Oooo, stuff

Stuff (good stuff) is happening I can’t really talk about to too many people. Very frustrating. Nothing to do with work. It did involve me having my fingerprints taken…again. This happens a lot when you’re an immigrant to the US. Not that it’s a problem, you understand, what with me being legal and all that jazz and a thoroughly nicely-behaved chappie etc etc. Still, I do seem to be required to supply lots of details of myself and what the tips of my fingers look like with mind-numbing regularity.

I also had to give a list of all the addresses I have lived at for the last 20 years. It’s a step down from the last form I had to fill out of this nature where I had to supply all the addresses I had lived at for the last 30 years so, in a way, it was easier…sort of. I do seem to have moved around a lot. Amusingly, on one of the immigration forms a year or so back I had to list every country I had visited in the previous ten years along with dates of the visit. The space was three lines high with enough room for about five words per line. Not really sufficient when you consider that in one car journey alone I drove from England to Germany and back – via Holland, Belgium and France, was home for a week and then flew to America on business.

Ah well.

I do feel more and more disconnected from the UK nowadays. Really I do. It’s the little things that creep up on you – your regular diet becomes American (Heinz salad cream is a “speciality food” around here available in odd places few and far between). I also see Brits discussing TV programs on Twitter and I have no idea what they are talking about. You catch snatches of government scandals involving politicians that you’ve forgotten existed and have no idea what job they do or what they look like. You casually mention the name of some ubiquitous US TV star in conversation with your sister or some other British-dwelling confidante and find, with some shock, that they have never heard of them or the program they star in or the product they were advertising in what was such a shameless sell-out that it caused you to mention them in the first place.

Then the weird moments start – you hear someone mention Norfolk on the radio and the first place you think of is the small town down the road in Nebraska before it even occurs to you that the presenter is, in fact, speaking of the British place called Norfolk where your father and sister live…doh…

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