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.