A Legal Alien

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30 January 2006

I was up at the buttcrack of dawn (8am) to head back to hell (Essex). By the time I arrived, I had about an hour to finish packing up, labelling boxes and cleaning my room. Laura rang me about noon and when I complained I didn't know what time the movers were showing up, she suggested I ring them. THANK GOD FOR LAURA! AGAIN!

The movers didn't have my collection written down anywhere. Uh.. excuse me? I had written down the date and planned the entire weekend around what we'd booked like 2 weeks ago. So I told them that I had to be out of my house by tomorrow and I couldn't come back after today. They sent a guy at 3pm to collect everything. He asked me for all my US customs paperwork and I said I didn't have any. I sat there filling in forms for like 20 minutes while he loaded boxes. Oh but wait! My stuff won't go to SF like they told me it would. It has to go to LA and then be driven north. And the price? Yeah, they told me originally £550 up to £775. But no! The final price tag? £1040! OUCH. At that point, what choice did I have? Sending it all via Royal Mail would cost at least that much. I've got 20 boxes of stuff. I sent 10 boxes when I moved over and it was $650 via US Postal Service. THAT was a pain. This will hopefully be easier, although it's yet to prove easy.

It's after 9 now and I've had dinner, a hot bubble bath and time to lug my last suitcase up two flights of stairs. Apparently I own more clothes than any woman should humanly be allowed to own. Why does it seem like I never have anything to wear??

For Paul Barrett

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