Then it can start all over again........

As I mention fitness is essential. Take breathers between the songs.

The strutting Cockrel has manifested into the Running Man. For this type of dancing you don't need rhythm just fitness.

Now is the time to strut. You will see our model here is doing the Cockrel walk.

Please note the hand and foot combination here. It is little details like this which will make you stand out in the crowd, and you want to be seen that is the whole point.

Now that you have your partner at 6's and 7's it is time to mark your territory.

This move will hook your partner. He or she will be immobilised. This is actually part of a celtic mating ritual and I can attest that it works. Try it the next time you want to strut your stuff, but don't do it if you are not ready for kids.

Now you will have not only your partner but everyone else on the dance floor hooked, so you need to step up a gear.

After twirling your partner away pull them back close to you. They may look for a way to escape so keep hold of them. You're going to need them for the next move.

Now it's time to start throwing some shapes. If you are lucky enough to have a willing dance partner then use them, personally I always find the unwilling ones more fun!

Start moving your body to a completely different beat than that playing, and if you are feeling cheeky start doing some twirls.

The final step before you can really let loose is to clear any kids from the dance floor. It can really ruin the atmosphere of a party if you accidently crush a toddler. To be a great Dad dancer though the kids need to still be around so they can witness you super fine moves.

The next step is to maintain the lack of enthusiasm, perhaps you can show this by looking at your watch, which suggests that you are waiting for the hell that is dancing to be over. In reality you are just making sure that you have time left to do all your favourite moves.

Dancing Queen (or How to dance like a Dad)

Another way that I know that I have become a Dad is that my dancing has gone from outrageous to completely over the top. I would like to share my knowledge with you less fortunate than myself and so have included a step by step guide in picture form for you. So sit back and learn from the maestro.

First of all, be a reluctant participant in the beginning, it really doesn't pay to be enthusiastic at this stage. This false reluctance could look like this.

Step-Dad, husband, Alien

I am slowly getting used to my new status. Not just of being a legal alien, but also of being a husband and a step dad.

I remember the moment I realised that I had become a Dad. It was the 2nd incident in the space of 3 days and I was struck by lightening bolt that I was a Dad and was displaying dad-like behaviour. The 1st incident was at a friends 30th party. She had hired a huge house in the country and around 30 people were there. I was stood next to the stereo and someone asked me to turn it down so that they could make a speech. I looked everywhere for the volume control, and when that failed I looked everywhere for the stop button. Finding neither I had to pull the plug on the whole stereo. I was a little upset that I didn't seem to understand how technology works, but thought no more of it.

The second incident was whilst at work on a training course. I had to use the video recorder and just couldn't get it to work. I had never had any problems before but suddenly I had turned into my Dad and was just uselessly pointing the remote at the machine and pressing all the buttons. Nothing was working. I had to get someone from the training centre to show me, and of course it had to be a 16 year old kid on work experience who came and solved it for me. As he left I am sure I heard him mutter "grandad" under his breath at me.

Now I am to be a Dad as well as the other titles. We had our ultra-sound done two weeks ago and we are having a girl. We are choosing a name so any suggestions will be greatly appreciated although my preference for Geoffrey has already been vetoed. It is amazing how quickly this is all going to come about. We are due on 7 January 2007, but Jen was 3 weeks early with Emma so there is a good chance she will be early with baby Geoffrey (if I keep using it then it may stick). And because we waited until we had heard the baby's heartbeat at 13 weeks then suddenly you realise that although we have known for around 21 weeks noone else has, and so half of the pregnancy has gone by.

By the way for those of you that care Geoffrey looked like a pasty on her ultra-sound picture. I knew it was a bloody pie of sorts.

Nice day for a White Wedding

I have almost finished the back story and then we can move on to other things. After sitting through Nanny McPhee for a 2nd time I landed in Sacramento and everything was instantly ok as Jen was there. I felt relieved and estatic, and a little smelly (I had been awake for around 28 hours by that time).

We were married on 21 April on the Delta King in Sacramento. We had close friends and family there, but unfortunately not everyone that we wanted to come could make it.

I got married in the Cornish Kilt. As you can see Emma was enthused about my choice of clothing.

We had been married for about a week when Jen said that she thought she might be pregnant. We had a home testing kit and so we used it and it came out positive. We so wanted to tell people but we are both worriers and were concerned that if we told someone we would somehow jinx the baby and things would turn bad.

We waited and waited. We had a doctors appointment. I made crass jokes that Jen had actually just eaten "too many pies", she retorted that I infact looked more like a pie eater. I sulked. After 12 weeks of this we finally went to hear the baby's heartbeat. I have never been so crushed as when we sat there trying to listen to a heart beat and hearing nothing. The Dr said that it wasn't unusual and that we should come back in a week. We went home with tears in our eyes. We didn't sleep for a week. We went back and the instant joy that we felt when imeddiately we heard the boom-boom-boom of the babies heart. We smiled at each other like mentalists and then it was gone. Apparently our baby doesn't like having her heartbeat listened to.

Throw your hands India Air

Ok – let’s answer some obvious questions first. Yes, Air India does serve curry on its flights. No, Air India’s curry isn’t good. And Air India is just like India itself, one step away from chaos and yet somehow it works.

I had a 12.15 flight which meant I had to be at Heathrow at 9.15 for the 3 hour check in that is now advised. I got there at 9am so proceeded to check in where there was no-one to be found. I waited half an hour and still no-one. I was concerned had I gone to the wrong place? I found an employee of Heathrow who confirmed I was in the right place and that he would call someone. 10 minutes later they opened up the check in desk.

Check in progressed as usual, until after my bags had been checked the lady informed me that the flight was going to be taken off at 2.15pm. I thought I had misheard her, but she confirmed 2.15. When I pointed out that I was going to miss my connecting flight she looked shocked. She told me that I could sort it out in Chicago. She at no pint apologised that I now had 4 hours to kill in Heathrow, and funnily enough that was exactly what I felt like doing – killing.

At 1.45pm we were called to our gate. We got on the plane. I couldn’t believe my luck, it was only half full and I had an entire 3 seats to myself. Oh the bliss. I hadn’t slept well the night before, through all the excitement of finally coming to live with Jen, so by now I was quite tired. I have always struggled to sleep on planes, and now I thought I would definitely be able to sleep as I could stretch out. Still no apology from anyone connected to Air India, but I had almost forgiven them that because I had so much room.

We took off. They brought around the traditional snack. They started playing a movie about an Indian Cricket team. I found my eyes getting heavier and heavier. I lay across all 3 seats and started to drift off to sleep. 10 minutes later I was woken by one of the in flight crew asking if I wanted a drink. I said no, and went back to sleep. 30 minutes later I was woken up by one of the crew asking what I would like for dinner. I chose the vegetarian option (the meat option didn’t sound appealing, I prefer to know what meat it is rather than just “meat”), which turned out to be fish curry. I couldn’t tell you what it tasted like, as I didn’t want to vomit on the flight. I went back to sleep and was woken up again by the guy coming around to collect the trays. I went back to sleep and was woken up again by someone asking if I wanted a drink. I gave up sleeping and watched the second movie they were playing which was Nanny McPhee.

We arrived in Chicago. I went through the Permanent Residents line rather than the visiting line. It went smoothly and I was in the USA. I collected my baggage and went and found the Air India representative who arranged for me to get on the next available flight to Sacramento, which departed at 8.15pm. I had 3 hours to waste in Chicago. I decided that I should get to the gate that I needed. I arrived had something to eat, read my book and called Jen to let her know what had happened. When I looked up next I noticed that my 8.15 flight had been pushed back to 8.22pm. Ok what was 7 minutes between friends? Then it moved to 8.25. Oh no. I had seen this before. In London many of the train companies do this with the expected time of your train to try and fool you. The train will start off a couple of minutes late, then just before the train is due in at its new later time it will get shifted back by another couple of minutes, and this will be repeated until the train turns up. I finally boarded the plane at 9pm I settled down in my seat (I had an empty seat next to me) only to find out that the in flight movie was Nanny McPhee.

How I got here (part 5)

I finished work on the Thursday and was packed and ready to go to San Francisco on the Friday. I got back to Jon & Helen’s flat and found a letter waiting there for me from the embassy. I opened it with shaking hands to discover that they had given me an interview date for the following Friday. If I got approval the visa would be issued within 24 hours.

I went to the interview with all my documentation in order and had to pass 3 armed check points before I actually got in to the embassy. Once inside I took a number and had to wait my turn. I was called up and had to hand over all the original of my documents and answer some routine questions and show my identification once more. Then I was told to take a seat and wait for my interview. I was about to sit down when my number was called and so I made my way back up to another window. It was here that I met my one and only American of the whole process. She asked me to raise my right hand and to solemnly swear that I would tell the truth. Apparently raising your right hand makes it physically impossible to lie.

I had prepared for weeks if not months the answers to all the possible questions that I could be asked, but in fact I was asked only one question, with a supplementary one. The question I was asked was “how did you meet your fiancé?” I told her that I was a friend of Jen’s ex-husband. The woman looked shocked, said “Really? How does he feel about this?” “Well he’s not too happy”, was my response. She laughed, said “So you lost a friend but gained a wife, not a bad deal. Everything is in order here so I can go ahead and approve this, it will be sent out to you within the next 24 hours”. I couldn’t believe it, I almost had to ask her to repeat it and I couldn’t stop smiling the whole way back to Peckham. It was one of the best days of my life and I was so excited I could hardly read my book. I kept looking at London in a completely different light as it would be the last time I would see it for a while.

I got home and decided that I was going to book my flights to San Francisco. Boy was I in for a shock! Direct flights were over £1000. The next cheapest was to fly with Air France for £695, but this involved a 26 hour lay over in Paris. I know, 26 hours!! I decided that if I was going to have to change in Paris, why not actually fly to Sacramento (where Jen lives), this would involve a change somewhere in the US but at least I would be able then to fly into Sacramento. I found (with the help of Expedia.com) a flight that cost just £390, which would leave from Heathrow at 12.15pm. I would then land in Chicago 4pm local time and from there I would get a plane directly into Sacramento. It was with Air India.

How I got here (part4)

I arranged my medical appointment. There is not much to report about this except to say that you look exceptionally camp when you have to have your chest x-ray done, and that I got asked exactly the same questions that were on my form. I then had to strip down to my boxers (allowed to keep my socks on – how classy!) and had my lungs listened to, my heartbeat checked, my blood pressure measured and also asked if I was circumcised. I didn’t mind the question but I thought it was strange as the doctor then proceeded to have a look at my penis. Like most men I think I am slightly paranoid about my penis and so when the doctor said that my penis looked “normal” I was over the moon. Small things amuse small minds I guess, and that is certainly the case with my penis. In fact I told one of my friends about the check up and mentioned that the doctor said I was “normal”. She said the doctor probably added under his breath “normal, if a little small”. With friends like that who need enemies? Oh and the whole thing cost me £160 which is a bit extortionate I think as I have heard that you can get someone in Kings Cross to look at your penis for about a fifth of that.

The last thing I needed was a document from Jen saying that she swears to support me financially until I get a job. I am going to have this photocopied and framed and hung up in our house. For some reason Jen is not as keen on this idea.

Once I had everything back and in order I then sent on the check list to the embassy to say that I had everything. The final step is an interview at the embassy. I sent my paperwork back and over the next week I waited for the postman to arrive with the letter telling me when my interview is. I handed my notice in at work and started dreaming of my life in California. It was extremely hard to wait for the interview date. For one reason everyone at work kept asking me if I was getting excited/nervous about the wedding. The honest answer was no because I had no end date in site. Jen and I pencilled in the 21 April and told all our friends and family to book their flights and hotels etc. But I could not think about it because I had no interview date, and although it was extremely unlikely that I would get turned down for my visa there was still that possibility and that thought scared me more than anything in the world. I was a nightmare to live with for all that time as all I wanted to do was to get on a plane and go to California.

Things went from bad to worse. Basically I had to extend my work by a week. There was no guarantee that the visa would be finalised by then but the plan was to fly out on the Friday in order to be in California in time for Becky’s (Jen’s sister) wedding. The embassy had apparently received something but the call centre that I had to call (which is in Glasgow not actually in the embassy) could not confirm what it was.

4th Of July

The above picture was taken on 4th July 2006 on Bass Lake near Yosemite National Park. It was a strange experience being a Brit in the US on 4th July. I will tell you more about it at a later date.

5 New Things

I promise that I will get the story finished and then this blog will be more about my experiences of being a Dad and my time in the US. With this in mind I thought I would list 5 things that I have done since I moved to California, which I had never done back in Blighty.

1) Ordered eggs "Sunny side up"
2) Used a sprinkler system for the lawn
3) Put syrup on Eggy Bread - don't worry I didn't like it so have gone back to using HP Sauce.
4) Been told to "Have a nice Day"
5) Tipped a barber.

How I got here (part 3)

Whilst in Sacramento we had confirmation of our initial approval. What this means is that the local immigration office has found nothing that would stop me from applying and we have managed to fill out the forms correctly. They have now sent the application on to the National Processing office who double check the forms again and then they send it on to the relevant Embassy, in my case this is in London.

The next steps were as follows;

I had to fill out another set of forms (5 of them) covering most of the same information that I have already provided for the initial application.
I had to get my birth certificate. This involved much searching in attics and looking in boxes. I was surprised that my parents had kept it I was also worried as being born in Plymouth who knew whether I was actually ever given one.
I had to apply for my police record. Everyone I told that to made some terrible joke about the Sting led music group so, if that was your first reaction please keep it to yourself. I don’t even have a police record, but I needed to pay £10 and wait 40 days to prove this.
I had to have the aforementioned medical. This was with an approved doctor.
Finally I had to have an interview at the embassy. I found a website that had a list of the kind of questions that I may be asked. I have included here some of my favourites so that you can get a true flavour of what I went through:
How long have you known each other?
When was the last time you met? Where?
When are you going to travel to the US?
Have you ever been to the US?

All straight forward questions and ones I would expect but then they take a strange turn and seem to try and catch you out by being silly:

What is your birthday? What is mine!!!!! That is far too easy.
Do you have any brothers or sisters? Wow I like these questions.

Step 1 from above went relatively well I thought. The whole date fiasco from the earlier form filling out was not repeated and yet filling out the forms with the dates was still the hardest part. Of the 5 forms that I had to fill out 4 of them wanted the date written in the US format. I found this easy as I had been practicing for months. However, the 5th form wanted the date in the UK way, but having got into the groove with the US system I accidentally used that way again. This was the only problem though and luckily I had taken photocopies before I proceeded.

Step 2 was just as easy. I went home one weekend to my parent’s house in Cornwall, and they had already found my birth certificate, my medical records and had placed them inside a nice silver envelope to ensure I didn’t lose them.

Getting my police record was relatively easy once I learnt how you go about actually applying for it. The Metropolitan police website was relatively straightforward to use and even had a link to the form that I needed to complete. Unfortunately this link did not work. I eventually found tucked away a number to call and I spoke to someone there. Here is a transcript of the conversation as I think it will provide evidence of the type of people I have had to deal with throughout the process.

Me: Hello, I’d like to apply for my police record please.
Her: Have you returned your form to us?
Me: Um, no I need someone to send me the form.
Her: Hmph (big sigh) ok well if you give me your name and address I will send one out to you.
Me: Thank you very much. My name is Mr Nicholas Burr and……….
Her: Hang on let me get a piece of paper and pen.
Me: Um, ok.
Her: Ok what is your name?
Me: Nicholas Burr. Burr is spelt B-U-R…
Her: N-i-c is it with an aitch?
Me: Yes. Nicholas is spelt N-I-C-H-O-L-A-S and Burr is spelt…
Her: A- S. Ok and what is your surname?
Me: Burr – spelt B-U-R….
Her: B-U what?
Me: R-R
Her: R-R. Ok and where do you live?
Me: (number) a Whorlton Rd. Whorlton is spelt……..
Her: what?
Me: A
Her: eh?
Me: yes that’s right A.
Her: Ok and what road?
Me: Whorlton Rd, spelt W-H-O-R-L-T-O-N
Her: W-H-O-R- what?
Me: L-T-O-N
Her: Ok and where is that?
Me: Peckham.
Her: P-E-C-K-H-A-M?
Me: Yes. It’s in London.
Her: London?
Me: Yes. Spelt L-O
Her: I know how London is spelt!

The form arrived 3 days after this joyous conversation. I filled it in and the easiest thing to do was return it to a police station. There I could show them my identification rather than sending it off to the Central Criminal Bureau. I went down to Southwark Police station. I have never been inside of a police station before and it certainly was an eye opener, they are full of dodgy people presenting their driving documents or wanting to visit people in the cells. It wasn’t the most enjoyable experience I have ever had, but then neither was the next thing I had to do, my medical.

Sunset

As the last picture seemed to work I wanted to share this one which was taken on Christmas Eve at Jen's parents house.

My 1st attempt at putting a picture up here

Fingers crossed you can now all see me and my good friend Ian at the Guildford festival. Not sure why we have 3 pints between the 2 of us, but Ian could never count.

The US is the same as Us?

I know and understand that America is a different country but sometimes it feels like I must be going to another planet. I frequently get asked things like "Do they have this in America?" and "What do Americans think about such and such?" Thanks to Hollywood we know more than we could ever want to about the USA. They were founded by Anglo-Saxons predominantly from Europe even though some things are different it seems that some people can not believe what they see in films or read in books. Whether we like it or not the UK and to a lesser extent Europe have been deeply influenced by America, and your average European will know more about the USA and its history, politics and geography, than the average American will about Europe.

That said I get the same questions from Americans about whether the British like Tony Blair, what the British think about the war, and I also get the same level of amazement when I tell Americans that we have the same products as them. A recent example of this was when I went to the dentist. The dentist asked what type of toothpaste I used in the UK and when I told her Colgate she was shocked. She asked if it was called the same as it is here i.e. Colgate and couldn't get her head around that we would have the same toothpaste in the UK that she uses here.

Another issues is the bigotry that many in the UK have towards Americans. I want to give you 2 examples that happened to me. The first involves someone who knew I was getting married to an American and the second was a conversation I over heard.

I went to the pub with two friends who are a couple. Whilst there I was updating them on my case and what was happening. As the evening wore on the girl (who I am not going to name so lets call her X) got slightly the worse for wear and she asked me in all seriousness why I wanted to marry an American. I responded by saying that I didn't choose to fall in love with an American, but you can't help who you fall in love with, but I loved Jen because she made me laugh, she was beautiful and she was clever. X looked at me and said "Americans aren't clever; I bet she can't even read". And this was said in all seriousness. I was shocked and could not believe she had said such a thing, when I challenged her she continued, "All Americans are stupid, does she even have a passport? I bet she's big and fat. Does she wear white socks the whole time? You better not turn into one of them and speak with that stupid accent". All this from someone who knew I was getting married to Jen and had earned a degree from a top British University . Maybe this is all stuff that X has heard over the years as she is Welsh and I am sure she has had similar experiences of people mocking her nationality, but I have never done this to her, and you would think that if someone has been subjected to that kind of treatment they would never inflict it on anyone else. Or maybe people don't realise that they are doing it. I think as a nation we are far more interested in what Americans do than we care to admit and we are annoyed that they don't have the same interest in us or our country. This is why I think the oft quoted stat about only 27% of Americans have passports. I completely agree that this is shocking, but having visited California I can see why; that state alone is larger than the UK, it has beach and coast, mountains and desserts, ancient woodlands and large cities. In the summer you can spend your whole time wearing shorts and in the winter you can go to the mountains to ski. The only thing they are missing is a rain forest but they have every other type of climate and terrain on this earth.

I know that some of you will be thinking that you are not interested in America at all and I know that there are people who don't give a flying rat's arse about the USA, and I do sometimes feel hypocritical about this as before I ever met an American I felt the same way. Yet having met some I can hand on heart say they are no better and no worse than us. I have met stupid Americans, but I have also met stupid British people. You get morons everywhere.

The second story to illustrate my point is as follows. Jen came over to see me in London a while back. We were walking along Charing Cross Road when we passed two women dressed in business suits. As we walked passed one of them was saying to the other, "The problem with Americans is...", and then they were gone. Now this was before Jen & I were engaged so I was desperate to find out what the problem was with Americans, and Jen wanted to find out exactly what her problem was. We walked on, but the incident got me thinking just how confident you have to be to be able to sum up a whole nations problems. I have done some research (not enough I hear you cry!) and there are 300 million Americans. Are these two women trying to tell me that they have cracked what the problem is with all of them? Let's not forget that this is a massive country and people who live in New York have very different characteristics from people from Washington DC, who are different from those in Idaho, who are different from those in Little Rock who are different from those in San Francisco. And I haven't even got onto Alaskans or Hawaiians or God forbid Utah.

The Links

I am trying to edit the links so that people can see some other interesting Blogs, but I am having no joy, so I thought I'd just type these up and hopefully you can link to them this way. The 1st is by a friend of mine from Sixth form who is currently in Australia. For those of you have who have heard about Monge but never seen him this should be the proof you need.

http://mongesarmy.blogspot.com

The second is from a friend from Uni, who has started a band to rival the Jackson 5, they are called The Screaming Jacksons and can be found at

http://thescreamingjacksonsblog.blogspot.com

Hopefully these will work.

How I got here (part2)

We applied for the K1 Visa (fiancé of a US Citizen) in October. It took them 3 months to get to ours, but the good news was that I got to spend Christmas with Jen and Emma. The only caveat being that I was not guaranteed entry, but then again they never do. As usual when going to the US under the Visa Waiver Programme (VWP) you have to satisfy the Immigration Officer that you are not going to stay longer than the 90 days you are entitled to, and that you are not going be a drain on the USA’s resources, i.e. you have enough money to support your stay. A return plane ticket is not enough proof of the intent to return. So I had to get a note from my work to show that I was due back to work on 10 January.

Things went really well, both from a relationship point of view and from the visa process when I went there for Christmas. This was the first time that I had ever spent Christmas away from my parents, and it was really strange the way that other people “do” Christmas. Now I am not suggesting that my family have the traditional British Christmas, but we have always gone about things the same way and whilst it was not too different spending Christmas in California, there were some differences. For a start it was very warm on Christmas Eve, so warm in fact that I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt in an effort to keep cool. Jen’s family thought I was weird (nothing new there) but it was around 24 C degrees.

Anyway before I race ahead, I should talk about getting into the country. I was extremely nervous. I always am, ever since I was given a really hard time when trying to enter the US in Philadelphia. This is what happened. I had been to Sacramento in February and my work had allowed me to work from the Sacramento office, which meant that I didn’t have to take any time off work, which was great of them. So when I went to Philadelphia to meet Jen and spend two weeks there, heading down to see her family in Washington DC in March the immigration official decided that it was suspicious, and so I had to go to a separate room which was entitled “Secondary Enquiries”. When I entered I saw that there were 5 rows of seats, all of which were facing the front where there was a huge wooden counter, behind which stood 5 heavily armed guards. What makes me laugh isn’t just the fact that guards are armed with guns, as I can understand why, I may not agree with them having a gun, but I can see the logic behind it. However, most of them seem to have 2 guns, a truncheon, pepper spray, handcuffs (often 2 sets) a torch, a pocket knife and what appears to be a holder for their pen around their belts. What or who are they expecting? Maybe they are some of the huge percentage that don’t have passports and so have not been through airport security recently, and I know we shouldn’t get complacent, but if some terrorist was going to attack the USA, they have already shown that they won’t do it with guns, but with planes, bombs or spreading diseases like Anthrax, and you can have all the guns, handcuffs, truncheons and pocket knifes in the world, but if someone is a suicide bomber they won’t care if they get hurt or killed as long as they take as many people with them as possible.

I made my way to the front and handed over my form and passport to a tough looking skin head, who told me to take a seat. I chose a seat in the second row from the front. As I was sat there other passengers who had to be enquired about for a second time came in, handed their documents over to the other offices at the front and sat down in the other seats around me. The guy who was looking at my paperwork then spent the next ten minutes talking about his basket ball team to his co-workers. Every now and again he would flick through my passport and enter something on the computer in front of him. Finally after a further fifteen minutes of this he called out my name. Now ever since I was a kid I have only ever been called by full name if I am a) in trouble or b) at some official appointment, like at the doctors or the dentist. When someone calls me Nicholas now I instantly have a shiver of dread that goes up and down my spine. I think it’s a bit of a Pavlovian reaction, my brain decides I am either in trouble or about to be prodded by a medical professional.

I rose from my chair to go up to the counter when baldy did the international sign for “sit down”, and to reinforce this he said “no need to come up”. I assumed that he just wanted to make sure where I was, because after all he only had my passport so there is no way that he could work out from my photograph where I was in the room. Wrong. No apparently he was going to ask me some quite intimate questions from around 12 feet away. There were lots of questions about how I had met Jen, how often she had visited me, how often I had visited her, what I did for a living, what she did for a living, how I could afford to take so many holidays from my job. The questions went on, and on. Finally he went back to tapping on his keyboard. He did this for a few moments, and then he launched into a lecture about how if my relationship with Jen got serious I would need to apply for a visa. It turned out that my travel record indicated that I may be working and living in the US illegally. Obviously they have kept the records and they could see that the longest I had stayed had been 10 days but that still meant that they thought I was living there full time.

With this in mind I was nervous about entering the US when I had made an application for a full time visa. There is nothing untoward about going to America under the visa waiver programme when you are going through the formal visa process, but the concern is that the Inland Security Officer who meets you upon attempt to gain entry to the country will not believe that you are going to return, and this is the key to getting in. My advice is to be calm, you are in the right, answer any questions that have, honestly and don’t try any sarcasm or jokes. I have heard a lot of people say that the Americans don’t get sarcasm or irony, however, in my experience most do, but if you try it with an immigration officer you will find the stereotype is true. Maybe this is where it came from, I can imagine that when Oscar Wilde said his famous “I have nothing to declare….” statement, that it was met with a cold hard stare and the following “really? Can you just go through that door over there sir, take your clothes off and bend over, please?” Which thinking about it is probably something Wilde would have enjoyed.

I was waiting in line getting nervous, and I seem to have picked the queue with the people who could not fill out the visa waiver programme form properly. I am not exaggerating here, I was about tenth in line, and all 9 of the travellers in front of me had somehow managed to miss something off their form, or made a mistake. You may think that this would mean that I would get to the front quicker, but in reality what actually happened was that the first person would be sent back to tick the box that they had missed. They were told not to go to the back of the line, but to correct their error and then come back. Whilst moron 1 was ticking the box which said which sex they were, moron 2 would hand over their form only to have it returned to them when it was pointed out that the form had two sides and the back needed to be completed too. So moron 2 would go back to fill out the back, by which time moron 1 was back having filled in the form correctly. When they were done moron 2 was ready and so they would go up. Then moron 3 would discover that they too hadn’t filled out the form correctly, etc, etc.

All this messing about was increasing my nerves. I thought that if the woman checking the forms was annoyed she was more that likely to send me to secondary inquiries. I handed over my form. She asked me some routine questions, but instead of waiting for my answer, she proceeded to answer them for me. For example she would say “What are you here for?” and before I could answer she would say “holiday?” to which I would answer yes. “Who are you visiting?” and again before I could respond she would follow up her initial question with “friends?” “Yes” was again my response. I couldn’t help but think that this woman was so relieved to have someone that had managed to fill out the visa waiver form correctly that she decided not to trip me up with any difficult questions in order to at least get one person through her line that day.

We had an amazing Christmas together. We did the usual things that people do over Christmas, drink too much, eat too much and watch far too much telly. We celebrated Christmas in much the same way that most non-Christians celebrate; with a bastardised version. When I returned to work in the New Year many of my work colleagues wanted to know all the details of the big differences. As there were none I feel that I really let them down. The conversations with them would do something like this:

Them: So, Nick, did they celebrate Christmas differently out there?
Me: Um, no not really.
Them: Oh come on I bet you there were some differences?
Me: No, none that I can think of.
Them: Did you have turkey? I bet you didn’t have turkey did you?
Me: Yes we did actually.
Them (increasingly desperate): Roast potatoes?
Me: Yes, lovely fluffy ones.
Them: Stuffing?
Me: Yes.
Them: Queen’s Speech?
Me: No, actually we didn’t have the Queen’s speech.
Them (triumphantly): Aha! So there were some differences!
Me: No we never watch it at home either.

How I got here

The process to move to the States started over a year ago. Its a long story so here goes. The date is sometime in September 2005. What follows is the beginning of that story. (Imagine wobbly background depicting a flash back)

I am planning to marry an American citizen and emigrate to the US. There are obviously going to be challenges on the way, and I am no longer just talking about the visa process. There are going to be issues surrounding moving to another country as well as the actual application for the visa.I am about to give my 1st piece of advice. Hopefully the 1st of many, but if not I apologise now. This piece of advice is very simple. It is remember that the American nation like to write their dates in a different order than the British. You probably already knew that. I certainly did. But I challenge any British person to fill out a visa form 4 separate times by hand (no photocopies or typed sheets allowed) and not once accidentally put the 31st October 1975 down as 31/10/75 rather than the US accredited way of 10/31/75. I had to start the form 4 times. The 1st time I made a mistake on my birthday. The 2nd was my mothers and the 3rd my fathers birthday, and then finally when I thought I had it all sussed out, I made a mistake on the date of the declaration. I am not going to go into a debate about whose system is correct or makes the most sense, but I will say this – who thought there should be 2 systems? We tell the time in hours minutes and seconds in both countries so why the differing systems when it comes to days, months and years.

Finally I finished the forms and popped them in the post along with 2 passport pictures of my face (turning to the left so my right ear can be clearly seen) and a letter outlining my intentions. Now this letter wasn’t for Jen’s father – oh no this letter is apparently for the authorities. Now what exactly do you write in a letter to some faceless bureaucrat, whom neither Jen nor I have met? My letter was two lines long, so I have copied in its entirety below. I am sure you will agree that it is succinct, concise and articulate, but does it really outline my intentions? I’ll let you read it and you can be the judge, bearing in mind that the main reason I want to live with Jen is so that I can see her undress everyday.

Mr Nicholas Burr
Peckham
London
SE15
5th October 2005

To Whom It May Concern:

I can confirm that I intend to marry Jennifer Adelsbach, within the 90 days allowed once I enter the USA, under the Fiancé Visa scheme.

Yours truly,



Nicholas Burr


Having reread the above I am not sure it does cover my intentions to have and to hold, for richer for poorer, and for the pre martial agreement that I am allowed to bone Jen once a week. (My married friends who read that sentence snorted and told me to put a penny in a jar every time Jen and I had sex in our 1st year of marriage, and then to take a penny out each time we do it for each subsequent year. Apparently the jar will never empty).We are now in the position of having to wait. We can do no more. Our documentation is in the pipeline and is being “processedthankyouverymuchpleasedon’tcallagain”, which is always said as one word.

I have done a little research, and have found out that I will have to undergo an interview at the US Consulate in London, and probably undergo a physical examination (apparently people in Britain run the very real risk of bringing scurvy and malaria in with them. I suppose we do have previous so can’t complain too much). The interview seems a little scary and I can’t stop thinking about Green Card. Now Jen is far better looking than Andi McDowell but I can’t hold a candle to Gerard Deperdieu. I am determined to rent that movie before I go under the guise of research. I have been practising by asking myself some searching questions about my betrothed, but I am not sure that the embassy will ask me what flavour jam (or Jell-O) she prefers to lick off me (the answer is blueberry for those people that care), or what her secret nick-name is for me is. More likely will be questions regarding her birthday (27 July) her favourite colour (purple) and her favourite soap (Softsoap although if they mean TV soap then its General Hospital). As you can see I am clued up but no doubt it will be a question that I don’t know, and the reason I won’t know it is because there are some things that you just don’t ask a girl that you are going to marry.

All I can do is wait and hope I get contacted soon. It is supposed to be 3 months before my interview but I am not sure that I can wait that long, although ultimately I guess I don’t have a choice………

Fast forward a few weeks......

I have just returned to the office from a trip up North. I visited Hull University and then went on to my former Uni – Lancaster. Let’s start with Hull. I told Jen I was going to Hull and she misheard me and said “Hell? Where’s that then?” I laughed and explained. But it looks like she was right the whole time. I got on the train in London in nice pleasant sunshine, and 3 hours later stepped off the train in a torrential downpour. It was so bad that an old man went by me muttering something about building an ark. I moved on at pace and headed down to my hotel. Now I am not sure if legally I can actually name and shame the hotel, so for now let’s just call it Hotel H. When I got to the outside of Hotel H (which by the way is an International chain of hotels) I was a bit nonplussed to find a shattered glass door. Was this caused by an angry customer throwing his or her luggage at the doors (“£14.50 for a breakfast – arrghhh!”). I went inside to find the hottest room in the world ™. Now I have already mentioned that it was chucking it down outside, but it wasn’t cold. It wasn’t snowing. Yet the Hotel H had decided that it needed to be 33c inside to combat the extreme temperatures outside. I strolled up to the front desk and already sweat was pouring down my face. I checked in and then went to my room.

Upon opening my door I was disappointed to find that I had 2 single beds. Now I haven’t slept in a single bed since I was 11. Why do they still insist of having these types of rooms in hotels? I sat on one of my 2 beds (at least I would have a choice, perhaps I could watch TV in one of the beds and then hop over to the other one to sleep – how very extravagant) it suddenly dawned on me that these beds were not only single beds, but they were actually narrower than normal single beds.

I looked around the room. TV – check, wardrobe – check, mini-bar – check, door connecting to the next room – che………..wait a minute. What on earth? I got off the bed and opened the door to be confronted with another door that opened to the room next to mine. Useful for families I guessed and shut my door and attempted to lock it. The lock that was there had obviously been placed there by some prankster locksmith, because although the bolt moved slightly there was no way that it was going to go into its correct position, the position that was its sole purpose in life that of actually locking the door. Now I decided I better check that everything else was in order. For a start I was going to doing a presentation the following day in Lancaster and so would need to quickly iron a shirt. No sign of the iron or the ironing board. Not a problem I will call reception and ask for one to be brought up to my room. I dialled the number. No answer. They must be busy and anyway I had to head off to the university.

Upon my return I swung by the front desk and asked for the aforementioned iron and ironing board. The blank look I received did not fill me full of confidence. “I don’t think we have one” was the frankly unbelievable reply. “Really?” I asked. “I’ll check for you, sir and if we have one send it up to your room”. How kind and thoughtful of him.

I got back to my room and relaxed. I was hungry and wanted to eat but the thought of sitting in the dining room alone did not appeal, so I thought “room service”. I picked up the menu and was impressed by the wide range of burgers on offer. Very little else, thank god I wasn’t a vegetarian. I finally found tucked away a pasta and salad section and so I decided upon lasagne. I picked up the phone and dialled the number for room service. After 6 rings I was put through to the hotel’s phone system. A very polite recording told me that if I knew the number of the person I was trying to get hold of then I should ring that number. So I re-dialled the room service number. Six rings later the same thing occurred. I redialled, message, redialled, message. Put the receiver down, and started again. The same thing happened. I lost patience and decided to ring reception. Within 2 rings the phone was answered. A result I thought. I explained that I wanted to order some room service, and before I could tell the person on the other end that no-one had answered the phone I was “popped” through to room service, where after 6 rings I was back in the hell that was the hotel phone system. I tried again several times and eventually got through somehow to the restaurant. Luckily (for them and for me) they were more than willing to take my order for lasagne (and now garlic bread on the side as I was so hungry), and that it would be with me “very soon indeed”.

Twenty minutes into my “very soon indeed” period I received a phone call. It was too early to be a phone call from Jen in California as she would be at school teaching. I picked it up, “Hello?” “Mr. Burr, it’s Colin here from the front desk, just ringing to let you know that we do in fact have an iron and an ironing board in the hotel, and we are just trying to locate it for you”. I felt guilty of doubting that my young friend Colin would let me down. I thanked him and rung off.

My lasagne arrived and it was reasonable (unlike the “very soon indeed” period which I would call unreasonable and also rechristen “whenever we can be arsed to deliver it to the 3rd floor”). I spoke to Jen on the phone. It is really tough at the moment. I saw some England cricketers complaining about having to be away from their wife and kids or 8 weeks, which I grant you is a long time, but try doing it with no end date. This is the toughest part of the whole process, just not knowing when I am going to see Jen again. It has now been 8 weeks since I said goodbye to her at Heathrow and she is not visiting me for another 3 weeks. After that we just don’t know when we will next see each other. Our original plan to ensure Christmas together is now looking as likely as being able to get room service in Hull.

The next morning I went to breakfast. Colin was on reception but he steadfastly refused to catch my eye pretending to be busy with the 4 people waiting to be checked out. I breakfasted leisurely overlooking Hull Marina. When I was finished I went back to reception to find Colin all alone. As I approached I could see him start to squirm and look for a way out, but there was none available to him. He was now going to have to deliver the news to me. “Sorry sir we can’t seem to locate it”. Unbelievable.

Having stomped back off to my room and packed and put on my fabulously creased shirt. I then marched back down to reception and proceeded to check out, making sure that Colin saw just how creased and ridiculous my shirt looked. He did a good job of feigning not to notice but I think that deep down inside he was aghast at the whole situation. He presented me with my bill. I quickly skimmed through it, breakfast, room, newspaper, yes all seemed in order. I handed it back to Colin. And then it hit me, the room service was not on the bill. Before I could stop myself I said “Oh it doesn’t seem to have last night’s room service on the bill”. Colin looked crestfallen. Not only had he steadfastly failed to get me an iron, but now he had also messed up my bill. He called his supervisor. She was a big lady and she walked towards me she was giving me a funny look. It was then that I realised that she was staring at the crumbled mess that was my shirt. She asked me what I ordered. I was tempted to say the slowly cooked lasagne, but thought that Hull was no place for wisecracks and so I told her. She added it to my bill and I was free to leave the hell hole that is Hotel H in Hull.

Apart from a few funny stares, the rest of the day was uneventful. I got to Lancaster, I checked in, and ironed my shirt before attending the reception evening.Lancaster is probably where this whole story starts. I went to Lancaster and studied Politics and International Relations. I was there from 1994 – 1997. In my first year I was placed in halls and shared a floor with 9 other 1st year boys. One of them was an American from California. His name was Terry. Terry and I hit it off as we had lots in common, we both liked a drink, we both had similar musical tastes, and I was to find out later we had the same taste in women. Terry and I use to go to the bar together a lot and I would often go into his room to borrow CD’s and tapes. When in his room I would look at the pictures on his wall of his girlfriend. Some of you may have guessed already but the girl was Jen.

I found myself looking at her picture more and more. I tried to hide it from myself but the truth is that I found her very attractive. There was no intention then in my mind to ever meet her.

One drunken night a group of us were sat around our kitchen table and the talk came around to our futures. A pact was made there and then that we would all attend each other’s weddings. It never crossed my mind that Terry would marry Jen, as by this time he had cheated on her on numerous occasions. At one point he had even slept with a girl that he knew I liked.

I graduated in 1997 and moved back to Cornwall and stayed with my parents. I got a terrible job in Plymouth working for the Child Support Agency as a Debt Manager. My job involved ringing up absent parents and asking them how they wanted to pay off the debt that had been accrued on their accounts mainly due to errors by the Child Support Agency in setting up their cases. It was a most depressing job, but one that I stuck at for 18 months. Towards the end of my time there I received a letter out of the blue from Terry telling me that he was getting married to Jen and that I was invited. I found out that 2 other guys from Uni were going so we arranged to fly out together. I quit my job as I had no leave left to go to California. When I returned I planned to move to London and try and get a job there.

I was a little surprised that he was getting married to Jen. She had come over in 1995 to meet Terry at the end of his year in Britain and whilst they were inter-railing around Europe they broke up. By all accounts he was in love with someone he had met at Lancaster. Terry and Jen went back to California and although they were no longer going out they shared a house and a bed together. Then Jen met someone else and wanted to make a go of it so she told Terry that she was no longer willing to put up with the situation. Terry was upset and decided that he did want to get back with Jen. This obviously has nothing to do with the fact that the girl Terry liked in Lancaster had just got a boyfriend. Terry and Jen got back together, and then in 1997 Terry came back to Lancaster to visit. He ended up sleeping with the girl in Lancaster again but he never told Jen. No, I managed to do that one night when I was drunk, but that is another story.
The moment I first met Jen I felt something change inside me. She was very shy, but somehow I saw through that and realised that she was a very intelligent and funny person. She was also very good looking. Over the 3 days before her wedding we got along very well, finding that we had lots in common. To cut a long story short, they got married, and I moved to London, got a job in recruitment and kept in touch with Terry. They came over to London the following year and stayed with me. Then the following year they came over for another visit and also to attend the wedding of one of the guys from the pact. The following year I visited, and I went back the year after. The last time I saw them together was when I flew out for a secondment opportunity in San Jose, California.

The plan had been for me to gain a 2 year secondment in one of the firm’s offices overseas. San Jose needed someone and so the firm paid for me to fly out there and have 7 interviews, with all the relevant Partners. Whilst there I agreed to meet up with Terry, Jen and Emma, their soon to be 2 year old daughter. Terry and Jen seemed strained with each other, and his drinking which had always bordered on heavy now seemed excessive.

After my interviews I spent 2 days working in San Jose, and then headed up to Sacramento to spend the weekend with Terry and Jen. When I got there we decided to have a barbeque and so we went out to get the food and of course the beer. We had a great evening. At this point of time Jen’s sister Stephanie was living with Jen and Terry along with her child and husband. We carried on drinking after the barbeque, and Steve, Stephanie’s husband had to go to work. He left and then Terry disappeared. Jen and I sat on the sofa chatting. I guess it is testament to how well we are getting on, that we did not notice that Terry had been gone for 2 hours. Jen went to check on him and found him passed out on their bed. We carried on talking and started to watch Pirates of the Caribbean. We never did get to see it all. We carried on talking and Jen finally made the admission that she had always liked me and fancied me. I was too gob smacked to speak, and was just about to make my move, when the front door opened. Both Jen and I leapt apart and in walked Steve. He sat had a beer with us and then went up to bed. We were later to find out that although he didn’t know anything he told Stephanie that Jen loved me. All I can say is that he is very perceptive.

Without going into details we ended up kissing that night, and the rest followed.

All about Me

A bit about me; I was born in England and grew up in Cornwall. Spent 18 years there going to school and...well that's about it really. Went to Uni in the North of England and then having gained an extremely useful degree in Politics and International Relations I moved back home and did some work for the civil service in Plymouth. Got bored with that and so moved to the bright lights of London, to earn my fortune as a writer. Failed miserably having started 27 novels (not one finished), completed one radio play with 2 friends which was promptly rejected by the BBC, and written 4 short stories all in a period of 7 years. Wow prolific. I earned a living working for a big accountancy firm as a recruiter, and then met my wife and moved to the USA.

I will go into a lot more details about all of the above over time I am sure, but the main focus of this is to post my thoughts and relay my experiences of living here in the US.

Slowly getting there

I am slowly working this out, not sure that I am wise to keep posting my obviosu ignorance, but it feels right at the moment. I will update more over the next few weeks, as time allows and hopefully will be able to supply posts each day so please keep checking back.

Welcome

I am new to this so please be patient while I attempt to work out how to use all this new technology. This site is going to be about my time in the USA and thoughts etc. We shall see how it goes. A big thank you to Monge who suggested I write this.