Bells on Their Knees

Last night the morris dancers showed up.

Bad Habits

Nothing like a driving lesson to make you feel 16 again. The feeling that you know everything only to find out you don't, but if you act cool maybe no one will figure it out.

Roundabouts? Pfft. I've done those. Here, though, everyone mostly knows and follows the rules. According to my instructor, I should trust that the drivers waiting to enter the roundabout won't dash in front of me and the people in the "straight ahead only" lane won't turn right. Please. I spent the last 15 years driving in Massachusetts. I trust no one.

Mistrust isn't the only habit I have to break. I now have to: check my mirrors before I signal; never, ever steer hand over hand; and give way more than I stop.

To get my driving licence I also need to learn about zebra crossings, pelican crossings, toucan crossings, and puffin crossings. It's important to note that these are for pedestrians, not animals. There are also equestrian crossings which actually are for animals, albeit those being ridden by people.

I can drive for 12 months on my Mass.licence. In that time, I'll take a theory test and a road test. Then I'll probably forget everything I've learned and develop new bad habits.

It's nice to have goals.

The Long and Winding Road

This morning I received my National Insurance number, nine weeks from the day I electronically submitted my settlement application to the UK Border Agency's New York office.

This doesn't sound like a very long time.

It seemed interminable.

I'm the kind of person who has to act Immediately! and In Great Detail! when there's an inkling of a project where Anything Can Go Wrong at Any Time. In March -- before we even knew John had a job -- I visited the UK Border Agency website to start my detailed plan and outline a contingency plan or two. Three weeks later, I was more confused than when I started. What did I have to do when? What sort of visa could I apply for?

I did learn one thing: I could apply for UK settlement, instead of a spousal visa. This required taking -- and passing -- the Life in the UK test before submitting an application. The test can only be taken inside the UK. We had already planned a vacation for May, so while there we traveled from country idyll to city neighborhood so I could take -- and pass -- the test.

After we returned from vacation, we spent many hours over several nights preparing the application packet which would prove that we have been married and living together for at least four years; demonstrate that my sponsor (John) was willing and able support me without recourse to public funds; show that we had a place to stay in the UK; document my employment; list my previous trips to the UK. That's about 500 pages worth of proof. I also went to a professional photographer to have a picture taken that met the specifications, and had my biometric information taken at a US visa services center.

Much like the US, immigration in the UK is a complicated and controversial topic, full of sad stories like this one. It's an intimidating and expensive process to undertake. As difficult and stressful as this was for me, I can't imagine what it must be like for people with little education and little English, desperate for a better life.

Not Like the Other

In the U.S., we all know that U.K. electrics are 240 volt, instead of 120 volt. We also know that people in the U.K. drive on the left side of the road and the right side of the car. (I've driven about a mile and already had some close calls with curbs, car mirrors and trash bins.)

I expected that. But there are other, more subtle differences I didn't expect. I realize now there's much I never took note of, even after visting regularly over the last 12 years.

A few of the things I noticed this week:

• On light switches, down is on and up is off.
• Non-automatic doors on shops and office buildings open in, not out. When I go into a store I wonder: What if there's a fire and everyone needs to get out at the same time? Do we all hold it open for the person behind us as we file out and politely thank the person in front of us even as we feel the flames licking the backs of our necks?
• In any building, enter on the ground floor and walk up one flight to get to the first floor.
• Some people use their middle fingers to point, whether at something in the distance or a spot on a map. When this happens I try not to flash back to driving in Boston.
• I need to figure out how to collapse the ironing board and open and close the clothesline.

As tourists, I've always thought that most of us don't begin to really see the place we're in until we're leaving it. As a newly arrived expat, I'm beginning to understand the difference.

 

Hanging the laundry on a breezy day. This clothesline is collapsible.
I still haven't figured out how to do it.

 

Diary of a Reluctant Housewife

Yesterday morning we landed in London and immediately took part in the great British pastime of queuing up: first at passport control, where lines were long due to a border agents' strike; next at the car rental counter, where we waited 45 minutes for our car; and finally on the M25, in a six-mile backup caused by an accident. Four hours after we landed, we arrived at John's mother's house. The rest of the day is a jet-lagged blur, but there was a pub involved.

Today we went to the bank, where I learned I have no history. In fact, as far as Lloyd's bank knows or cares, I'm a housewife with no credit rating or past employment. I should have suspected something when the car insurance companies said that once I get my UK licence, I'll be a new driver.

So I'll tag along on John's new credit card, and he'll be the primary owner of our first and second cars. There was some question about whether or not we could open a joint account, since I might bring down the credit rating of my 53-year-old husband, who -- as far as Lloyd's bank knows or cares -- lives with his mom.

Today's lesson: I really need to get a job.