There you go,
Nat--"mad fer it" title
as requested. How's that for service?
"Mad fer it," for those unaware of the great dialectical glottal stop that defines this fair isle, would be how certain people from where I now live would pronounce "I am mad for it" or, to translate further, "I am very excited at the prospect of X, my dear chap."
I now have
internets, people. Not at home, but in my office, which so far is completely bare except for a table and a computer that I threw myself upon, wracked with tears of gratitude, when I arrived.
It's hard to know where to start with this whole thing. For those of you who might be newcomers--here is the story in sum:
Lived in Michigan, USA for 15 years (HOW long???).
In June, contemplated moving back to the motherland, England, along with my American family (Husband and two boys). (Thought "maybe in a year")
Applied for a job to test the waters, and got an interview (via video conference). Did not blog about it, but
made furtive references which were probably dead annoying to my 3 readers at the time.
Got the fudding job offer on July 4th.
July and August were manic, and I can't quite believe (as I
solipsistically look back at posts) how much we managed to achieve in such a short space of time.
And now we're here... It's been nearly three weeks, and feels like a lifetime. I am slowly coming out of the extreme shock I experienced when we actually moved into the rental house, which is completely fine, but only if you don't examine the grout in the bathroom any closer than say, ten feet away. We've grown much more used to having next to no furniture and sitting all tightly together on the revolting couch that was left with the property. Dinner time at the white plastic table and chairs in the kitchen/diner now has a certain appeal, and I am pleased to announce that a visit from
new friends left a nice load of yellow curry stains on the tabletop. So it feels more like home. (And Lindy was very gracious and did not run a mile or laugh and point or anything, when I decided to trip and literally
sprawl out flat on my face as we walked to pick up the Indian). (Oh, and I knew I was in England when the group of teenagers walking by cackled loudly with laughter, and everyone else ignored me)
Yesterday I got up bright and early, put on grown up clothes, and walked to the station where I got on the train and sat rather smugly crammed in among the
commuters. I managed to get lost on my way to work, and immediately regretted the lady shoes I was wearing as I slogged over to the campus. I've gone from a 5-10 minute commute, sitting on my arse in my big-
assed minivan, to one hour with lots of walking and sitting in very close proximity to lots of people in suits. I know the whole routine is going to get old fast, but so far I get a real thrill from taking that train ride and descending into what is turning out to be a fantastic and vibrant city. In the field behind our house there are gorgeous fields to walk, a stream, and honest-to-god
horsies that Jack can pet and feed. Twenty minutes later and I am bustling about with the grown ups, grabbing a newspaper, gripping my
iPod, and dashing madly across streets congested with traffic. Another twenty minutes, and I have picked my way to the University campus, which instantly brings me back to my own undergraduate college days--streets littered with fag ends, a million butty (sandwich) shops and various pubs and student union bars that smell of piss outside.
My office is in a strikingly ugly 1960s brick office building, and the women's loos are slightly rank and very cold. I have a small floor heater in my office blowing hot air at my ankles, as heating doesn't really work properly, and the building manager is surly and completely unhelpful. But my coworkers are a cheerful and friendly lot, and there's always a pot of tea on the go. So far today I have had about five cups. Partly to keep warm, but mainly because it's
there. The addiction is now back with a vengeance, and the only other downside are multiple trips to The Toilet. (I am only now managing to announce that I am "off to the toilet" as opposed to the "restroom" although it still feels terribly gauche and
TMI to me) (The TOILET? Well. There's only one thing she can be doing in there, isn't there?) (As if I was "resting" in the "rest room.")
Jack has started to ask "when his British accent will come?" and we have told him "soon enough." And it's creeping in in quirky ways. He refers to his new friend at school as "
Amunda" (Amanda) and seems to be acquiring a touch of northern twang and glottal stop here and there. Frank and I now communicate on our "mobiles" and fill the cars with "petrol." (Although when Frank self-corrected his
pronunciation of "Controversy" the other night,
Lindy implored him to "not turn over to the dark side" which made us like her all the more). I, on the other hand, am asked why I didn't lose my English accent on a
fairly frequent basis, which is beginning to make me feel a little bit self-conscious, so I am slipping in a "uh-huh" and a "like, oh my god" when I can.
Nothing feels normal yet, but we're getting there. I am told our shipped belongings are getting very close to Liverpool dock now, and so we should expect them in the next week or so. It will be like Christmas, methinks. You never realize how much you'll miss your own crap. I also have a swanky new camera, courtesy of my old workmates (bless) and so promise to get some sodding photos up next time.
Me on plane to England. Note head of sleeping infant to the right. Thassmyboy!
