Closed and Accepted

Year 8.  The tradition holds.  Some breaded bites from the sea, the mulled cider and rum, the placemat quoting the freedom of fog.  The new boardwalk does not intrude, and is welcomed as such.  The waves crash on the rocks as ever, and the time to rest and enjoy the changing skies has come.

What a year.  The wedding and honeymoon pulled off within a month of organizing.  The return trip perfectly timed to avoid the hotel quarantine and set up the TRV, the Atlantic tour, pregnancy efforts and success, a UK incognito return to all the old haunts, and just this Friday, the much longer-for confirmation that the PR application has reached its terminus with the card is in the mail.  So much time wasted in agony, when in retrospect all timelines were hit just as could have been anticipated in the best of cases.  Still, impossible to overemphasize the relief when that final piece is in hand

Will this be the last year for this solo pondering on this holiday?  Time to make new memories together, as a family, goes the thinking, and why not. The plans unfolding so as to leave you wondering about a new house as the next step.  Something will unveil itself, and I very much look forward to seeing what it is.  At this time next year will plans be in place for Qatar and the World Cup?  Why not dream big and chase that too.  Keep the spirit going, says Willard, and I plan to do nothing but that.

My Absolute Pleasure

The question always comes up from the locals… where are you staying, where are you dining?  A long time since SJ, and the memory dials back deep into its recesses.  This here blog, both a wayback and wayforward machine, confirms the instincts.  2008, and perhaps the year earlier as well.  A kid who would no doubt be disappointed and astonished in equal measure, but most of all content, in hearing stories from the bearded character smiling over Guinness in the corner, his Dad’s wedding ring on his finger and thoughts of his pregnant wife dozing away in the concrete Zanzibar Moon an ocean and hemisphere away.  Churchill’s no doubt the right choice.  The ribeye a bit much but seems also right, given no sign of the oysters or Prime Melt on the menu.

Waiter Joel agrees with the order, giving title to this post, as you reminisce over Vonnegut.  And both past and future.  I need to put down this phone and the obsessing over the PR card delivery.  (It will come, the readiness is all)  but what a joy, the drive today, and the thought once more of how simple movement heals all and inspires that sense of magic only such stuff can.

Hip comes on with the steak.  What’s goin’ on?  You gotta do what you feel is real.  Let’s see this hearing through to what is next.

PS. First Blueberry Tea of the winter, and almost dropped from the bill until the notification (since someone else is footing it) was made.  As quality as ever.

Prescribed Advance Passenger Information

The more I read, the less confident I become.  Hopes of thwarting the arrival requirements with the Tourist Visa ruse seem to grow less solid as the research mounts.  One idea to contemplate is a call to IRCC to rescind, but that seems extreme.  Once the cork is out of the bottle on it, there would be no turning back.  We could contemplate the Ethiopian option, but that too holds danger with the requirement to comment on the last day of physical presence in Canada, which could draw unwanted scrutiny.  So much mental energy expended, and until that GC Key is updated, the pit shall remain in the stomach and the gnawing goes on.

Always with a plan, backup and onward.  Knowing in advance the schemes allow for some planning.  But the card is the thing.  The SDA request was made for the voyage, and a faint ghost “profile updated” popped up in the server Sunday night.  This is the week.  As in Arrival, if only we could know now what we will know, then.  What would we do…

Paper Anniversaries

Think the decision has been made to return across the seas.  It aligns too well with the anniversary, regardless of card receipt, and the chance to revisit scenes and play a stronger role in the preggo moments.  The tour through the village and back to the Royal more than warranted, and work has lined up so well to enable it there should be no question.  Thanks to the Grinder for the enthusiasm to pitch it via WhatsApp.  Always the unfolding of ideas leads to the natural conclusion.

Now for the card to come to relieve the burden of concern on the return.  But no matter.  It shall work out.  I have not forgotten the need to hit the church steps this weekend for one last IRCC request.  First, tomorrow for Nick S and Dune and such.  We shall see.  Now to water the plants and then to bed.

Delay Preparation

Hoping for the best, however, prayers to be sent given the extreme nature of the consequences on the holidays and development of the lime.  Pilgrimage back to Lakecrest Street on Saturday in order.  

The waiting so difficult, surely the processing will come due in time, yet the uncertainty is all.  Too much time to ponder over this last step, knowing the slight chink in the plans.  But my sad face awaits placement in a new 10 year document, so if it means a return to Z for the one year anniversary, then so be it.  To see Chiluba and the family and reimagine everything.  Pourquoi pas?  Almost feel like trying to fit the Drakensburgs in, but surely a stretch too far?  Maybe not with Misty, haha.  Let’s think on the possibilities… and look back in contentment at the late night tossing over the chirping fire alarm unplugged, as you wait for the dentist, the last proper sail of the season, and a first check back in with G. Mason soon.  If it’s Tuesday….

On the Same Boat, In the Same Train

Anyone?  Haha, the sponsorship group and the waiting.  Day upon day of this wondering gets you down… trying not to focus on the implications of further delay and instead bask in the joy of making it this far.  Work to be done yet on the boat and apartment and office work to finish off the year.  Rest and healthier lifestyle for the coming weeks in anticipation of the Xmas season and the adventures of what is to come.  Worst case we’ll head to Zambia for the anniversary and find a way to get the right documents.  Just this last hurdle, working our way up through the bureaucratic list in an anonymous location, until the day the package miraculously arrives.  Please.  Let’s see this last part of the process through unscathed.

38,006 Feet

Can’t recall ever dropping a note here from this altitude, but the world continues to be wondrous.  An extraordinary three weeks, capped off by the mad dash to the Young Vic from the Red Lion to beat the curtain by seconds.  The Chablis by the Thames from the Founders bench was sublime, and I enjoyed exchanging the last 5 pound note for tissues on the subway to Heathrow.  

Brighton checked the box, but confirms the joy and necessity in experiencing those with friends.  The absurdity of the Tony Adams sighting, as well as the joy of Anything Goes and enjoyment of Ulyatt’s Pie and Pinots made for a great finish to the last weekend.  The Cherry Orchard a woefully miscast disaster, improved by the commentary immediately behind.  Here’s hoping the reviews do it Justice.

Cush a little hard done by, although the critics have their points.  Nothing compares to that original Brannagh, and that’s another chance gone unfortunately begging.  Oh well. To think it was 2019 when the plan was hatched.  And now, 10 weeks and 3 days of a prune showing signs of movements in the Southern Hemisphere, no doubt to the disbelief of the kid behind that booking.  The last of the immediate stresses involve procurement of the sacred card, but surely we will not be denied at the last.  Processing processing.  

Excitement building for the reveal on the YUL layover tonight and then over Thanksgiving.  Hard to imagine all that has happened, and what is to come.  Rolling right along with it with special providence.  As you do.

Quite the 24

Last night at this time leaving a rainy Glasgow on Citylink, as the Megabus had broken down.  Old Netflix downloads and very intermittent sleep until arrival 9 hours later to Victoria and some very sore knees.  Moon Under Water saves breakfast (again) and then SoHostel for the real win.  Stolen solo room for the IOL video call as the Spanish cleaner kept a knockin’.  The man deserved his 5 quid tip, and the story ranks with the best of remote work efforts.

Bills sent out to top it off, and another week unscathed.  Just 3 days out of the 15 working total. 2 should be straightforward so it’s just the matter of the flight.  When will the BUTU decision drop?  Should be fun to see, but at this point how can you doubt the providence.

So it was to St Paul’s (plead the case of the widow, votive light for Amar before the fire alarm ends it), wine and pasta at Founders, and the Berlioz Fantastique.  Not sure what they were trying with that cello concerto, but the applause way over done.  A beautiful night on the Thames though, and back to this quiet bunk room of three, with Asian early sleepers.  Say that!  And the sea, nay ocean of humanity, everywhere, the cacophony and kaleidoscope.  How it hangs together remains in fathomable.  As does the fact that out of all of it, there is but one.  Asleep in the village, third party growing inside.  Ecopr received, so now just the final hurdle of the card and the return.  There are options but surely it shall be taken care of. 

Let’s see how, and whether the ticket to the Amex tomorrow is forthcoming.  One thing is certain… Tottenham get battered…