Life in limbo

We're in limbo again. Waiting for a visa, would you believe. We had thought Big Corp would give us a fast, easy route back to the US. My old boss there was eager to re-hire me, it was just a matter of formalising the role and then the Big Corp machine would start rolling to secure me an L1 work visa, which should take five or six weeks. Two months after we agreed that course of action, the Big Corp machine hasn't even started rolling. There's a lot of talk of HR people not returning calls, role profiles not being approved, and generally things that need to happen not happening. Rest assured, my US boss says, it will happen. But no-one seems to be in any hurry.

Meanwhile we've decided to apply for a Green Card. This is the long-term solution anyway as it means my time in the US won't be tied to my fortunes at Big Corp. We had hoped to put it off till we'd been married two years, as that way you get a permanent Green Card rather than one with a 2 year renewal requirement built in. And presumably they don't ask you how your spouse likes their coffee, once you've been married a couple of years. But we don't want to wait. So we've filed our I-130 and are just hoping that the US immigration bureaucracy is not as Kafka-esque as the UK Border Agency. Also, scarred by last year's experience, this time we're paying an immigration lawyer to fill in and file the forms.

Finger crossed either an L1 visa or a Green Card are produced soon, and we can get out to the West Coast and begin the next chapter.

What's the rush? Well, primarily because TLOML's business needed him to be out there about a year ago. Every month we're here is another month working weird hours and not seeing his clients as frequently as he should.

Also, life in limbo is trying. Although I'd like to live in the lovely bubble that is Saltburn for ever, now we've decided we're moving back to the US I just want to get on with it. The sooner we get out there, the sooner I can start my grieving process and we can get settled into a new cosy rut and routines.

Plus being here temporarily means we make lots of short-term arrangements that won't work long-term. Like the fact my office is in London and I now have to commute to work. That's fine for a month or two but I can't stand it for much longer. We only have part-time childcare, thinking we can fill the gaps between us as we both work from home. Again, not really tenable in the long-term. Not knowing how long we'll be here makes it hard to commit to things like block-booked yoga classes, and large quantities of spices for the larder. And if I'd know we'd be here so long maybe I would have unpacked my beloved books which have loomed in a tower of boxes in the corner of our dining room since April.

Library in limbo

Okay, it's not disastrously difficult but just nigglingly annoying. Still, the upside is that I get to enjoy life in Saltburn for longer. And,a bit like all our 'last ever date night' date nights before Lady P came along, not knowing when we'll leave makes us savour it all that little bit more.

Supper Club

After months of decrying the lack of dining choices in Saltburn, I recently got a seat at the hottest table in town: the Saltburn Supper Club. Like all good Supper Clubs, it's a little bit secret and feels somewhat exclusive. Tickets sell out quickly and the address isn't unveiled until you book, giving the whole affair a rather clandestine appeal. Not quite as much so as the swingers club that apparently takes place on the Longbeck Trading Estate, but enough of a frisson to suit me.

I've actually eaten at a couple of Supper Clubs before. The first was the well-known Ms Marmite Lover's Underground Restaurant. She nailed the whole cloak and dagger vibe, I must say. We had to say a password - brilliantly, it was 'Hasta la victoire siempre' that night - in order to gain access. We bought raffle tickets for a wine bottle raffle: every ticket was a winner. A nice dodge of licensing laws and provided that 'just the wrong side of the law' thrill. The food was fantastic, home cooking elevated almost to restaurant standards. And the enforced socialising - sharing a table with strangers - made for a fun night.

In Los Angeles we ate at the lovely Pace Webb's Supper Club. Pace is a fantastic chef, using local ingredients from the incredible larder that is SoCal, and she uses her Supper Club to test out new recipes. We were very happy guinea pigs, I must say - I ate some of the best food I enjoyed in LA at Pace's Supper Club, and in some lovely LA homes too. 

So I went into the Saltburn Supper Club with a knowing look and some high standards.

Readers, I was not disappointed. In fact, the Saltburn Supper Club exceeded my expectations. It is now officially my favourite Supper Club in the world. The food was great. Maybe not Chef Pace Webb standard but pretty darn close. The hosts are a transatlantic couple, so I warmed to them immediately, and they used to run a food truck, so know their onions, literally. The atmosphere was suitably low-lit and hush hush. Best of all we (my sister and schoolfriend and I) were seated with two of the most unlikely characters - probation officers/crime writers with an obsession with Tibetan terriers and a strong aversion to flying - you could imagine. We had a very good evening, and the randomness quotient was off the scale.

I think the reason it was my favourite Supper Club is because it's in Saltburn. Because that feature of Supper Clubs, which is the enforced chit chat with strangers, is just so much more fun in a small town. Never mind small talk - you can get straight into a detailed debate about the best bacon sandwich in town and the scandal that is the closure of Hazel Grove after every storm.

So, I have a new favourite restaurant, and its super local. The sad news is it's only open twice a month. But we're getting used to those kind of opening hours. I can't wait to return with TLOML. 

School Uniforms vs School Buses

I felt a pang the other day when I saw a little girl in a sweet, dark grey pinafore with a pleated skirt, over a crisp white shirt. I love school uniforms. Preferably the old fashioned, pinafore kind. But even the sweatshirts and any-old-trousers kind are better than none. No school uniform just increases the amount of garments a child – and her parents – have to worry about getting right, in the name of social acceptance. And yet, that is the American way: individuality of dress from the outset. It’s a few years off I know but I’m already sad that Lady P won’t get to wear a sweet little pinafore every day.

I hope she has sufficient strength of character not to suffer the paralysis of indecision I know I would, if I had to choose a different outfit for school every day.

If she doesn’t cope well I may impose a school uniform of my own. And yes, it would involve a pinafore. Perhaps a straw boater too.

The plus side of the American school system is, of course, those jolly yellow buses. Every so often I forget, and say to TLOML as we pore over some new house listing on line ‘I wonder what the school run would be like from there’, only to be reminded that for most parents, there is no school run. Just a walk to the nearest bus pick up point.

Again, for every cloud that passes over ourmove to the US,there is a silver lining.

Tired of London, tired of life?

I’ve spent a little bit of time in London lately, both with and without Lady P. Londoners will be pleased to hear that my love for it has been revived. Seeing theatre posters, the purchase of kim chee, the flower stalls outside Tube stations, crossing the Thames, reading on the Tube, ah, London! Lovely London!

And that’s before I even think about the people. So many people hustling and bustling around in outlandish outfits. The average Joe just looks more edgy and sophisticated in London, I think. And older people look younger - like those nicely batty looking 70 year old women with felt beads and feathers in their hair, or cool 60-somethings in jeans and Converse. You don't see as many pensioners in denim outside of London, it seems to me. And then the people who really matter, our old, dear friends, some of whom have admittedly moved out but are still in arm’s reach.

And yet, I admit to feeling some of the things I used to consider ridiculous when out-of-towners said them. The daft statements that used to irritate me on the lips on visitors come to my mind. Like, how long it takes to get anywhere. And how crowded the pavements are. How noisy it is everywhere. And feeling that familiar clamminess on a warm Tube after walking at a fast clip along a rainy street.

Seeing people with buggies on public transport I think ‘what a hassle’. Funny that, considering I always thought London was the best place to raise a family (thanks to all those wonderful parks and the cultural events on the South Bank…) and manoeuvring a buggy on public transport would have been a normal part of the London life we were planning until recently.

I suppose it’s post-rationalisation. Perhaps best I don't to examine it too deeply.

Mists, mellow fruitfulness, etc

It is certain to exasperate, bewilder and infuriate TLOML but I am properly excited for autumn. I love, love, love autumn. I'm not sure I'd go so far as to call it my favourite season - after all, it goes on too long and is just a bit damp at times. But the start of it, the change in the air, the arrival of chillier mornings, crisper days, earlier evenings, and oooooh, soup! - is just lovely.

I haven't had an autumn since 2009, just before I moved to the US. There's no real autumn in Los Angeles, since those palm trees never shed their leaves. I might start wearing a coat in the evenings, but that's about it. No leaf-kicking, bobble-hat-wearing walks there.

Manhattan, I had thought, would offer us a proper Fall. Instead we just lurched from a hot, humid summer into a brutally cold winter - with a couple of bipolar weeks in between. I remember a snow storm at the end of October, when earlier that same week I'd been out with bare arms. At least we did get to see a few pumpkins, and the seasonal display at Rabbit Hutch Towers was quite autumnal, but that was it.

Last year in London autumn started straight after spring, sometime in mid July. It was hard to really get excited about it since there was no sense of seasons changing: it was just a year of endless chilly rain. We did have a nice apple harvest, but that alone does not an autumn make.

This year, after a summer of long, sunny days and bright blue skies, eating outside and actually needing sunscreen, autumn makes sense. This year's harvest (from my parents' garden) knocks last year's into a cocked hat. A couple of stormy nights have brought branches down in the Valley Gardens, giving my runs a nice cross country vibe. We had spaghetti bolognese for dinner last night, the first time I've craved something warming and hearty since May. And as I type this I feel, for the first time in months, the need to put socks on. The thrill of it!

Harvest time - Autumn 2013

I suppose I can indulge my love of this time of year even more than usual. After all, we'll be in sunny LA before the dark afternoons and grey mornings get monotonous.