Thursday, 7 February 2013

The Move

We are now residents of Islington. 

Just off the Essex Road....the posh end.

After the limbo of living like hobos, we now finally have a place to fill with our character and love. We arrived into our new home on the 22nd January, followed swiftly by my parents laden with household goodies (and bedding, thank god!). 

After taking donations from family of more household goodies, we were finally left alone in the space with minimal furniture, shockingly bright kitchen strip lighting and all of our bags piled into a corner. We sighed, we grinned and then we said 'So what do we do now?'

After the chaos of the months before we had finally achieved our aim. To move to London, start our jobs and find a place to live. Check, check, check.

The move was proceeded swiftly by the italians interview at the local national insurance office in Camden. We made the journey by bus, chatting idly but with a heavy sense of anxiety on both parts.

What if he couldn't get a national insurance number, what if they refused him, why would they refuse him....he already had a job in the UK, he's not freeloading off the state...and so on, and so on.

After handing over his letter, I was told directly and sternly not to hang around for him outside but to take myself off for a long walk for at least an hour. There were at least half a dozen people waiting outside, clearing ignoring the order, some australian, some eastern european. Some quite sinister 'boyfriends'.

So i did as i was told with a heavy heart and a promise from him to call me with news. I took myself to the pub down the road, which incidentally was the only pub with a plug point for my charger and wifi but with no heating. So i sat for nearly an hour, freezing, wondering, worrying, checking my phone.
I had bought a cash book to record our life and times at our new address, tempting fate somewhat that the contract for the house would be signed later that afternoon and that his interview for UK Tax paying would be a success.

After an hour I got fed up and walked back towards the office. I paced, up and down, up and down. Trying to not to step on the cracks as if this would make a difference. Maybe if stepped on enough 3 drains in a row, that would mean everything would be ok? The superstitious old broad rears her ugly head once more....

He finally texts 'They've taken my ID Card...they say they have to check it offically'. I know how sensitive he is about being parted from his ID card, it's the only form of Identification he has and even i'm not allowed to handle it without forensic gloves.

Unfortunately this set the tone for process. After much more fiddling around, they sent him on his way, minus his ID and said they would be in touch.

We have since found that they have declined his application on the grounds his ID is not valid. It was reported lost some years ago. Well, it was lost some years ago, but found again by the italian police who promptly gave it back to him but forgot to file the paperwork as it turns out. Cue the following days telephone calls to the italian embassy and consulate. He was passed from one to another like a ping pong ball with nobody claiming to know where is ID is.

Later that afternoon we successfully signed the paperwork on our new place but with a huge grey cloud hanging over us. After maybe 4 days, the declined letter arrived and further darkened the mood. He has an interview to gain an italian passport in April. Which seems like an age away now.

We, together have so many achievements under our belt so far.....first move, first ikea trip, first argument, first solution but all under a shadow of the disappointing national insurance interview. At times like this you want to scream at whatever idiot italian policeman that didn't do the correct paperwork. He used the same bloody document to enter this country when he got off the bloody plane!!!

So we carry on regardless....buying a wardrobe, making plans, 
deciding where to put furniture......

Tuesday, 15 January 2013

The Italian lands.....

I've literally not had the time to take my oil of evening primrose recently but after being named and shamed by the lovely Claire Brunton ( see pic) about my terrible unperseverance in updating i squeezed a few mins in to tap out a few words.

So where did i leave it? Ah yes, there i was sitting all lonesome, minus my italian beau. After what felt like the longest xmas and New year, January 4th was on the doorstep and his flight was landing in the evening.

Cue Flu. Need i say more? I'm sure you can imagine a red nosed, floppy armed, croaky me pushing myself to the airport to meet him. He had tried to insist on my staying indoors while he figured out his journey into london but i couldn't. If only that i had booked his trains ticket back and needed to be there to collect it with my card!!.

But we also have a thing with airports now, saying goodbye and saying hello are hopefully a thing of the past. It's lucky that you don't normally run into people you know at the airport on a regular basis....they may think i look like a total drip all the time!

So he's here! He arrived with bags strapped on his back and front, a little frazzled from the flight full of screaming kids, but he had arrived and through my sniveling nose and a promise guaranteed flu infection we shared a kiss. We crashed at my cousins place until he came back from holiday and thus begun the mission to find us a place

One of the reasons I love him so much is that he continues to freely admit that women are stronger than men. (a way to butter me up maybe?) but that weekend I did us proud by arranging us to see numerous potential rental houses/studios and somewhow dragging myself out of bed for it all.

But as luck would have it, our very first viewing of the day was also our last. After having scoured the internet for nearly 4 weeks, I could tell a peach when i saw it. All i will say is that we are in the process of submitting references and proving our means to pay the rent......and that it's in Islington (oh holy grail of an area to live). I won't say anymore because of the superstition that resides inside. I'm a superstitious old broad.

For the moment we are crashing in my bosses flat, in the living room, on an airbed. It's a shared house and you never want to outstay your welcome, so we try to be clean, quiet and keep the mountain of our belongings out of the way. We are lucky they are so easygoing!

I've been back at work a month now (oh the days of sitting in the did they go so fast!) and
he started his brand new job for a gaming company in London last week. Maybe with his first week under his belt some of the culture shock is starting to subside.  ''No Bidets?'' ''why does the coffee has all this water in it?!'' ''Minchia ru friddu!'' (fuck, it's freezing!)

But so far he loves baked beans, brick lane and the tube. Go figure?

After a recent conversation about moving house I sat down and mentally totted up how many moves i've made so far. How many times i've packed up, throw out the old, deliberate over whether it's essential or not and generally sleep in different places. (I could cry for some things that have been given up or lost).

I counted 14 different places. In about 11 years. Compare this with my sister whose moved twice. Whoa!

I know he has a similar story to mine, except his sounds a little more exciting with packing all his stuff on a motorbike and zooming off into the distance. Yet mine always seemed to be set with winter as a backdrop, freezing cold and selecting jumpers over anything else.

No wonder both of us are silently praying (well...desperately praying) for this place to go through. A space to call our own and some security would finally be nice. A place for books, herb pots, comfy cushions/blankets, one italian coffee pot and some warmth.

So keep all fingers and toes crossed for us!