Diary – July 7th 2009

‘Don’t Dream It’s Over’

That song by Crowded House was the first song I ever heard on American radio early one Monday morning in Thanksgiving week in November 1989. And so the New York love affair went from being a dream to a solid, achievable goal.

Today there is no more dreaming of New York or any other city in the USA.

Today on July 7th, on this poignant of London days, I have been denied another visa having held the previous one for 5 years and used it just once. This last trip to the US was the first in 20 years that I had stayed longer than 10 days. But that’s enough for the United States of America.

5 hours of waiting and not being able to concentrate on the light reading I had taken with me, 2 minutes of ‘interview’ comprising 2 main questions, why do I go to the USA and what do I do for a living and then 3 minutes of me asking questions after being rejected. The other areas they were interested in are marriage, children and mortgage. They could have rejected me  on that basis on the phone as I didn’t give them any new information.

They don’t want me back spending thousands of my hard earned pounds, entertaining the locals with my British sense of humour, making new friends and definitely not dating an American! I think that threw them over the edge with the ratio of men : women being so disproportionate in New York. Reports say there are 185,000 more single women then men. Incidentally there are 40,000 more single men than women in LA so a small migration would re-address the balance somewhat.

With the statistics stacked against women, and the fact that I was not looking, I find myself adoring a New Yorker within 2 months. I think he has a little crush on me too.

The official reason given is that they think I was working in the US but they don’t have to prove it. I wasn’t, but cannot prove it.

They grey area being that by working, they possible mean on my own UK based business. On that basis every parent that goes to Disney with their family and communicates with their UK colleagues is working and therefore violating the terms of the visa.

In their eyes, my business of 5 years is ‘fledgling’ and cannot sustain my extended visit although the officer did not ask for any evidence against her hasty decision. She did not ask for my bank statements, annual accounts, information about how the business works, the two folders of press coverage I have  collated, the character references I gathered or my proofs of address. Most importantly of all they don’t ask for my certificate to prove I am a Godparent of a British child. Surely the most significant responsibility of all?

I cannot think of any other ways to prove my ties to the UK but now realise what they want to hear: mortgage, kids, marriage and 9-5 job. Everything I have wanted to get away from and now find myself questioning if I should have.

There is no appeal but I can try again paying £1.20 per minute to call the Embassy and $135 fee every time. Not even considering the cost of trains and taxis, food, storing phones and the loss of earnings and going in front of the firing squad each time. It’s a game of Russian roulette to them and it’s all down to the individual officer.

I will never be allowed back on the visa waiver programme as a normal British citizen who can stay three months at a time. I can only visit America with an applied for 6 month visa, even if only passing through for one day.

The America that I have admired, respected and been inspired by all my life and worked specifically towards for the last 10 years or more has gone.

 

I’d already text all the text well wishers from the morning during the very long and disrupted train journey back from London. I had to buy another ticket as even having allowed 4.5 hours for my interview rather than the 2-3 hours they suggest, I miss the reserved train by 2 hours. I had to leave my Blackberry, phone, laptop and mini personal radio with left luggage as none of those were allowed at the Embassy. I email everyone else when I get home.

I come back to be greeted by supportive and understanding room mates who help me clear all references to USA from my room. I had picked up an American history book from the library last week. I hide it from view until I can return it unread. I have a whole New York Cheesecake in the fridge, as is de rigueur for me, but it remained untouched for 3 days.

I can’t quite put the words into a sentence to describe how I’m feeling but here they are:

heartbroken                 distraught                    upset               low                   blue                 helpless                       frustrated                     innocent                      deserved                     exhausted                   in pain              British              tired                 un free             wasted             tainted             marked                        unlucky                        without             lost                   overworked                 bullied              outcast                        hurt                  ill hungry                      non-trusting                 loyal                 loved               supported                    respected                        uneconomical

I’m not feeling angry. I’m too tired to be angry.

The hardest thing is making that call to my boyfriend. I wake up at exactly 3.48 in the morning having fallen asleep without a problem after my 5am start. I checked the flashing light on my Blackberry, and sure enough, he had emailed me 3.28 to find out what had happened. I guess he knew I would have called him immediately if there was even a glimmer of hope. I so desperately want to speak to him but know I would not be able to hold a coherent conversation. It will have to wait. Tomorrow’s another day.

 

Thanks for reading about my adventures in New York. There will be no more New York Shenanigans but I will still be writing on www.rickiejosen.co.uk

Until the next adventure starts……..

Diary – June 28th 2009

Tune of the week: David Guetta / Kelly Rowland – When Love Takes Over

Of all the things I have achieved, this has to top them. Marks and Spencer are following me on Twitter. Fantastic!

Until I look at who else they follow. 14000 other Tweeters, mostly female I think.

Later Microsoft Office Live started following me so now I’m thinking these large companies must have some software that allows them to find out all about their consumers through their Tweets and online networking habits.

Meet Up

Talking of networking, I attended my first events since arriving back from New York. Both clashed with the Confederations Cup football tournament. On Wednesday I trundled into the city for the Birmingham Entrepreneurs Meet Up, my first in the UK. The instructions say to go to the back of the bar where there will be a table flagged so I’ve got here early but still can’t see a table having gone round the Cheers style bar twice. I ask at the bar but as per the smaller New York business events, they are clueless. I decide to make one more round trip as the organiser must be here at the very least. From the corner of my eye, I see a small Meet Up logo which I obviously missed the first two times that I passed the very first likely table I saw as for some reason I literally expected a flag!

The table is already full which surprises me this early on. The group look like creative types but turn out to be from a variety of corporate and business backgrounds although I only manage to speak with four of them before making a dash for at least the second half of the football. Not before having a drink spilt at my end of the table missing me but just catching my all important writing book. The only other female at the group, a fashion graduate catches most of it but thankfully on her bare legs as she is wearing the 1970s shorts that seem to be the rage at the moment.

Still it’s good to meet the software engineer who was instrumental in helping Egg turn into an internet bank, the business consultant who has a client setting up a new coffee franchise in Birmingham, a serial student (surprisingly not American) and the graduate who I invite to a Business Scene event the next evening.

I’m home just after the second half of the match has started and am shocked with the score of 2-0 to USA v Spain! USA only just scraped into the semi-final having indirectly knocked Italy out by beating Egypt in the final round. I would like to have seen it all but then I wouldn’t have met a whole load of new people and found out about a Social Media event on Friday morning and about the very wonderful Moo business cards.

New Business

I had an idea for a new business brand a few months ago, right before my laptop crashed but now have written the plan. See what you think Hudson Concierge and Twitter

Thursday and I’m at the second event in two days this time meeting the fashion graduate beforehand. It turns out to be one of those terrible networking events where everyone is desperate to talk to everyone else and no seems to want to start any meaningful, respectful relationships. So I grab a glass of OJ and make two trips to the lovely buffet table before settling down for what should be an interesting talk about using online social networking to promote business.

It turns out to be fun but just really a list of networking sites rather than the ways in which we should promote ourselves. He gives case studies in how the medium has helped him build contacts but no practical ways in which to promote ourselves.

 I am amazed that no-one has asked for my business card after they find out I spend other people’s money for a living. Not even the caterer asked after I went out of my way upon my exit to congratulate him on the very fitting food.

Still the food is nice. I should have eaten a lot more to get value for money.

Football Two 

I rush hoe again although this time I’m missing out on the good food to see the South Africa v Brazil match. SA are putting up a great fight and are stepping up their game to be worthy semi finalists but Brazil have to win this one 2-0. They go on to play the newly better-than-average USA in the final on Sunday. Which I will miss as I have a date in Hyde Park.

At the Birmingham Entrepreneurs Meet Up on Wednesday, I was recommended the Birmingham Social Media Group and have decided to attend on this sunny Friday morning whilst (or while if you’re American) I’m still in the mood to meet new people. Not a good time for me as mornings = business and creativity is for the afternoons but I’m intrigued and don’t want to wait a month to the next one. If I go again, my memory of this group is always going to be regretting my battery is low on my micro radio and trying to listen to the Michael Jackson tunes played across every radio station all day today. Today being the day after the passing of the talented artist who influenced a generation. I wouldn’t call myself a fan but I have utmost respect and admiration for his ability, especially as many of today’s hip hop, R & B and pop artists are clearly influenced by him. It’s warming to hear all the radio stations acknowledging his achievements on this beautiful sunny morning as I took the scenic route to the city’s Coffee Lounge.

I get to the Coffee Lounge on time but decide it looks a little quiet so its too early to go in as a newcomer – anyone who is here will feel obliged to talk to me. I’m popping into M&S to get the weekend breakfast – a rare treat and a big bonus to be in the city on a Friday – and then to Boots to get a present for my newly engaged roomie. I’ve already got a good bottle of red for her intended. I stroll back to the Coffee Lounge although the shop is still quiet. On entering I realise there is a downstairs! So that’s where it is! I grab my coffee and negotiate the steps as the noise gets louder and I’m greeted by a packed room.

Actually, I’m not greeted at all but figure out I need to put my moniker on a sticky name badge.  I make sure that I give a nod and a smile to anyone standing or walking in on their own to give them the go-ahead to come and introduce themselves but I eventually approach someone unaware from behind who had just finished a phone call. The I move on to the person who had emailed me back when I inquired about the event. There is something to be said for name badges, despite my disliking wearing them.

I go on to meet someone who has been living in Barcelona for 20 years; I thought I had a culture shock after being away for just 5 months! I also met someone who had written 2 Pink Floyd books. Or rather he had re-written one and then had re-wrote so much it became his book.

There were at least 2 other people here from Wednesday’s Meet up that I didn’t get a chance to speak with then and although I blatantly said hello, it didn’t develop into a full conversation here either.  Maybe it was their turn to be busy today. I only spoke with the Fashion Graduate who came in after me.

There were a few strange people too, as there would be at any gathering so despite being asked in no uncertain terms why I was at social media event and being told I was approaching online networking incorrectly – also with a tone of aggression, I liked a few of the more friendly people I met there so will try it again.

On the way back, still straining to listen to the radio’s coverage of Michael Jackson’s death, I take the scenic route but have not managed this successfully as yet, missing a turning and ending up 10 minutes from home at my regular coffee shop. Oh, well, it is a lovely sunny morning.

Glasto

I love the Glastonbury weekend. I’ve never been as I have no inclination to stand, sit or sleep in a muddy field for 3 days solid, trusting my belongings to 178,000 strangers and assorted pests or the alternative of walking 2 hours to the nearest hotel with running water after standing up for the best part of 8-10 hours every night. On reflection, had I known I was going to be in the country, if there is any year I shoulda/coulda/woulda, it’s this one. Springsteen headlining on Saturday night.

I cannot think of anyone else that was ever likely to play at Glastonbury that was worth the sacrifice. Unless Gun reform of course but then I would go anywhere in the world to see them play. There is a lot to be said for being fans of solo artists then bands that inevitably break up.

If you can’t take the girl to New Jersey, bring New Jersey to the girl

The Boss is at Hyde Park London on one of the hottest days of the year. All my CDs are in New York but the radio has been very Springsteenesque this week building up to the two big weekend shows.

I cannot believe it’s been over 20 years since I last saw him. In what world is that OK? What was I thinking?  That day on the Tunnel of Love tour in c1988 is one of the best of my life so why did I leave it so long?

Maybe that’s why. The day couldn’t be topped. I still love the Tunnel of Love album and the highlight of that show was Tunnel of Love and Born in the USA. At that time, the song hadn’t been wrongly used by so many political campaigns as being a patriotic message and of course it’s long been removed from the set. But Tunnel of Love is still one of the best which ever format it’s heard in.

I pre-booked my train tickets so as to have not too early a start on Sunday morning but have popped out to pick up the Sunday Times. The local news shop is closed (!) so I have to go across the big street to the other one. I eventually leave with a good 10 minutes to spare to stroll to the train station. Luckily I have as 5 minutes into the walk, I realise I’ve left my train tickets in my other purse, having swapped at the last minute to carry as little as possible. I race home and race back in the midday heat picking up speed. Any other time I wouldn’t have minded getting the next one but the support acts were only announced on Friday, after I booked my train and I want to see the third support in particular, Gaslight Anthem also from New Jersey.

They looked great at Glastonbury last night, all the better for the Boss coming on stage to join them for a track. They must have felt like the luckiest band on the planet; to be at the same festival is one thing, being at Glastonbury is an honour anyway but to have one of your inspirational fellow statesmen on stage with you, singing one of your songs! Does the world get any better than that?!

I’m at the train station with 2 minutes to go, look up at the boards. My train is cancelled.

Power Failure

There’s been a power failure in North London and the next one is in 20 minutes but it’s a slower train. It’s already waiting and in the panic, having already gone through ticket inspections, I get on regretting not grabbing a large comforting coffee first.

The train is comfortable but full to bursting having picked up the passengers from my cancelled train too and painfully stopping at every city for several minutes. As we approach London, I’m already an hour late and calculate Gaslight Anthem will be going on about now, it’s stopped. Completely.

The train is too busy for me to try and find a coffee, plus I wont have enough time to drink it now before I make a run for the tube when we reach Euston so I decided to make the most of the time and find a bathroom to pop my contact lens. These are the only pair I have, saved for a special occasion as the other 100 or so pairs are in NYC.

Every the time the train nudges forward, it feels like being able to breath again only to have the oxygen taken away from me when it stops.

I don’t wear a watch any more but I heard the 3pm news come on the radio before I rapidly switched stations to avoid it. I keep reminding myself I’m going to see Bruce Springsteen! Everyone else is a bonus.

Finally, the train reaches Euston and I’m ready to sprint. I wanted to buy a postcard with the London tube map to send back to BF and friends in NYC but that gesture is out the window now. Luckily the tube is waiting for me and the stifling underground heat is no match for the adrenalin building up inside of me.  10 minutes and I’ll be in Hyde Park.

I don’t the exact time I arrived at the entrance near Speakers Corner, but it was somewhere between 3.30- 4pm. In music terms, Gaslight Anthem had come off and the stage was being set for James Morrison. Well I’m here. Where’s my coffee?

This seemed more like a family occasion with a subdued, relaxed, grown-up audience. We have all grown up along with the Boss but are clearly still in the 70’s, 80’s or 90’s at heart – whichever era of Springsteen belongs to you. Wow, what a back catalogue.

The event is so grown-up they have a coffee and cake stall. 2 words that normally fill me with girly delight but the line was too long and happily the more traditional burger joint next door has a very satisfactory large coffee. Two words I thought I’d never use to describe something at any rock gig.

Time to check out the view of the stage for two much more important words Bruce Springsteen.

Hard Rock Calling

It must be around 4pm as James Morrison comes onto the stage and I sip my coffee just as some rain drops come down. I have my cord, cap hanging from my bag filled with M&S picnic goodies so put the coffee down to scoop my hair up under it. What’s a few rain drops in this heat. Given the time, this large drink is pretty much going to be the last one if I am to find a spot within the first 30 rows and stay there until the main event to keep the view of the stage.

James Morrison was as refreshing as the coffee and the rain and a lot heavier than I imagined. Is this for the Hard Rock Calling crowd or his normal live set? In either case, the boy done good despite his obvious disappointment with the lack of good backing singers amongst the crowd. Hard Rock is not how I describe any of the acts although I won’t know about the first one that came on, Beauvoir Free.

The heaviness was probably mostly contained within Gaslight Anthem. I heard them being described as Springsteenesque on Radio 2 yesterday by a reporter who was clearly excited about the prospect of the Boss going on with them. That’s how I knew to tune into their set on TV later.

I didn’t hear of the duet being mentioned at Hyde Park or on Twitter so I guess I didn’t miss it live. It did happen during the Springsteen set later though.

I negotiate my way into position near the end of Dave Mathews Band set holding a bag of hot chips. I know DMB are big in the US and although I know the name, I couldn’t give you a tune. I know this is their play for world, or UK domination and their tracks sound good and go down well with their fans but it wasn’t quite as too my taste as Gaslight Anthem. I find a good view and sit down with my chips for a little rest before having to stand up for a marathon 3 hours or so.

So now I’m here, waiting for the Boss and the legendary (word use absolutely intended) E Street Band to come on and ignite the stage. Will it be pulsatingly loud as the last time? Will the bass drive an arrow threw my heart? Will the sound of guitars rocket above the crowd towards me? Will Clarence’s sax overpower us? Will the drums pound through the holler of the crowd?

They come on stage. No introductions. No greeting. No logos. No fancy lights. Just good old fashioned rock ‘n’ roll starting with the Clash’s London Calling. An excellent start.

The fact that I could hear the conversations around me but not the sound of heart beating loudly meant that this wasn’t as loud as before. But we are all 20 years older and the first time is always the best. Right?

Rock n Roll

I know he doesn’t include Tunnel of Love or Born in the USA in his set anymore but Born to Run is still included and still the crowd pleaser. Hungry Heart and The River were both unfortunately omitted but I’m sure I will hear them live again at some point. Hungry Heart and especially Tunnel of Love would be two request songs – he does a couple in every show but now Trapped has popped into my head so as I look at the crowd, there is a small sign requesting it. I’m beside myself with excitement when the Boss selects it later on. That was my moment.

It’s a shorter set than I envisaged, not much longer than 2½ hours and the boss finishes 15 minutes early at 10pm. There is time for another 2-3 numbers and the next day I hear that Jon Bon Jovi (Bi Jovi) was waiting in the wings to duet on Hungry Heart. If that is true, that would have been my moment.

It’s a fantastic show, something positive to come out of the Summer of 2009. Despite the fact my last train home is delayed again, packed again but with coffee and complimentary water and a taxi waiting at the other end, it was all worth it coming home at 2.20 in the morning.

I look forward seeing Springsteen again and much more frequently. Next time at the old Giants stadium, New York in October. Here’s hoping.

PS Confederation cup final: Brazil 3-2 USA, Brazil coming from behind to win it. Still no press coverage for the success of the team in the US.

Diary June 21st 2009

Writing

Well I have sent out lots of emails to editors and last week I received my targeted 3 responses back. Just have to keep doing it and doing it better….

That is spurring me on plus I have the usual influences of reading about people doing what they love for a living, and indeed all the time. Twitter is helping; I’m even following Martha Stewart on one of my four accounts (business, writing, new business launch – not using the one under my own name yet). Now there’s a women who has dragged herself up to the top. Twice.

Tuesday

I came back from the wedding at the weekend later on Sunday that I had planned so missed House, the one and only drama I watch on TV! In fact the only thing I watch outside Jonathan Ross. What else is there? And I missed the repeat on Tuesday! Will note that day for next time.

I’m consoling myself by watching Italy v USA for the Confederations Cup on the I Player. I didn’t even know the tournament was on; once the football season is over I guess I don’t take too much notice of the sports news but I’m still amazed I didn’t hear about it. And Italy are in it!

I’m definitely watching the Italy v Egypt match live on Thursday. Good to have some football on again.

Bloomingdales

On the way to the coffee shop, I see someone with the large Bloomingdales shopping bag which got my attention and then I see another lady with the smaller version of the bag which really made me smile.

I wonder if they work together and a colleague has bought a load of bags over from New York. They make good presents. I know because I bought all the girls in my family them for Christmas, wrapped the up with a gift inside and shipped them back from New York. I didn’t get a volume discount and they cost a fortune to mail.

It’s Friday

I don’t often go out on a Friday afternoon to write because of my Friday cinema habit, going to see Red Cliff later, but I’m having a sneaky, quick chai in a different coffee shop. My one doesn’t do it which I prefer as it’s full of sugar unlike my plain old coffee and its 50p more but I think this will be weekly sweet treat. I’m spending the whole time brainstorming new ideas based on New York and Customer Service and feeling mightily creative.

I always brainstorm or do first drafts by hand, even though I really detest writing by hand ordinarily but I seem to prefer it for this purpose. I’ve discovered a great web-based brainstorming tool www.bubbl.us which means I can even brainstorm with people remotely now. In any case my 8 month old Toshiba laptop is playing up but I can’t be without it for days or weeks by sending it back to them under warranty so the extremely handy laptop doctor around the corner has had a look. It just needs a small replacement part which will take an hour to do – once he get’s hold of it – and cost around £75 to stop the screen from going almost black. It’s almost better to have laptop man around the corner than a 7-11 I think.

Saturday

I’ve got the place to myself again this weekend so started by cleaning it. Well cleaning what was left as my roomie had already cleaned up the kitchen before she left for the weekend. I wanted to write, or at least tidy up some pitches but the city was calling me. I’m in search of the scenic canal walk to the city but have got about half way before reaching a dead end and I have scuffed my £3 disposable white shoes! These are one of the 3 pairs of cheepie shoes I picked up a few weeks ago just to keep me going for the next couple of months or so as all my good shoes are in New York. The other 2 cost £2 and £10 and I am closely monitoring how long they last compared to my normal £50 in the sale pairs.

Note to self: pick up a canal map

Back home, I’m enjoying the Spain v South Africa match. Spain are on fire and I enjoy watching them play but I’m feeling for South Africa as the home nation of this and the up coming world cup. They have to do well! A perfect Saturday evening, home alone with the football. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this/said that.

Well as perfect as can be stuck in England with no social life and zero ambition to have one here.

South Africa work really hard, lose 2-0 but go through on points.

I celebrate their success with lemon cheesecake, to make a change from the New York cheesecake but I’m already missing it enough to look forward to it next weekend.

Diary June 14th 2009

The Boss

Well, there is a silver lining; after deciding that there was actually no reason not to see Springsteen in Hyde Park on June 28th, I couldn’t get even one ticket. Not one. Until the fourth day of trying and then for a few minutes a hundred mini sparklers lit up inside me whilst I raced for the two minutes I was given to (correctly) input my payment card details, hoping I wasn’t going to get an interruption in those few moments. Finished. Any minute now, I was going to get a confirmation email that will put a most welcome smile on my face and a silver lining on the dark cloud that has engulfed me since April 17th.

Now, if I can get back to New York to see the Boss with the E Street Band – the greatest backing band in the history of the musical universe – for the last performance at the old Giants Stadium in October, it will sure put the spring right back in my step. Where it always has been.

Talking of springs, I got a call to say my new bed was finally arriving this week so now the only thing I need to get back to any sort of normal existence is a freezer. Yes, I have simple needs. Talking of existence, I got an email from Manhattan Mini Storage to say they will release my goods on Tuesday as they now have my notarised letter. So the letter was OK at least.

Writer

This week I started sending out emails to pitch my writing talents (hey if I don’t big myself up, who will?) to editors. I decided I will send some emails out each day, Tuesday to Thursday, figuring on Mondays and Fridays they are busy, not there or nonchalant. I’m aiming at around 50 emails per week on this basis so was delighted when I had a response from and unlikely source, Women’s Fitness magazine!

They asked me to pitch some feature ideas so during next day’s coffee shop session I brainstormed (with some help from my good friend the copywriter turned photographer) more than enough and duly sent over a selection. I know from experience (14 years in publishing) and research (2 books and hundreds of articles) that feature ideas probably languish in the bottom of editors’ piles for months, especially on monthly publications that our planned months in advance. I will persevere and simply build up my collection of contacts and keep in touch with new and original ideas. You heard it here first.

King Eric

On Friday, I momentarily forgot which movie was coming out this week so the fact that ‘Looking for Eric’ came up when I checked meant the little sparklers lit up inside me again. It’s about a down-on-his-luck, single father of ungrateful teenagers in Manchester looking for inspiration to just keep going. The Eric he was looking for is Mr Cantona, known as King Eric to United fans, or sometimes referred to as just God.

I have to say the film being British, by Ken Loach and funny was enough to entice me in but you’ll have to read the review to find out my thoughts I had some interest in the old bed so I had booked them into see/collect it in an hour long window before the cinema which also gave me some time to start putting the new one together. That all went well with most of the bed together inside 30 minutes – the next 30 minutes was spent putting the final 2 screws together and wondering what happened to the people who wanted the bed.

I spent the final 30 minutes before King Eric time struggling to put the two ends of the bed together on my own before breaking off for a quick chai and snack just as my room mate came home and the internet phone rang. It was the car rental company saying they couldn’t pick me up tomorrow at the allotted time. I had a wedding to go to then and a film to go to that I had fortunately already picked up the ticket for earlier so I had no time for last minute customer service failures.

I grabbed their number and dialled it from my mobile before saying goodbye to my roomie and heading across the street to the cinema. By the time the pedestrian lights changed, I had convinced the rental company that they needed to stick to the plans as I don’t have time to change them at 5.45 on a Friday evening (when King Eric was waiting) and they agreed apologising profusely. All was good again.

The English Wedding

Enterprise arrived right on time on Saturday morning to take me to my car which gave me enough time to come back, pop on one of best summer frocks and load up the car to be on my way. I got to MK with the essential Jonathan Ross on Radio 2 as company an hour earlier than I needed but whiled away the next 45 minutes looking for a take out coffee kind of on route from somewhere I could park close by and that wasn’t Starbucks – over rated, over priced, corporate monster with a holier than though attitude although is no better at looking after the planet than you and I and has obliterated the face of New York by being in about 9 million places more than it ought to be.

I passed the surprisingly OK for coffee Wild Bean Café at the petrol station on the opposite side so ended up in Stony Stratford, the oldie worldly bit of Milton Keynes that is tolerable but after walking for 10 minutes through the High Street in my wedding finery on a warm Saturday lunchtime, I came across the worst of the chain coffee stores, Costa! Still I got a big coffee, after giving the staff a lesson in what chai is and then arrived at the bridal house right on time at 12.45 ready to help. Turns out the house was calm and organised with just a hint of nervousness.

Not so calm when I started counting down the minutes at gone 2pm when not one of the 6 bridal party were dressed and the cars were arriving at 2.45. Whilst it was a privilege to see the bride before she had got into a dress, by 2.30 I had forcibly (verbally) moved the bridesmaids upstairs to get ready and seen the bride start to panic. I then put my event planner hat firmly on and did my best to diffuse the inevitable tension rising with 6 people getting ready at the same time on the most important day of at least one of their lives and everyone wanting it to be perfect.

I thought I may have been needed to lend a hand holding hair grips for the hairdresser or running to McDonalds if that was the only thing the bride could face eating but instead was responsible for putting on the bride’s garter, adjusting her net underskirt and finding 4 pairs of silver sandals before we started a new trend for the bare foot bridal look. All the time I was taking the official getting ready photos. The 3 bridesmaids looked fantastic and not in the least bit cliqued and managed to put on their own footwear. The bride however could not now bend to see her feet with the restrictions of the dress so I had to aid her in finding the extra holes the father of the bride had kindly put into the straps to make them more comfortable. She was good to go.

Her friend had borrowed a large Mercedes from his employer but it was still a task to put the slim, elegant bride inside it with the fluffy layers of the dress. Once I closed the door, it was time for me to accompany my friend, the mother of the bride to church. From the resplendent beautiful bride, the proud groom, the dolly mixtures and love hearts on the cake and in the favours to the hog roast and BBQ and especially the yellow and white daisies giving the gardens a quintessentially English feel, the whole day went perfectly.

Diary – June 7th 2009

Ok, this is the last of the bad luck, things happen for a reason period. This week, I received not one but two letters on the same day from two different police forces. Both have accused me of speeding but obviously in 2 different parts of the country. What are the chances of that?! 

This is when I was in a hire car for a week after selling mine. I got a slightly larger than diminutive car to help with shifting boxes and furniture that I was shipping and selling so I did have cruise control, as in my own car but hadn’t worked out how to use it, thinking how fast can this little thing go anyway? Plus, I wasn’t meant to be in the country for the next few months so didn’t think it mattered too much!

Cruise control evidently works (if you use it) as I hadn’t had a speeding fine since 2006. 2006! So as of May 31^st, I had zero points for the first time in probably a decade! So it could have been worse. Oddly enough, looking back, I had been caught 3 times in May over the years (although this was April). Remind me not to drive next May.

So on to the good fortune, this week I received some money that I was owed from a client earlier in the year. I knew I’d get at least half of it but was delighted when my debt collection agency not only got it fully paid but how soon they retrieved it.

I’ve been keeping up with the reading a book a week goal and this week finished one about writing memoirs which had some good tips. On to an Audrey Hepburn one next.

On Thursday, I met with a lawyer in the city who could notarise a letter to give permission to Manhattan Mini Storage to release my belongings that they refuse to store without me being there. I still don’t understand why as I’m an existing customer and this cost me £50. It’s half the price of competitors but it would have been $7 in New York where this is so very much more common practice.

What a good job he did though; It came complete with green ribbon, a red seal, another embossed seal and several stamps to authenticate. One thing I’m not sure if it will work though as no sooner had I put it in the post, I thought surely I could have put any letter in the envelope with the notarisation? I’ll keep my fingers crossed.

The $500  cash that I had lying around so thought it best to send to my good friend Jersey Girl in New York is still missing in action almost a month later although it was sent in the very same way.

Terminator

A bright spot of the week was the new Terminator film which I duly saw on the usual Friday evening, having seen T2 in the week and followed it by watching T1 late on Friday after the excellent Jonathan Ross with Eric Cantona and Hugh Laurie. More excitement than a girl can take in 48 hours.

This weekend, the heat wave of the last couple of weeks has been replaced by the more common place cold and rain. It’s still a shock to the system and I optimistically delayed my walk into the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery on Saturday to see if the rain stopped, although it was forecast for the whole day.

I covered a different part of the gallery this week although I couldn’t resist going through the Obama’s People exhibit again which lead me to the Renaissance section – the usual stuff really.

I’d already popped into M&S in the week to purchase some of their 125^th Anniversary limited edition souvenirs – I couldn’t resist having that to take back to the US with me – so it was just straight forward food buying today. I so very much miss the big fridge/freezer I’m used to instead of 1 shelf in the fridge and a non-functioning freezer. (It’s supposed to be on its way – has been for about 6 weeks now. As has my bed).

The highlight of the week was finally catching up with Country Boy on Saturday night having missed him each time I called in the week. I realised that we had a working landline in the apartment which by my recollection means we have free weekend calls with Virgin. I decided to take advantage of a nice clear connection and waited until Saturday to call him even though by now I knew he was around on Friday afternoon (UK:late night).

I actually caught him in a shopping mall with a friend – a sentence I never thought I would write to include his name. I agreed to call him back a couple hours later to save interrupting them only for our landline to ring a little while later. I had not heard it ring previously so before I could work out where the sound was coming from my room mate answered it and it was him calling me back. That was a first and a lovely surprise but I think it was in response to my slightly cheeky complaint that I had tried him 3 nights in a row and he hadn’t picked up! He’s not to do it again though as it would have been incredibly expensive whereas I’m all Skyped up so it doesn’t cost me any extra.

Diary – May 25th 2009

Birthday Boy

It’s the boyfriend’s birthday today and I feel sad. I normally feel upbeat after I have spoken to him but not today. I’ve tried to make it nice for him; I’ve sent 3 books related to his musical hero, Ray Davies, of which he has so far received 2, one more than I had hoped.

I knew he wanted clothes and had I been there as planned I would have taken him shopping so instead I cunningly sent him a Marks & Spencer voucher so he has to come here and spend it. But to be sure he received a surprise on his birthday, I sent him an American Eagle voucher, the shop I introduced him to, to buy something to wear for when he comes over to see me – so I can enjoy it too. By the sounds of it, he hasn’t received it, or more likely deleted it as junk mail but I didn’t want to spoil the surprise just yet.

I sent 2 cards; a funny one relating to his bad relationship with computers in which I composed a ‘Purple Ronnie’ style poem. (Another career for me?) and a normal that I don’t recall with the M&S voucher complete with photo of huge cupcake. That should be enough to remind him of me.

I was going to arrange for a bouquet of balloons to be delivered on the day but wasn’t sure if maybe he had some sort of balloon phobia as some people do. Oddly enough, it’s never come up in conversation. I wanted to send him a cheesecake – our joint favourite dessert but they only send huge ones which seemed wasteful as I wasn’t there to help demolish it. I was also going to whisk him away for a weekend and I had either Rhode Island or Atlantic City in mind – 2 extremes – but I was going to let him decide where he wanted to go.

I’m going to treat him to a nice weekend when he arrives here. I hope he comes because he never mentions it unless I bring it up and I don’t want to pressurise him.

Whitsun

The long glorious English weekend stretches ahead and I have absolutely nothing planned and no-one to see, other than a movie tonight and lots and lots of writing. I’m home alone all weekend for the first time since last October when I moved to New York and tasted the apartment share lifestyle as both my room mates are away. I’m going to resist the temptation to run through the apartment naked. I didn’t do it when United won the league last weekend so won’t be doing it now. United winning the league is usually one of the best days of my year, up there with my Birthday – nowadays spent in foreign climes – and Christmas in New York. Strangely the euphoria lasted all of 45 minutes before my lift arrived to take me to an ill decided upon afternoon 50^th birthday party in London. As soon as I confirmed the travel details in the morning, I regretted it and as the hour approached, that feeling deepened.  Having got back at 3am and spent a grand total of 8 ½ hours not being able to breathe in the back of a car. I don’t travel at all well as a passenger and had the added misery and a cold kick starting my asthma to contend with. I still got up at 7.30 am the next day to watch the Match of the Day repeat and then wore red until the Champions League Final on the 27^th as per tradition. 

Home Alone

I went to see this AwayDays for my Friday movie, a renewed tradition since finding myself back in England. If I was in New York, most likely this would be a night to see one of the girls, not a big night out, usually a movie or drinks or music or just Afternoon Tea at Alice’s Tea Cup followed by a mooch round the shops.

I was a little hesitant as my decision to go was based on it being billed as football*music*fashion*1970s so that I couldn’t resist but then I read about how violent it was and it’s an 18. This was real violence, not Bruce Willis/Stephen Segal pretend fun action packed violence.  (Had to separate those two words so not picked up by search engines for the wrong reason!).  It was good (See review in Movies section) but not as nice a feeling as coming back to an empty flat. I so miss my own place and it’s only half as good as I don’t have any of my furniture or belongings. One day…..

Still I relished every moment and even did some cleaning on Saturday and Sunday mornings after the 15 minutes it took me to find the ‘on’ switch on the vacuum cleaner. Clearly it’s been a long time since I have done any cleaning and I found it quite therapeutic although never will I enjoy picking up or cleaning after anyone else. Back in the days when I worked 18 hour days for year after year I had a housekeeper and had no idea even where the iron was kept. Come to think of it I still haven’t used an iron for several months.

Over this weekend I managed to type up everything I had written since starting again 2 weeks ago, well over 7000 words in all so overall felt quite lifted.

Pride

Well as luck would have it, I walked out into the holiday Saturday lunch time sunshine and straight into Gay Pride, an event I had yet to experience in Birmingham. The idea of ‘doing the galleries’ went out of the window as I tried to search for signs of whether this parade was starting or ending and when and where. An hour later and the purchase of some £14 sweats and £3 shoes ( a result – I have been searching for cheap as chips replacements for things I cannot do without that I have just shipped  in plentiful supply to the US) I eventually figured out and got to the end of the parade although didn’t see any of it. I was appropriately dressed in red, long sleeved, string vest hoodie I thought.  It’s a little hard keeping up with wearing red everyday with 90% of my belongings in New York but so far so good.

Diary – Suspect April 17-19th 2009

 

I’ve always been nervous of customs and Immigrations, especially in the US and especially after the last several years of being stopped every single time I’ve entered the country through no fault of mine. It turned out I’d left my green visa waiver card in my passport several years ago so when I retuned back, it was still in there so it looked like I’d outstayed my welcome. This was pre-September 11^th and the security got much tighter after that. In my case, I had received a letter a couple of years ago to say I would not longer be stopped. I wasn’t.

If I was always nervous, this time I was more so as I didn’t quite believe their weren’t any conditions attached to the 6 month visitor visa I possessed. What I could never have imagined was the nightmare that followed.

The line to passport control was as long as ever, perhaps longer as it was a Friday afternoon. Plus JFK being the busiest and therefore the worst of the New York airports. Similarly I don’t like Heathrow so the journey was already not a favourite but I was overwhelmingly looking forward to going ‘home’ and at least it was my favourite, Virgin Airlines.

For a second, I thought the friendly inspector was going to let me through but sure enough the yellow folder came out, in went my passport and of I was marched into the familiar although not recently visited interview waiting room.

It was 5pm when I first glanced at the clock having sat in the front row, as if that was going to speed up my interview. My shuttle into the city was booked at 5.30 where I was due to unload my suitcases at the storage unit on 107^th Street, grab my overnight case, freshen up and then pick up the train into the country from 125^th Street. That train journey to the sanctuary of my boyfriend’s home was what I had looked forward to above all else for the last 3 weeks.

A record 3 hours wait later, I was called not to the desk at the front but an interview room at the back. The fact that it took longer than the usual 45 minutes rang nervous alarm bells and the interview room wasn’t helping.

5 minutes after that, my American Dream was shattered. My heart seemed to be made of glass and had been pulled out, shattered into a million pieces and sent into the galaxy never to be seen again. Or sent to hell.

Officer 1 absolutely did not believe I wasn’t seeking or already working illegally in the US. He did not believe my business could successfully be run from a Blackberry, even after I protested I didn’t have a blackberry (it was stolen) and I worked form a laptop. He didn’t believe I just liked being there, making friends and seeing a bit more of his great country.

“No, no, no.” he said, even when I offered to demonstrate how I worked with my laptop there right with me. No, I could stay a month and then will have to return to the UK.

Well it could have been worse I thought at the time. A month gives me time to sort out my shipment of goods arriving from the UK, spend time with my boyfriend whether he liked it or not to see where that was going and see my friends while determining what I needed to do to stay in the US. Apartment hunting was no longer a priority and it was a good job I hadn’t already found one and paid the required 3 months expensive rent up front.

Now past 8pm, I knew my boyfriend would have started to get worried as this was the time he expected me to be there. I eventually asked for a phone call as I had seen other people doing this but by this time everyone knew I was a deportee case and I had to seek further permission for a phone call.

Whilst in the open waiting area, Officer 2 was even more threatening whilst repeating the same questions. He told me there were two options; staying for the month or going straight back on a flight tomorrow. My protesting that I had already been told I will be staying a month fell on deaf ears. “That’s still to be decided”.

So now my world really had crumbled. I couldn’t care less that I was hungry, tired and needed the bathroom. Or about the extremely irritating and rude children running around and kicking me as they passed. Just that my dream was shattering and there’s nothing I could do to stop it.

I was struck by how many Americans were waiting although I realised most of these were released pretty quickly. Then I noticed how many pilots were in the room but again, they jumped the queue too. I reckoned my status was just about the terrorist suspects. Only just above though.

I was called back to see Officer 3 who was by far the nicest but this was when I my world was smashed beyond recognition. I was going back tomorrow. For a second, my gorgeously simple New York life flashed before me. The working in the morning followed by relaxing bubble bath and lunch before writing in the coffee shop in the afternoon or attending writing class. The Saturday mornings spent watching 2 or 3 live football matches. The weeks spent in the fantastic city and of course my beautiful country weekends with the boyfriend where I felt surprisingly at home. It was the idyllic American life. My longed for American Dream. Gone.

The life flashing lasted just for a few seconds. I quickly realised that I could wait another 5 or 6 months for that to resume. After all I’d waited 41 years.

What I couldn’t wait for, what I longer for was to see my boyfriend. What I wouldn’t have given to spend 1 month with him. I week. 1 night. Eating, talking, walking and waking up together. If I was being honest, I needed to know if this surprising, bolt-of-the-blue feeling went both ways.

I was booked on the flight the next evening at 6.30.Earlier I heard Officer 2 enquiring about availability of a Virgin rep. I just didn’t know he was saving me a seat.

Officer 3 gave me the full official, documented interview that will go on my record. I was given the option to voluntarily remove myself from the US which meant I wouldn’t receive an automatic 5 year ban. At least that’s the way I understood it and it was said on no uncertain terms that was my best option. Also that I was lucky as most people would just get an automatic ban. It was because I had not done anything wrong that I was given this option. I just didn’t look good on paper and they were suspicious. That’s all they needed to throw me off their land and there was I thinking our two nations had a good relationship.

I can’t remember the exact name but Officer 3’s name had ‘angel’ in it which seemed to give him a markedly better and positive attitude than the others. As my legitimate visa was being revoked, I could technically go back and obtain a visa on Monday and fly back out on Tuesday. Of course we know that it was not going to be that simple as these things tend to take their own sweet time.

 

The Phone Call

Finally, at the end of the interview I was asked who I wanted to call. I had realised a couple of hours back that I should have said ‘with friend’ when I was asked where I was staying. The word ‘boyfriend’ seemed to ring huge alarm bells. That said ‘wants to stay indefinitely’, ‘needs to find work’ and/or ‘illegal alien’ all over it. Perhaps then I would have been allowed to at least stay the month. Now however, I blatantly asked to call my boyfriend.

So they dialled the number for me and the first thing he did was offer help. ‘That’, I said ‘Is the problem’, before explaining why they are suspicious of me even though I haven’t done anything wrong. He helped defuse the situation for a few sweet minutes with his humour, after telling me he had tried contacting my friends via Facebook when he got worried and then offered to contact people for me. I had used up my one phone call but I didn’t want to speak to anyone else, just him for as long as I could until sure enough I was told to wind up the call. I told him they were taking me to an overnight place in Brooklyn where I can sleep, eat and have access to a phone. He asked if he was able to see me. I doubted it but it was a lovely thought. So close and yet so far.

It was gone 10.30 pm when Angel bought me some revolting pasta prison food. I needed to eat and picked out 6-7 pasta shells that I could bare to stomach to keep me going and pocketed the packet of crackers for a later emergency. I was past caring and I mused if my stomach had shrunk from being starved for so long. I was thankful that I had kept a water bottle and regularly filled it from the water fountain.

Angel told me it would be inhumane to make me stay in the waiting room all day and stated my lift should be on its way to take me to my Brooklyn bed, food and phone access.

At 11.20pm, more than 5 hours after my arrival and after all my paperwork was completed along with my finger prints being taken for the third time, Angel stated my lift should be on its way in 10 minutes. I was absolutely exhausted and wanted to sleep. I’ve now been up nearly 24 hours and not had a decent meal since my breakfast in London.

Day 2 – Inhumane

7am next morning. No sign of our lift or our Officers or the promised bed, food, phone. By now, I was on nodding terms with a gentleman in a similar position who was being deported back to India although he had his cases with him and mine were detained by Virgin, I guess as they were giving me a ride back. I was allowed to speak to a very nice man from Virgin the night before who rifled through my baggage to bring me my toiletries case. They thought I had my Asthma inhaler in there but I had been sensible and kept that with me.

I had seen 3 shift changes throughout the night whilst trying to sleep across 2 seats with a bar in the middle. Luckily I had my long leather coat which meant I was shaking less than I would have been but still shaking none the less. I did need to look after my laptop and several valuables so I had to try and sleep whilst holding on to everything.

The loud staff joviality throughout the otherwise quiet night ensured I was woken at less than hourly intervals. It was strangely comforting that they were demonstrably happy. Perhaps it proved they were humans after all.

The water had resulted in my asking to be taken to the bathroom every couple of hours which also got me out of that room that was filled with agitated, tired and scared people. It can’t be much better than waiting for your day in court knowing your life is in the hands of a jury. The only blessing was that we were either going to get through or be sent home.

With each accompanied bathroom visit I wondered where they thought I was going to run. Especially with 4” heels that I had not removed all night.

I came too when I heard a nice lady officer come in to check when we had last eaten and to let us both know they knew we were still here. I had asked on each bathroom visit if they had forgotten us and indeed any other questions I could think of but none resulted in any action. Lady Officer said she would organise some breakfast and then the lift will come.

I didn’t see the point of going anywhere now as I was going to be back for my return flight in a few hours. I’d have much rather just gone back to the departure lounge and checked in early and got some sleep there.

Finally our lift arrived in the shape of 3 security personnel at the exact same time as our yet to be warmed up breakfast. My fellow deportee had been told that he will be hand cuffed before being taken out of the airport. That would be a step too far I thought and felt a call to the British Embassy coming. Where do they we are going to run too? We were both professional citizens with, I believe, respectable lives.

We had to take our uncooked breakfast ‘to go’ and whilst the deportee got quite unnecessarily chained up for ‘his own safety as well as the officers’, I thankfully was not. What a relief. It would not have gone with my outfit I’m sure.

It was great to get out into the sunny New York April morning for just a few minutes before being directed into separate quarters of a van. Just like in the TV cop shows with wire partion. I fell in and out of sleep and wondered why it was taking an hour to get to neighbouring Brooklyn.

Finally we arrived. It was a detention centre in New Jersey. I had imagined something like a children’s home. Maybe a dorm room with carpet, curtains and a free phone from which I could speak to my boyfriend all through the night. What kind of bed was I going to get here? It was around 10am when we arrived into what looked like a police station reception where I was allowed to make my second phone call. I jumped at the chance to call the boyfriend and explain whilst promising I’ll call as soon as I can at the airport. It was lovely to hear his voice once again even though I guess we were both distressed over the situation.

I had been promised that I would be at the airport 4 hours before departure which meant leaving in 4 hours so I’d guessed no sleep.

 I was beginning to wonder if anything Angel said was true.

 

Usual Suspects

It dawned on me, given the limited time that this was no safe house. I was here to be processed. Rush processed at that. More forms. More questions. More finger prints. More inedible food and more lack of sleep.

This time I was in my very own room with a lock. I was in a TV cop show cell complete with the de rigueur steel toilet, tiny sink and a mirror but the key was on the opposite side.

I could not eat the breakfast that came into the cell with me whereas my laptop, toiletries and bag full of valuables was left on the other side. 2 parts of it was fruit that I don’t like but I eventually had the 2 small dry pancakes to keep me going. A long way from the brunch I should have been having as a free UK Citizen this morning. I or the staff had no idea how the self heating box worked as their were no instructions. After more questions, I was getting a shower although I was not the least bit bothered about receiving one. A change of clothes however would have been welcome but they were with the airline.

The shower room was open plan and just off the corridor. I was asked to strip so my clothes could be taken away to be replaced by prison type uniform, complete with hugely oversized underwear and the world’s smallest toiletries. Tooth brush, shower gel, shampoo, body lotion and deodorant called ‘Maximum Protection’ which amused me somewhat. I was left alone to shower and get dressed. I didn’t look for cameras but no doubt they were there.

I had no idea why I was here and I don’t think the staff knew why I had to go through the procedures as I had such a short time in which to leave for my flight. Why didn’t they just leave me at the airport this morning?

Afterwards, I was ready for more questions, the obligatory finger prints – as if they may have changed in the last 12 hours – and a ‘usual suspects’ style photo. I was interviewed, or rather processed as she didn’t ask me anything too challenging, by a young lady with unattractive, long, fancy talons who spent the whole time barking into the phone protesting at some work she was being asked to do.

I was told to tuck my oversized t-shirt into my oversized trousers and put my over sized sleeveless over-shirt on before being taken for my medical. I was never good at conforming to uniforms, not even at school. The place had to be locked down in order for me to be walked through the cold corridors to the medical centre. On enquiring why, I leant that it was so male dominated that they rarely had women there so it was to ensure my safety. I heard doors and gates being locked at every turn. There was a short wait in yet another locked room before I saw the nurse who would decide if I was fit to travel. I perked up no end on hearing that. My blood pressure being low was the only issue but luckily she decided that was only because I hadn’t eaten and immediately made a phone call to rush through my lunch.

Back in my cell, my lunch duly followed. All of it cold, more fruit and what I identified as breaded chicken of which one bite made my heave. I later had a few spoons of dry, cold rice to keep me going.

I was going to catch a plane in a few hours and I’ll be gone to a place with good food.

I had grown optimistic that we were moving through the red tape quickly when I had the longest wait. This was the most anxious I had been in my cell and it was when I started pacing up and down that  I started wondering how Nelson Mandela would have felt for 25 years. 25 years! I tried to measure the length of the cell using my feet as guide as I could barely sit down let alone nap. That made me feel worse as obviously there is absolutely no comparison. Except he hadn’t done anything wrong either.

I started feeling claustrophobic for the first time but resisted taking the inhaler and I had no idea of the time. I looked out of the door window to see my belongings all sitting in the office and not securely put away. My money, phones and jewellery were just sitting on the desk including the Tiffany cross I removed from my neck as soon as I came back to the UK and never put on again.

Every time I heard footsteps I was desperate for them to come to unlock my door and give me my clothes back. I had stopped praying so wishing and determination was all I had. The foot steps went passed 4-5 times before they finally unlocked my door. I was given my clothes back in the canvass sack I had placed them in earlier.

I got dressed in seconds not caring who walked past my small window to catch me in a state of undress.

Then I waited. More footsteps.

And waited.

The Long Journey Back

Finally, I was let out of the cell, back into the office to await the completion of my paperwork before I would be taken to the airport. I was given back my 4 pieces of jewellery which I counted loudly into the bag held open for me earlier. Only 3 pieces came back and I was missing a gold, cross ear-ring. Luckily it had just dropped onto the floor.

Here I realised there was another lady who was going back too. She was from Slovakia and spoke good enough English to converse with. The staff were pretty jovial which helped our mood. We were lucky; we were on our way to safety.

The officers were fighting over who was to drive and which vehicle as one was rumoured to be without fuel. Once in the van, I asked them to check again which flight I was on and they convinced me it was 18.30 and not 16.30 as I had heard both in the last 18 hours.

In the event, as they were running late to get the Slovakian on her plane, one lady swapped with the male driver on the assumption she was going to drive a lot faster. They only had an hour or so to get her on her plane.

On a dazzling sunny day that should have been the first of many spent in New York arrived back at JFK airport a few hours after I had left it.

Two officers got out check-in Mrs Slovakia leaving her waiting anxiously in the van for an elongated time. They finally got back and waited whilst the younger officer went off for some sort of break. She returned with a big hot meal which she ate after Mrs Slovakia left having given me her address for some bizarre reason, which I duly through away. I didn’t what she had done and didn’t need to be associated. Young Officer then kept me company whilst enjoying her hot meal followed by a nap in the New York sunshine. Sounds idyllic. I had $700 burning a whole in my pocket without anything to eat.

I waited. And waited for what seemed like another age. In the heat, starving with just my bottle of water for nourishment.

An hour or so in the van and finally the officers returned to check me in but not before more in-team arguing ensued. Can’t they just leave me in the airport and let me get on with it?

For the second time I informed them that my toiletries needed to be checked in as I’m not allowed onboard with it. To which they retorted that I can’t take them on board. I know. That’s what I was telling them!

They went to check me in, leaving me waiting again.

Ever since I had the displeasure of their company, the younger officer showed great disdain for her older colleague and this carried on no doubt long after their journey with me ended.

This is where Virgin Airlines came into their own once again,

Upon taking me into the airport, my young guard jumped the check-in line to ask about checking in my toiletries case with the luggage. The member of the Virgin staff directed us to the supervisor. Whilst waiting behind one person there, another supervisor offered help. Within seconds, with a beaming, friendly smile she had summoned a box which duly arrived for me to put my toiletry bag and anything else I wanted into. Immediately it was sealed, checked in and I had a receipt for it and was on my way.

My two guards escorted me towards the gate until I asked them to stop as soon as my eyes fell upon a café. They granted my wish to stop and obtain something to eat. I desperately needed a hot drink but my now my stomach was way too delicate for that. I needed fresh orange juice and something dry so I chose hummus with chips and spend $7 of my $700. The best $7 I could have spent but completely frowned upon by my young guard who couldn’t believe what it cost. I told her it’s a lot cheaper than London and secondly, what choice do I have?

I held back on my real thoughts. “You haven’t fed me properly in 24 hours, ate a hot meal and had a cold drink in front of me whilst I waited over an hour in a hot van, starving, thirsty and tired and didn’t excuse yourself or offer me anything! This is real food of my choosing. It’s the best $7 I have ever spent!”

Food. Sleep. Phone

As we reached the sun-lit and warm departure lounge I saw my plane outside. We sat with all the other passengers and I attempted to try a few chips with hummus before quickly realising I couldn’t manage anymore.

I was grateful that they were positive at my request to switch my phone on and check for messages. I listened to several messages from my boyfriend and from Crazy Too and read a few texts before sneakily texting my boyfriend to let him know where I was and that I will call him the minute I was free.

I had a little light banter with both my guards and the British family sitting opposite who I was sure were wondering what I had done wrong to be with 2 escorts and why I was fairly socially jovial. They should have seen me anytime in the last 24 hours if they wanted the response they expected from a ‘suspect’.

Of course I hadn’t broken any law and maybe the Virgin Airline staff knew this as they treated me with extra TLC to ensure my safe and healthy journey back.

I was allowed on the plane first but as I got to the door with my escorts, I was stopped by staff who wanted to make sure they had the right luggage for me remembering I hadn’t seen it since I left London.

They asked me to look out of the door and sure enough my 3 bags were there all on their own waiting for my approval. I mentioned the box that had been checked in afterwards although I was confident that they were efficient enough to get that on the plane. They insisted I waited until they checked. Quite frankly I wanted to get on the plane and be free to make a phone call. Only then was I allowed on and my guards left having handed over my passports and paperwork to Virgin staff.

Maybe not for normal circumstances but I had the best seat in the house; the last seat at the back, on the middle aisle near the bathrooms and stewards. This meant I could fall asleep without too many people going passed me through the night flight. For the mum and the teenage boy sitting next to me it was not so good but after I explained to them why it was good for me, they had every sympathy.

First things first, I had my first long, private conversation with my boyfriend and to my surprise and delight he mentioned he would come and see me in England. That just about had me doing imaginary somersaults before I said my goodbyes ahead of the staff telling me to do so. I had had enough of being told what to do and when to do it to last me a lifetime. I just had a glass of cold water and didn’t wait for the hot drink before falling gently asleep.

I only awoke when feeling slightly queasy and although my stomach was empty, I needed to make my way to the back to find more water and then the bathroom. By the time I surfaced again there was a flurry of TLC and one of the stewards had got me large bottle of water ready from which I poured some into my own empty orange juice bottle.

I fell asleep until we descended and as I was not in a rush to go anywhere could have done with another 2-3 hours sleep although my fellow passengers disagreed with me.

We made a lose plan to meet on the other side as they had time to kill but it turned out I had to wait until everyone was off so a staff member was free to escort me through passport control. That was a little frustrating but at least I was not on a deadline. So I never got to meet the nice mum and son but my luggage was waiting for me already.

I grabbed a trolley and my first hot drink since leaving here 2 days ago and made my way to the bus station. No mean feat with a very heavy trolley and going downhill all the way. I called my best friend whilst waiting for the lift and without much explanation, told her I need to stay with her. I had no idea but assumed a coach went to Birmingham and sure enough, a staff member offered help and having spilt a whole large drink after just 3 sips, I had 8 minutes to rush and get my bus whilst mouthing apologies to all around me.

As I drifted off to sleep on board, I was relieved and looking forward to good food and a good nights’ sleep surrounded by good friends. Tomorrow I will begin piecing my life back together.

I awoke as we drove through Birmingham airport to the sound of Michael Buble’s ‘Home’ through my headset. This was the soundtrack to the last 3 weeks as I longed to go home to New York. The track that I had sent to all my friends and boyfriend to express how I was feeling the day before I flew out.

Instead I’m back in cold harsh gloomy England.

No clothes. No car. No furniture. No belongings and No Blackberry. Just my friends.

And Marks and Spencer.

Diary – Summary March – May 2009

Diary Summary March to May 2009

May  8^th 2009

So to catch up on what I have been up to since the last entry in March…

It’s my third week since I was back in the UK, my 6^th since leaving New York.

I have finally sat down for an hour of writing. Not sure if I remember how and I’m definitely having trouble hand writing again. I had never liked it until I started writing almost 10 months ago to the day.

So what have I been doing for 6 weeks? 

3 planned weeks in England

On the day of arrival it took 3 hours to drive the 60 miles from the airport.

When arriving at where I was staying I didn’t have the promised internet access so not been able to work. I had to find internet hotel before then driving 22 miles to storage unit as planned to retrieve some clothes. I didn’t have internet access for the rest of the week so had to go to public places every day to work. The internet access coincidently arrived on the day after I moved on to house sit for my honeymooning nephew.

My Blackberry was stolen whilst I was in my storage unit on the first Monday. I hadn’t used it although had been paying for it for 5 months but needed it every day solid for the next 3 weeks.

I had a spare Blackberry phone which after spending the next 8 hours to get it to send/receive emails, failed the very next morning. On the one day when I was spending all day in London to renew my passport and therefore away from internet access.

I then spent time and money to get emails working on my normal mobile calling technical support daily for several days until it worked. Only to find I couldn’t actually reply to the emails.

On top of all this and the 2 weddings and christening, I spent each and every day packing up my British life like this:

Work

Drive 22 miles to storage unit

Load up car with as much as possible

Co-ordinate to meet people whilst there who were interested in buying furniture and the other household goods I was selling.

Drive 22 miles back and unload car

Work

Unpack all boxes.

Divide everything I own into categories: trash, give, sell, ship and re-pack into relevant boxes

Work

Sleep

After having the Blackberry stolen, I had to do this as quickly as possible so as get back to my laptop and not let down any clients.

And so the pattern went on with more and more panic every day wondering if I was going to be able to sell everything in the current economic climate and be able to stay awake to get everything done, all with the general backdrop of English doom and gloom that I was trying desperately not to get caught up in. I only had help on 2 occasions when I begged.

The only thing that kept me going was that it will all be over in 3 weeks and I will be home. You can imagine the relief when the day came to get on my flight home to New York….

 

3 Unplanned weeks in England

 

……I never quite made it back to the US.

Having attempted to go back to New York (a sentence I fear I’ll be using for some time) on April 17^th as planned and looking forward to it more than anything I have looked forward to in my life, I have:

been detained for 24 hours before being deported back even though I had done nothing illegal (more to follow on this).

had my perfectly legal visa cancelled.

not been able to take delivery of all my wordy goods painstakingly packed in 3 gruelling, emotional and hectic weeks and not been able to stop the delivery which at the moment is still at large.

obtained an appointment with the American Embassy to obtain a new visa but not until July 7^th.

paid $177 for the privilege with no guarantee of getting a visa. Not to mention so far c£20 on phone calls to the Embassy using the only £1.20 per minute line.

no furniture

barely any regular clothes. Just 2 suitcases of pretty frocks I had to enjoy summer in New York with my boyfriend and lovely new friends. Everything else has been shipped.

no car

took 2 weeks to find a decent apartment share within walking distance from city and all it’s conveniences and a third week to be able to move in. Having given away lots of my belongings and shipped everything else, I’ve literally had to go out and buy essentials again. I’d just done this exact same thing 6 months ago in New York and was relieved to be having all my belongings there with me. Its so frustrating now I’m in England and everything else is in New York.

dropped a full cup of hot coffee both on me and my 6 month old laptop whilst trying to work and baby sit my Goddaughter (an upside).

I have spent the next 6 hours frantically searching to borrow a laptop, having shipped both my spare laptop and PC to New York – just in case of such accident

spent another day trying to work out how my back-up has corrupted and wouldn’t fully load onto the borrowed laptop.

bought second hand laptop to use whilst hoping, praying (actually I don’t do that anymore) and wishing for my laptop to be saved with all my work on it.

gone with my best friend (another upside) who graciously and kindly gave up her Sunday to drive me 80 miles to pick up a car load of essentials that had been stored in various family and friends houses for them to bring to New York to me on visits and to use whilst in England (although I really had no desire to come back). Got back ‘home’ to find lots of things have gone astray. Hey ho.

had laptop out of action for a week and then when I was meant to pick it up, the keyboard hadn’t arrived. I managed to locate one for the IT ‘expert’ in 10 minutes but will have to wait another 4 days working with the as slow as you like laptop without my back-up whilst waiting.

my shipping still at large. No-one knows what to do and it’s been a catalogue of errors. Having spent the 3 weeks and nearly £1000 sending it all to New York, my shipping company had delayed delivery for a week as my storage place wouldn’t open a new unit for me (even though I’m an existing customer). Then my lovely boyfriend offered to receive and store it at his place so I thought problem was solved. My shipping guy told me he could divert to his address and to sign the custom release papers and let him know when they were faxed. This was Friday afternoon and I duly told him I was going out to find a fax facility right now.

The goods got delivered on the Monday morning.

To the storage place.

The shipping guy hadn’t told UPS of the diversion

The storage company had no authorisation to sign.

It all went wrong when I had spent the week trying to fix it.

What’s wrong with these people?

spent a week and many emails to find out that the goods were still at Manhattan Mini Storage. So near yet so far from where 8 very large, heavy boxes should safely be.

moved into my apartment share with 2 others at the end of these 3 weeks only to come down with a rare cold the very next day. 

missed my simple, lovely New York life more than ever.

 

I’m sure I’ve missed things as they were going wrong on a daily basis but that’s most of it. 

Coming next: 24 hours as a Suspect

Diary March 22nd 2009

Apartments seen: none

I’ve got to go to England next week and I’m not looking forward to it. The list of things to do there gets ever complicated and long. The more I tick off, the longer it seems to get – with added complications.

Nothing would please me more than my Fairy God Mother waving her wand to say I don’t have to go and someone will take care of everything. Hang on a minute, that’s what I do for a living; Take away people’s to do list and make their lives less complicated.

Whys isn’t there someone like me out there that can do this for me? I’ll pay!

New rule: 2 social nights per week

Social sucked this week.

Everyone is always asking, almost pressurising me to do things and go out more, especially since I bought in the ‘only 2 nights a week’ rule.

RG is away nannying for her family but her and TT joined me for a lovely noodles/bottle of wine at Bar Bao last week. We went there in restaurant week and they gave each of us $20 vouchers. Remarkably, they let us use all 3 so the meal pretty much just cost us tax and a really big tip.

Last Friday night I’d also had chai and cake followed by seeing The Class in the lovely Angelika Theatre. So 2 perfect social nights.

Book Launch

This week I’d invited everyone to a book party which is the kind if event that everyone relishes; hip [sic] literary crowd and free beer but there were no takers. I’d then invited everyone to the St Patricks Day parade (or St Patty’s as they say here) but understandably, every one was working. But there were no takers for a Guinness or two in the evening either. Good job I’d celebrated with a Guinness on Saturday.

St Paddy’s Day v St Patty’s Day

I had a glorious walk through the park to see the end of the parade coming in on 86^th Street. As dull as usual but great atmosphere on the gorgeous spring day. Too warm for my customary green coat but didn’t stop me spending $7 on two Audrey prints. For my new apartment. That I haven’t got.

What I learnt today: I read that the St Patricks Day parade in Birmingham, England is the third largest after New York and Dublin. What happened to Boston where I had heard they actually turn the lakes green for the occasion?

I walked all the way to Third Avenue to pop into Bath & Body Works for birthday presents although I had already been to the one in Soho the previous day to get me out of the dull book party. Don’t often get a chance to go so I indulged myself in the beautiful sunshine and it’s very rare to find myself on the East side.

I then walked back up and across to Madison Avenue to pick up a small chai for my walk back through Central Park.  No cup cake this time as last week for my weekend treat shopping I finally went to Crumbs (RG’s favourite) on Amsterdam which confirmed my suspicion that they did indeed supply Dean & Deluca with the best cupcakes in New York. No longer will I be paying the marked up price.

I even discovered an East side Dags, much bigger than both of the West side ones and realised how much Lexington Avenue had been conveniently commercialised. Not too much.

I found myself wondering if I could live here and widen my apartment search – my mantra everywhere I go these days.

East vs. West (again)

East. Quiet neighbourhood, Dean & Deluca, Williams & Sonoma and the Guggenheim. How often will I go there? None so far in 5 months (long story).

West. I’d miss 4 cinemas, Theatre, Opera, Jazz and the rest of Lincoln Centre, Zabars, Columbus Circle, Whole Foods, Borders  two Barns & Noble and we have Dean & Deluca and Williams & Sonoma in the Time Warner building. Not to mention my coffee shop. (Where today for the first time, the lady knew my order without telling her).

There is Bloomingdales on Lexington though.

It would have to be an outstanding apartment and spectacular deal for me to consider the East side. I’m a West side girl. A Westie.

The last weekend

….before I go to England. I wanted to make it a bit special and bit longer although I nearly didn’t get out in time as I’d got dressed at the last minute – if you remember the apartment is way too hot to actually wear clothes in it- and then couldn’t find my brown tweed skirt. Apart from the fact that I had put everything else on and had planned my Sunday change of clothes around it, it is significant because I wore it on our first date and my first visit to the country so I wanted to wear it for my last visit there – well at least for a month. (A whole month!) Come to think of it – and I have been thinking hard about it, I recall that was the last time I wore it. It’s definitely not there though as I know it would have stayed where I had left it.

However regaling this sorry story (although I haven’t told him of the significance and being a bloke he will only remember what I was wearing when I met him – if that, nothing else since) meant Country Boy kindly gathered all my belongings for me when I was packing to return home on Sunday afternoon. Actually I wasn’t going straight home as we went to Madison Square Gardens for the hockey again, against another French – I mean Canadian team. We scored early and without the sneezing and sniffling this time, I really got into the game although we lost but let’s be honest; I should have been home packing but if this meant another few hours sitting next to him for the last time before my trip, I’d pretty much would have followed him anywhere.

 

Diary March 15th 2009

United 1   Liverpool 4

Humiliated, punished, upset, annihilated, shocked, bought down to earth with a bump.

I’m not dating this event as I don’t want to recall it. Other than the scores of times I am going to be forced to remember by others, over the next few days, weeks, months and years. Many, many years. Most of all by Liverpool, whether they are at Old Trafford or not. They will run promotional campaigns, print (unofficial) T shirts, banners, posters. No doubt we would have behaved in a similar – not same – fashion had the boot been on the other foot.

I’m not angry.

We still top of the table. Still favourites to win the league. Still the Champions League Cup holders in Europe. Still the World Cup winners. And we’ve already won the Carling Cup this season.

Enough said

United forever.