to do. If they wanted it signed, I would just have to do it afterwards and courier it back to them.

On the train to London

So anyway, my appointment was scheduled at 12.50pm on 5th August so left in good time to catch the train, triple checking I had all my documents with me - Embassy appointment letter, passport, and a completed medical history form which I had downloaded from the NVC website. The surgery was actually very easy to find- literally a five minute walk from Oxford Street toward Marylebone. When I arrived, there were other people waiting outside too. We were all there for reasons associated with the US Embassy. At this point it occured to me that there was a chance that I would have to have my bag searched. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem except that I had Paige with me in a Sewpixie body bag, and one set of the questions I had had to answer on the medical history form was confirming that I was of sound mental health. Now *I* know that I’m completely normal and I just happen to carry dollies around from time to time so that I’m ready and prepared for any unexpected good photoshoot opportunity (quite why everyone doesn’t do this is quite beyond me), but then I can appreciate that *others* might think this a bit odd. Oh ok, Paige needed to come along to find out if she and her sisters had to have medicals too of course (there, I’ve said it), so how could I possibly leave her behind Anyway, *FORTUNATELY* no such bag checks were in place so there weren’t any awkward situations.

Despite the posh London locations, the doctor’ offices weren’t particularly posh inside. It was an old converted residence, but had a very functional feel about it. I went through the door and reported to reception and they checked my details and asked for my passport photo (this one could just be a regular passport one, none of this two inch square business like the embassy was requesting) and a medical history form. I was then ushered around the corner into the waiting room where a family, a couple and another lone person were already waiting. A few minutes later, the receptionist came back out and asked me to fill in yet another form about my history. It also had a couple of security-type questions on there (had I ever had trouble with the law, etc. etc.). I also had to sign a disclaimer about having an HIV/AIDS test, stating that I understood the consequences and implications of having it done, and how I needed to understand that if the result came back positive my life would be substantially affected and I needed to be prepared for this. It also said that they would not issue me a visa if I declined, so it was basically a “sign here or else” form.

The HIV test disclaimer (click to enlarge)

A couple of minutes later I was called through to the doctor’s examination room. She sat me down and asked me questions along the lines of allergies, had I ever smoked, do I drink much, had I ever been in trouble with the law, all that sort of thing. I happen to be rather a clean-living-goody-two-shoes and felt slightly uncomfortable when I sensed a feeling of disbelief from her when I answered “no” to all her questions. But then after all her hard work through medical school, this was probably the most monotonous job to end up with (assuming that visa medicals were all she did). I was then asked to go behind the screen and change into a gown and call her when I was ready. I then had to do an eye test (she got quite excited when I answered “yes I wear glasses”, and seemed irritated when I answered “no, I don’t have them with me” and then rather disappointed when I explained that I was only very slightly short sited and then proceeded to read perfectly the penultimate line of text on the eye chart, even offering to read the line below too, but was told that wasn’t necessary. Next came a height and weight check (to my horror I was told I was 170cm, placing me at 5′6″ when all my life I have been under the impression that I am 5′7″), and I was then told to hop onto the examination table. She looked into my eyes, ears and mouth (I apologised for just having eaten a sandwich with onion) She then felt me all over for lumps and bumps (no mole checking), and examined me for breast cancer. Next came a quick glance at my lady regions for what I can only imagine was to check that I didn’t have a penis. Yes. Well. OK then. Now I had read on the website that they were going to venture into these parts but I assumed it was to look for evidence of ‘adult’ diseases and was all geared up for a full on gyno-exam, but no, it wasn’t that at all. I suppose it’s in their interests to check. She then took blood from me, left a massive bruise on my vein and told me to stay in my gown, pick up my clothes and wait in another waiting room next door. Maybe I just caught her on an off day? I happened to bump into a medic friend of mine that night who saw my big bruise and gasped that it shouldn’t look like that and if she left a bruise on one of her patients she would worry about getting sued. But I digress….

About 5-10 minutes later a much nicer man came through and took me down the hall for my chest x-ray. Apparently I have a long back so there was much fiddling with the height of the x-ray plates. That was all very fast-  told to stand and face the wall with my chin resting on the top of the contraption holding the plates, to take a deep breath, zap and I was done. They were busy that day and in-house communication seemed to be poor as he was under the impression that that was my final stop, and it was only when I asked if I needed immunisations that he realised that I still had another stage to go. Whilst waiting for my x-ray to develop, he confirmed that they dealt exclusively with US embassy business all day, every day (no wonder the doctor was bored) because they had the facilities to production-line people through which other places apparently did not. He also mentioned that ten years ago they were seeing twice as many people each day, but now because the rules were getting so strict they were seeing fewer and fewer. He then showed me my x-ray, explained that everything looked fine and that he would send it to the embassy, and then told me to get re-dressed. I was then ushered back to the small waiting room to be called through for my vaccinations. Again it was only about a 5 minute wait.

Waiting to go inside to examination room

The vaccination nurse was also very friendly and was most sympathetic that I had had to wait so long for my visa. She must hear a lot of sob stories. It also emerged that my unsigned and unstamped vaccination print-out from my doctor (which also happened to be on plain, un-headed paper) was perfectly acceptable to her - all that worry had been unnecessary. I should add that I also took along my little travel vaccination record booklet thing which is another record of my inoculations but wasn’t as exhaustive as the print-out, but that I suppose may have factored in to the acceptance, but she didn’t say anything. Turns out the only vaccination I needed was for mumps (I’d already had jabs for rubella and measles), but that she had to give me the combined MMR vaccine as this was the only one they carried. I had been worried about this as when I had had the rubella jab before (when I was about 12 years old) I had been really rather ill for the six months subsequent (large swollen glands, lumpy glands behind my ears, headaches, nausea, general malaise) and I was concerned about this happening all over again. There was an option to have the injections individually, but as they only carried the combined vaccine and I would have to make other arrangements, and then return to Knightsbridge Doctors again with the proof that I’d had it blah blah blah, and after having waited all this time for the visa I wasn’t about to delay it any more. So I just gritted my teeth and told her to shoot me up for all three. She assured me that the ‘R’ dose was actually smaller in the combined vaccine, and if I reacted to anything it was likely to be the ‘M’ component as I’d never had it before.

So that was that, and all was done. The only thing that remained was to pay the balance of £210 (posh doctor prices) and be on my way. They told me that they would contact me within three days if there were any problems with any of the examinations, but I already knew I’d be fine as I’d already had the x-ray approved and it was highly unlikely that I had HIV. I took a deep breath, handed over my credit card and then left the building, feeling slightly light headed and weak, with my hands clammy and shaking from the vaccination. I’ve never really been very good with having needles stuck in my arm. All in all I was probably in there for just under an hour and a half and it wasn’t as bad or as intrusive as I was expecting. So with that final hurdle, all that was left to get through was the interview…

….to be continued.

* * *

Paige outside Knightsbridge Doctors

Turns out Paige didn’t need a medical after all which made her feel extremely smug. They have apparently not introduced any health requirements for Blythes which will be great relief to all her sisters, not to mention me as I thought that we were going to have problems with Cecily’s weak chest :oops: 

Very. Almost. There.

This morning I awoke full of intention, and with a list of provisional To Dos for my emigration. First off was a trip to the doctors’ surgery to become voluntarily contaminated with Hepititis A and Typhoid. My  boosters were due from the Sri Lankan honeymoon immunisations of last year and I thought it better to get these done for free courtesy of the NHS rather than have to pay through the nose when I have my Greencard medical the week after next. Unfortunately I discovered that I’m going to have to have the combined MMR vaccine at said interview which may present problems as when I had the “R” component several years ago, I reacted rather badly to it for the following six months. Apparently *only* the combined shot is acceptible to the immigration folks, so I’m going to have to see about getting official letters and copies of my medical records to show them written in plain english that hey if they put that stuff inside me, every gland in my body will swell horribly and I will have a permanent raging headache for the next half year and worse for them still, it could make me become a burden on the US health system for all the time following that I will be in pain and suffering. I don’t think they’ll like that last bit.

Anyway, next on the agenda was starting to deal with the administrative aspects of my emigration to satisfy the British government. There are lots of various forms to be filled in notifying various government sectors of my forthcoming non-participatory intentions. This is essential so that they don’t expect me to pay tax or National Insurance contributions (this funds our public healthcare and education systems). Once registered as an ex-pat, I’ll only be allowed to enter the country for a maximum of 183 days in any one year, but not averaging more than 90 days each year over four years. I suppose in a way I’ll be entering into a form of Tax Exile which sounds ever so glamorous and exciting. All of this should be fairly straightforward…assuming one is able to get the relevant forms to download properly.

I also started to think about the shipping of all my worldly goods halfway around the world and it was at this point when anxiety began to set in. Even though the shipping company will send people to the house to pack everything up and load it all for me and thus supposedly make the whole thing easy and stress-free, for me this makes everything stress-FUL as I was hoping to gradually pack and sort over a couple of weeks, clearing things away as I go. But now everything will be packed all at once which means I have to sort through everything first, extract my immediate necessities and store them *somewhere*, whilst at the same time categorising everything else ready to be sea-shipped, but putting that all *somewhere* too. Except there is no *somewhere* available, AND there’s no point buying boxes to pack it all into ready to go as I have to use the boxes that they will supply on the day because of insurance purposes. So basically I’m going to be unpacking everything out of my room to sort it, packing everything back into place again, only to have the men come and unpack it all over again into their special boxes. Even though I’ve been attepting to sort the odd few things every now and again over the past nine months or so, there is a LOT of stuff still to sort. And you know what it’s going to be like as you’ve all seen my room.

So after applying for a couple of shipping quotations, panicking at the thought of what lies ahead, and a second unsucessful attempt to download various forms, I decided to stop thinking about it for the rest of the night and go back to ploughing through all my Scotland photos. Expect to see some more of those soon