It’s about thirty five days before I’m deported from ‘this royal throne of Kings, this sceptered isle’. I hope my friends are planning a huge "Deportation Do." What does one get as ‘deportation’ presents?
I’ve been busy playing "Five Degrees of Kevin Bacon" and asking my friends, to ask their friends, and so on, but have had no luck finding a corrupt, or failing corrupt, helpful, go-to Immigration Guy.
My friends have been very supportive and helpful.
Lou has very seriously offered to marry me. This is extremely kind, as he is Karen’s partner. He said we could have our wedding reception at the Grotto. I suspect we would both need to do a LOT of drinking if we got married. I never really considered the idea seriously, for a variety of reasons, including that that would make Karen my "sister-wife." (I’ve been watching "Big Love"). However, when Jerry visited last week in my dreams . . . well, I haven’t seen him so mad since the time I got clocked doing 85 mph on I-95 in Maryland in the Jaguar and then pulled over for harassing a tractor trailer driver who had pissed me off. I had PMS. (No worries. Maryland’s finest was sure sorry he ever stopped ME.) Anyway. Jerry said it was a bad idea. He didn’t say it exactly like that. Wow. He knows a lot of curse words. In Yiddish AND English.
I’ve considered becoming an Overstayer, like another friend did for four years. But he’s a Commonwealth citizen, and I’m an American. I don’t relish the thought of being pulled out of bed in the middle of the night by the British equivalent of the Gestapo and being incarcerated in Wormwood Scrubs until they put me on a plane (probably in coach) to Anywhere, USA. I think it’s Wormwood Scrubs. Darren and Justin . . . the twins . . . who are cops . . . were warning me about trying this option. It was pretty noisy in the Grotto that night.
In the land of the free and home of the brave, I’m battling the Department of Homeland Security. For a bloody form that I need for the wonderful folks at the Italian Consulate. Why did it have to be Homeland Security? Why couldn’t it be Housing & Urban Development, say, or Janitorial Supplies? Let’s just say if those idiots I’ve spoken to on the phone, after I’ve persevered and hung on hold forever, are protecting we Americans, we’re all doomed.
On the American side, I rang up my friend, Ellie. He lives in New Jersey. I appear to have, unfortunately, burned my bridges in the Keystone State. That scathing funny and utterly brilliant piece I did for the Rockall Times about Sen. Rick Santorum has pretty much made Pennsylvania a non-starter. Ellie is a dentist, and I figured the powerful and well-connected get gingivitis and cavities, too. My cleverest and dumbest moment was when I asked Ellie if he perhaps knew . . . Jim McGreevey. Note to British readers: This would be the place to insert a joke about Brokeback Mountain, but I can’t think of any. I just thought that the disgraced ex-governor probably had cavities, gingivitis AND plaque, given his heretofore hidden sexual proclivities. Ellie’s working on it. He also said that the people at Immigration and the Queen probably all read my blog, and. obviously, I should just give up.
Karen and I are having a ‘gar-age’ sale on Saturday. Not a garage sale. A ‘gar-age’ sale. I guess you can’t tell the difference. I can. I get corrected a hundred times a day for saying ‘garage’ (American) instead of ‘gar-age’ (British). Karen’s relative has a shop, and gave Karen lots of brand new bric-a-brac and Christmas stuff. Karen mentioned that she was popping over to Katie’s to pick up some more stuff, and I said, " Great. See if she’s got some Thanksgiving stuff. That would really go fast." Yeah. Probably not.
We made posters and flyers to put under "windscreen wipers", and then we started making the cards with the prices. My neatly printed price tags all had to be binned because I put dollar signs instead of pound signs.
I got a lot of mail this week about the Remembrance blog. My friend, Janet, said it made her cry. Hey! She lives in Delaware. Have I pissed off anybody in Delaware lately? And my friend, Tombstones, rang last night to say how much he loved it. On a side note, friends here were grossed out by the fact that my name is already on our tombstone. Tombstones (who MADE the tombstone) is going to pop over to Har Yehuda this week, have a natter with Jerry, and take a picture of it and email it to me. Dearest Tombstones misses me, and cabbage soup. (Don’t try to figure it out.)
I’m off this afternoon to London for lunch with Eileen, followed by shopping at Divine Harrods. Maybe on Deportation Day Minus One, I should chain myself to the counter in the Louis Vuitton Department.