Things are finally beginning to fall into place at last ... temporary accommodation on arrival confirmed, an official acceptance from Youngest's school and most importantly, Visas received. Phew! The latter though, was not to be achieved without considerable effort and inconvenience ...
Last week's debacle with the photos (in case you missed it you can read about that here) was just one piece of the Visa puzzle, as in addition to completing the myriad of forms and submitting online applications (which took around half an hour per person with no way of adding the same information just once ... sigh), an 'interview' en famille at the US Embassy in London was apparently also required. Groan. The first available appointment was for the end of the following week, but as Youngest would still be in the middle of his school exams which he was not able to miss, we had to pass on that one and select an alternative, which turned out to be early on a Monday morning some 8 days later. Great. As the instructions clearly stated that we had to be there at least 30 minutes before our scheduled slot, it meant that in addition to Youngest having to have a day off school (which he was obviously gutted about) we would also have to get up at stupid o'clock to get an early train into London. Oh good. Just how I like to spend a Monday morning ... standing on a crowded train for an hour jammed next to some bloke with halitosis and a bad case of body odour (they always stand next to me). Thankfully though, on this occasion we were all lucky enough to find seats and pretty soon Team Barlow had adopted the commuter persona ... heads buried in various devices, ear buds in and avoiding eye contact with any other passengers at all costs. That is until we approached East Croydon, and the woman who had been sitting opposite, stood up and made her way to the door. Why on earth she thought it would be better to make a phone call to what became obvious as her grandson's school in a deathly silent train carriage (the minute she started talking you could have heard a pin drop), rather than waiting a few more minutes until she had actually got off is beyond me, but the conversation went something like this (names have been changed to protect those involved ... clearly not a consideration for said passenger!)
"Hello ... it's Sarah here, Billy's nan. I am just phoning to let you know that the childminder, Elaine Johnson, will be dropping Billy off in the morning and collecting him after school from now on ..... sorry, what? ... I can't hear you very well, I'm on a train. **Increases volume by several decibels** Yes ... ELAINE JOHNSON .... I have given her the password ... cucumber ... what? ... yes, that's right ... CUCUMBER". **entire carriage collapses into fits of giggles** So ... that was her name, her grandson's name, the childminders name and the security password all given away in the space of a few minutes to a carriage packed full of commuters! Good grief. This still causes much amusement to Youngest who delights in shouting "CUCUMBER!" any time anybody mentions 'Password' :D
After a short taxi ride from Victoria ... **snorts** I actually think the walk from the train to the taxi rank at Victoria took longer than the actual journey. And what's with those footprints directing you along that big blue line? I bumped into at least 3 people whilst I was looking down at those ... we arrived at Grosvenor Square and the U.S Embassy (on top of which perched the weirdest looking eagle I have ever seen).
We were a good 45 minutes early but already a long queue had formed in front of a white 'tent' structure outside the main entrance. In fact there were two queues ... you needed to join the first to register your arrival with said tent and have your name ticked off a very long list, (the poor chap in front of us had turned up a day too early and was duly sent away again ... doh!) and then go to the back of the second to pass through the security screening and onward entrance into the building. Groan. Did I ever mention how much I HATE queuing?
All in all I guess we were queuing for around 40 minutes - thank goodness is wasn't raining or I would not have been amused. I did feel slightly sorry for the Geordie girl in front of us though as she stood shivering in the quite frankly ridiculous outfit she had chosen for a cold February morning ... skimpy chiffon blouse, thin jacket, bare feet and sky high heels ... all teamed with a bright orange tan a la Strictly. (Oh God. I have turned into my mother). We subsequently gleaned she was due to join the staff of a cruise ship ... ah, that explains that then. After passing through the security screening and finally into the warmth of the main embassy building, we were given a numbered ticket and directed to another crowded waiting area where we were to wait... with the millions of others... until our ticket number flashed onto one of the digital screens and we were directed to an interview window. Think Post Office on pension day only a hundred times worse. After another 40 minutes or so, and what seemed like the longest game of Bingo ever, our number finally flashed up and it was all I could do to contain myself and had to be prevented from standing up and shouting "House!". Oh well, I suppose that wasn't too bad all in all. Huh ... turns out I know nothing! After presenting paperwork, passports, forms and having our fingerprints taken (which Youngest had been looking forward to immensely but which, disappointingly for him, were not required), we were directed to the waiting area AGAIN to wait for our number to be called a second time. Seriously?! Could they make this more long winded?! After another half an hour or so of mind numbing boredom, we were finally called to another window for the 'interview' which consisted of a handful of questions about Mr B's job, the answers to which were all written on the forms we had just handed over (?), directed to the cashier's window to hand over the fee and then informed that our passports/visas would be returned within the week ... all of which took precisely three minutes. Jeeeez! (just practicing my Americanisms for when I get there).
Finally, I know you are all dying to know about the photographs that caused so much hassle the previous week ... were they the right size? was the background the correct colour? were our heads the prescribed size and in the correct position? I have no idea as nobody bl**dy well asked for them!! Cheers for that.
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