A year has past.

I haven't really added much in the last few months which is well pants. However, it's worth putting down that I've been here for a year now. Long enough to get a job, buy a car and and xbox.

One of the best things about being out of the mire that shadowed the whole pattern of moving here is that I'm a damn sight more relaxed!

My work and thoughts aren't so easily placed over two blogs (swimming in mud is the other one) and I've had so little time to stop look around and soak it all in until recently. I feel like I'm getting to that stage anyway. By the middle of the year I'll be able to do that.

And I need to get citizenship sorted. Oh and buy a piano, and a guitar, and a stupidly big TV. Ah the list still exists after all.

December Part Two...

Returning to Nottingham

On the morning of 20th December it starts to really snow in Manchester. It was touch and go as to whether I’d even leave as every time I opened the car boot to pack it filled with flakes. After about an hour it stopped and I skidded the car around onto the drive to pack trying not to take out the neighbours wall.

It was freezing cold trudging back and forth from the house but after an hour I had managed to jam every last bit of my worldly possessions in and went for a last look around the house with my housemate Jo.

I’d lived the house in Prestwich for 6 years and I hadn’t ever seen it empty. It’s weird looking at a room that you’ve lived in with no pictures or familiar items strewn about. I have a 6ft cardboard Stormtrooper that I used to scare my previous housemate and landlady Hannah with. I decided to leave him poised, pointing his gun strategically on the first floor aware that Hannah will definitely shit herself when she saw it. I knew my time in Manchester was complete. I gave Jo a big hug goodbye and dropped the keys off with my neighbour who in his old age didn’t really get it when I said I was “going” but either way he gladly accepted a pile of spare keys and after setting the alarm for the last time I shut the door and posted my own key through the letterbox.

It took me 3 hours to get to Nottingham in the snow and blizzards which for 120 miles isn’t so bad. Once in I was force fed tea and food by my family. I’ve probably put a stone on since I got home. Peroni has a lot to answer for too.

On Tuesday 22nd I went to Nottingham city centre with my best pal Jamie. I grew up with him and he’s more a brother really. We were wandering about looking for gifts in House of Frasier when I got a text off my mum asking me to call her. She told me that my Grandma (Nan) had died. I met up with a pal who was expecting me but made my excuses and came home. Later on that day one of my aunties called to say the earliest that the funeral could take place was 4th Jan. It’s a VERY long wait… 2 weeks in total yet mostly I was worried as this was the same date as my immigration interview in London and I really didn’t want to miss the funeral.

The next day I was up really early to drive my dad to the city hospital for a heart operation (no I’m not making this up). It had been re-arranged to 23rd after being cancelled for the 9th. It doesn’t rain – it pours. After some Christmas shopping I got home and telephoned the lawyers in Encino who advised me to do the same as before. So I called the embassy and sent them an email to ask again for a new date. They were great and managed to move it to 29th December. Which means I won’t miss my Nan’s funeral and I can pay my respects. It’s been hard as I’ve not grieved whatsoever. I almost want to get the interview done so I can just get on and mourn. There is no right or wrong way to mourn I guess. The text from Hannah calling me a "f*cker" about the Stormtrooper cheered me up though.

Dads heart operation was a success and it was all done through cameras and wires going in through veins in his groin. He joked when they were shaving him that he should have had a Brazilian. I was nearly sick when I heard this. Poor nurse! He was wide awake throughout the operation and was asked if he knew any jokes. Anyone who knows my dad will be aware that this is a bull to a red rag….

As the dates have changed I’ve not been able to speak to my lawyer prior to leaving Nottingham (Christmas, the weekend and the time diff means I can’t speak to him until 7pm tomorrow earliest) so I’m just filling out forms I think need doing and hoping a shirt and jeans will not offend US Embassy people.

So that pretty much brings us up to speed. The last week has been both horrendous and great. I’ve got my family around me and when I’m not being grumpy I think they like having me around. Perhaps the emotions of everything have hit me hard with all the other stuff going on too and as of the 29th I’ll be able to unwind properly… I really hope so anyway.

December Part One...

The longest month on record

It’s fair to say December has been eventful.

I received notification from the embassy that my visa interview would be 11th Jan. Not being too sure how long afterwards I would be able to buy a plane ticket (assuming I pass) I realised that it might be mid-late Jan 2010 when I move.

Not being a lazy so and so I’d got off my butt earlier and sought work for my arrival and it came in the form of digital media. I’ve been asked to film motion capture for a UK based computer games company who specialise in car racing games. Specifically this means crashing cars in the desert and filming them on awesome cameras. It is as cool as it sounds albeit hard work. It starts in Jan and I realised that mid-late Jan would not work in terms of arrival in the US. Initially I’d expected to be stateside by Christmas and to spend it with my wife Holly but alas the process of immigration is not such a straightforward thing!

The embassy was great, I rang them up and asked if I could change the date, they gave me an email address and I wrote to them with my request. They got back almost immediately with 4th Jan, so that had to do. My papers hadn’t arrived for the December window and the really was the earliest they could manage.

The Medical

I spoke to Holly and mentioned that I now had to book the medical and she encouraged me to crack on as by this time it was early December. Here in the UK there is only one doctor that the embassy officially uses and it’s based off Bond Street in London. You can’t bring a medical from any other practice, it simply won’t be accepted. I called them and got the last available date in 2009. Close one.

They’d chosen me Friday 11th December, the day before I filmed this year’s Versus Cancer concert at the Manchester Evening News Arena. Ouch! I’d been producing this project for about three weeks already and the goalposts had already moved several times, I was going to miss the final pre-production day but fortunately I’d got most of it sorted aside a couple of crew member. So I booked the train ticket to London from Manchester and even drove into town to pick the tickets up the day before to be sure I didn’t miss it.

The next day I was up at 4:30am ate breakfast and drove to the station in record time as there was no traffic. My 5:55am train was sat on the platform already and I ambled on and got another breakfast. I arrived in Euston at about 8:15am and as I was packing my stuff away to leave the train I noticed they guy on the next table had left his phone. I rushed to pack my stuff away, grabbed the guys phone and ran up the platform to find him. I spotted him because of his scarf amongst the grey cloud of commuters and he graciously thanked me for returning his mobile. I smiled and made my way to the underground where I jumped on the tube to Bond Street.

As with every tube station in London, I get out completely disorientated and ask directions to someone else that knows bugger all about London. One day I’ll come out of the tube and meet a cartographer who bores me with their knowledge. Probably not.

Anyway as per usual I’m stood next to the road I need and after laughing about how funny that is and “how silly of me” with a random I’m on my way. An hour and a half early mind.

Eventually I found the doctors and checked my watch, I’m still an hour early so I head off to find a coffee shop. Today is the first day of the cold snap, London is far colder than Manchester had been this week and I indulge in a bit of hot chocolate which the café girl lovingly sprinkles chocolate dust on in the shape of a heart. Like she does for everyone.

Reading the paper and not soaking up an ounce of information I start to think about the train and packing my bags. I suddenly have a feeling of dread. I don’t remember if I picked up my charger for my laptop as I rushed off with that guys phone. I look in my bag.

Lost property at Euston are pretty helpful, I mean, they aren’t going to find your stuff and its never going to turn up but at least they are nice about it. Then you realise that because they charge you for holding onto your lost stuff depending on its size at a rate that makes your eyes smart. I’d had a 3rd breakfast in the coffee shop and hammered the phone once more.

Manchester lost property also has heard nothing but the train hadn’t made it back yet so there was still a chance.

I get off the phone and go into the doctors in a very regal building off Bond Street. It’s all a formality but this is one of the most thorough medicals I’ve ever had. Chest x-ray, eye test, HIV test, test ;) all sorts of fancy moves with a stethoscope and plenty of forms to fill in. You can also get any vaccinations that are required for the US right there so I got an MMR jab and a tetanus boost. I was told that if I hadn’t heard from them in 4 working days then I’d passed and all my stuff would be sent to the embassy for the interview. The final part of the process (I hope).

I trudge through the cold back to Euston and no, lost property had nothing handed in. I get an earlier train home and return to Manchester for late lunchtime. Lost property in Manchester had nothing either. I gave up and went to PC world to buy a new charger for 80 quid and got on with preparing for Versus Cancer. Food news; I didn’t eat anything until dinnertime though thanks to my breakfast frenzy.

The leaving party - Manchester

Thursday it started snowing in Manchester. That was the night of my leaving party too. I can’t say I was surprised although I thought that perhaps a few people would drop out of coming. They did but the hardcore group managed to head out. In the end about 20 of us partied all night and it was a good laugh right up to the point I bought a round of jager bombs. After that I’m a bit blurry although I remember spending at least 10 minutes talking to the guy from The Urban Cookie Collective who gave me his new CD.

It was a pretty reflecting time with my cohorts of 10 years. I love all those people and they helped me achieve some really amazing stuff in my time there. I’m yet to write the full Mancunia experience blog… probably will manage that next but in my sister blog www.swimminginmud.blogspot.com which I haven’t updated for months so don’t click on it.

Thursday was also 4 working days since the medical so I assume I’d passed and all that was left was to leave Manchester. Versus Cancer was my last job while living there and a bit of a legacy as I co-founded the gigs and was a director of the company that puts it on for the first 2 years it was on. I was lured away pastures new for numerous other reasons but I still film it for them. It’s the largest annual charity concert in the UK. Even though I’ve nothing to do with the organising side of it (thank god) it’s still close to my heart… perhaps I’ll do something similar in LA…

Fast Slow Whatever.

Oh its chaos, it really is.

I could do with a New Moon or something astrological to take charge right now because all rational thought is slowly eking away into obscurity.

Like a tidal wave of nonsense the last 2 weeks have been probably the most challenging in the process of moving to LA. Why? I hear you holler. Oh you excitable thing, well let me tell you.

There is (it appears) one last thing to do before I leave stateside and that is my interview. Now I really don’t know much about what this entails aside its in London and it’s at the American Embassy. It probably involves a few questions…. I’m good at this eh? And will also mean I have to undergo some sort of medical, probably a chest X-Ray and star jumps or something. All standard stuff, you know, stopping the risk of disease and tuberculosis etc heading over to the US. Makes sense.

I’ve got a really great job stateside for January but I still need to get there and get my social security number, bank account, etc. Not to mention spend some quality time with my wife.

I’m expecting to hear from them next week. At least that’s what I hope. Got all my digits crossed. Ideally I’d like to be there before Christmas although right now I’ve literally no idea. Nobody has!

In a true Catch 22 scenario I've made plans of leaving (as per the earlier blog) on 20^th December. So I’m actually counting my chickens now. I’d like to point out though in relevance to the last blog that my landlords are not evil wizards casting me into destitution to build a bathroom, but have been super accommodating…. Bit of a rent gag there. You know, accommodating, landlady… see what I did? Touch me.

So, in the final run up to the big switch I’ve been dismantling my house of all my stuff and therefore all my worldly possessions. The house is a monolithic shit tip.

I’ve not bought a CD since I got married (aside The Prodigy’s new album) because I can’t take it or anything with me. Essentially you don’t need a CD collection if you have an ipod. Thanks Steve Jobs. I think.

Other stuff like audio tapes and DVD’s can be housed somewhere like the parents attic.

My paintings and pictures can go to various temporary donors and will be well looked after and my “too decent to throw/unused presents” crap can go to charity. I took all my VHS tapes to the tip though. There is seriously no point in keeping them unless I wanted to spend hours pressing fast forward and rewind trying to find something worth keeping, which there isn’t. And I can safely say that aside home movies there isn’t a single thing in your collection worth keeping. You will NEVER watch any of it again, FACT. It was actually very refreshing stood in the pouring rain throwing X-Men 20 feet down into a skip watching it smash to smithereens – I advise anyone with a cupboard full of VHS to do this. Go luddites.

What else? Oh yeah, so of the last 3 jobs I’ve had set up since In The City, 2 have fallen through… one was today. I’m pretty sure the other will screw up tomorrow. Zero cash in November hat trick! As news editor of The Daily Planet, Perry White once said to Clark Kent “Comes with the territory Kent, comes with the territory”. Oh how right you are Perry. Good job he was Superman.

Finally. And this is a really crap subject. My Nan is seriously unwell in hospital. Not good to write but she’s not going to be around much longer according to the odds.

The docs have found a shadow on her lungs and in turn fluid from there has found its way to her brain. Her heart is so weak she will probably not survive any kind of operation to save her. At 89 everyone agrees she’s got to a ripe old age and even more surprising is that she’s smoked for 75 years since she was 14. NOT an advert to smoke people! Although you can’t help but wonder how she managed it. She is a truly tough lady.

Mortality, lack of work, leaving the house (and Manchester which I will delve into the thoughts of leaving at a later date) and jobs arsing off into the distance make things seem pretty rotten. But it’s not about me for a change. Yeah I’m frustrated but I’m helpless too in a way. It’s not something anyone enjoys and I’m the kind of person that tends to punch those feelings into the ground. Only now I can’t. You can’t dispel the reality of your situation and you just have to sit this sort of thing out.

Of course, when I heard about Nan all my problems didn’t mean shit.

I’ve spent so much time thinking about “fast forwarding” and getting to the next day that out of the blue I remembered a poem read out at a family funeral of recent past…

The Station
by Robert J. Hastings

Tucked away in our subconscious is an idyllic vision. We see ourselves on a long trip that spans the continent. We are traveling by train. Out the windows we drink in the passing scene of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at a crossing, of cattle grazing on a distant hillside, of smoke pouring from a power plant, of row upon row of corn and wheat, of flatlands and valleys, of mountains and rolling hillsides, of city skylines and village halls.

But uppermost in our minds is the final destination. On a certain day at a certain hour we will pull into the station. Bands will be playing and flags waving. Once we get there, so many wonderful dreams will come true and the pieces of our lives will fit together like a completed jigsaw puzzle. How restlessly we pace the aisles, damning the minutes for loitering - waiting, waiting, waiting for the station.

"When we reach the station, that will be it!" we cry. "When I'm 18." "When I buy a new 450SL Mercedes Benz!" "When I put the last kid through college." "When I have paid off the mortgage!" "When I get a promotion." "When I reach the age of retirement, I shall live happily ever after!"

Sooner or later we must realize there is no station, no one place to arrive at once and for all. The true joy of life is the trip. The station is only a dream. It constantly outdistances us.

So, stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, climb more mountains, eat more ice cream, go barefoot more often, swim more rivers, watch more sunsets, laugh more, cry less. Life must be lived as we go along. The station will come soon enough.

So there you go.

All change... well, in the UK anyway.

Slightly less random an update this time. Read into the last one what you will.

Now then, where are we?

Ah yes. We’ll I’ve now been married for over 6 months (can I get a yee-ha) and sadly I’m still not over stateside with my lovely lady yet (can I get a shucks)

It’s been quiet of late, I’ve heard nothing from the powers that be about my interview with immigration. I’ve a new job that starts in January so our lawyers are seeking to get things speeded up. Although I’ve really no idea how it all works so I’ve just got to hope that things pan out. I’ve a date for leaving my house in Manchester though – 20^th December. I couldn’t put off leaving any longer as my landlord wants to do some work on the house. Apparently there is a new bathroom on its way to my house in the New Year. Shame I’ll never get to use it! My housemate has successfully passed all her tests to be a police officer so she’s off to and we are on joint tenancy. One goes the other too…. So I sit here in limbo. Neither American nor Brit.

I’m shattered after spending the last few days working on a couple of projects that might still fall through…Ah the joys of being a freelancer.

So I’ll write something more interesting soon I promise.

They arrived at last.

Well well well! The documents have arrived safe and sound a mere 7 days late. I've got to say I'm very relieved!

I never doubted you for a second Royal Mail.

Never .

You can track your post all the way across the world? No son, this is Royal Mail.

My police checks were all there waiting for me when I got back from my honeymoon, even the one from Australia I figured would take ages. I’m crime free too, so I hope that helps everything to go along smoothly… although that’s not really the core of my concern right now….

I went to the post office to deliver the police checks, along with some new passport photos and yet another form to the immigration lawyers when the daftness that is Royal Mail confirmed its status as only “quite good”. I didn’t need quite good as my original birth certificate was also in the package.

Basically I had two delivery options

1) It gets posted – and is track-able up until it leaves the UK however needs a signature at its final destination

2) It gets posted and is track-able right up to the delivery, but no confirmation that it actually goes in the right mailbox…. In other words it would get as far as an L.A sorting office and then I was to just cross my fingers.

Is it me or are they both really crap options? If they merged the two then fine. But that would be obvious.

So, I went for option 1) especially as my wife had experienced a hellish day in April where a package was posted to her – guaranteed to be in the area according to the tracking number but wasn’t delivered. According to the tracking number the package said “reached destination” but of course that just meant the nearest sorting office. It arrived the next day but it’s not the kind of thing you want to hear.

Anyway. Guess what? It was supposed to take 4-7 days and get there for Thursday latest… and its not there yet. Its Sunday now so if it doesn’t arrive tomorrow I’m going to get worried… Tuesday and the phone calls start.

I’d got an email from the immigration lawyer which confirmed the approval of the application from the US government (hooray!). So I guess that’s another hurdle jumped. Next they request all the stuff I’ve sent over and now it is currently somewhere between Manchester and Los Angeles. Joy.

It did take 3 weeks once for a package to get to my wife when it was only supposed to take 4-7 days. I sincerely hope that doesn’t happen. And knowing my luck, of course it will silly. You can count on it.