on going home

When I left England, some people asked when I would be going back. I don't know, I said, thinking it seemed a bit premature to be thinking about such things. I was more concerned with how on earth to get the suitcases to the airport with no car than the unimaginably distant possibility of a return visit. Because, I'm not coming to visit you over there, they said. Charming! If I'd had this conversation once it would seem within the range of normal, but I kid you not, the exact same conversation occurred on at least three or four occasions. Anti-Americanism is my best explanation.

At the moment, it's practically impossible anyway. If I got on a plane tomorrow, I would be going right back to the beginning of the visa process that has taken eight months and several thousand dollars so far. We are waiting for a letter from the tax office, which does not seem especially motivated about such things, before filing yet another set of forms. After that, I don't know. More forms, probably. But at least I am actually here now. And I even have an ID card! Most people use their driver's license, which also has a photo on it, but I don't drive. You need photo ID everywhere you go. I don't understand anymore what the fuss is about in the UK on ID cards, it's far worse here. But no, doesn't bother me at all, unless I leave my card at home and can't get a margarita.

Anyway, the suitcases did make it with us, somehow, and now I have been here a while and amazingly I still have no inclination to think about going back. It even (shrink in horror at my desecration of the god of social convention!) occurred to me that I might not ever go back!! (Two exclamation marks fail utterly to do justice to the sheer selfish evil of the very thought!)

So it looks like if any of my British friends or relatives want to see me in the forseeable future at least, they are going to have to suffer after all the dreadful experience of sitting on a plane being waited on hand and foot all day, followed by landing in the horrible Texas sunshine and having a boring deprived holiday not enjoying everything wonderful this place has to offer. Tragic yes, but could be worse- think of all the children starving in Ethiopia! as my generation was brought up bizarrely being told all the time. Did I tell you about our primary school lecture about the ethiopians ever?