Thursday, March 01, 2007

So buy me beer and whiskey...

Last night Frau Random Doubt went to dinner with her business partner.
She told her of our plan.

That's it, it's official.

We will be leaving these shores come the summertime.

We'll be returning to my hometown Wymondham.
For Frau Random Doubt and the boy it will be a whole new adventure in the gently lit plains of Eastern England. For me it will be a return to the old stamping grounds of a happily confused youth.

It all feels a bit like we're stepping into the lyrics of a Cowboy Junkies song. Car rides to lonely beaches, sunsets over cornfields and lazy summer evenings wafting over the larger than real blue skies. Then of course the season will shift and we'll spend October to May ducking the rain, freezing our toes and getting splattered with mud.

I have spent most of my life romanticising the place so now it's the fun part, we are actually going to live there. I will introduce my family to some of the finer points of Norfolk life, country walks, winter tea, navigating massively overweight farm animals on muddy footpaths and strolling along the beach in January. There will also be more up to date pursuits such as watching Norwich City slide down the league table, learning the bizarre and incomprehensible local dialect and watching Julie Reinger present the Weather on Look East.

Next week I fly off to find myself a suitably paid position within one of the County's fine primary schools.

Whatever happens we'll forever have Brooklyn etched into our souls, the birthplace of Henry and our first phase of life together. We'll be back often to drink in the disgusting heat of August in New York and complain about the apalling standards of customer service in the UK.

We've got the next few months to lap up our remaining days and weeks in the U.S. What generally tends to happen when you relocate is that the final weeks are a blissful experience, the hassles of moving loom very real, very large and rather costly. The weather turns gorgeous (trust me, New York we are about to have the best springtime ever) and friendships blossom as never before. In short, everything conspires against your decision to ever leave this sceptered corner of God's green Earth.


Listmaker said...

i always knew you'd desert the good 'ol us of a, you friggin' socialist!

mactechwitch said...

I have a lump in my throat.

weasel said...

Don't forget "Standing under the Market Cross fighting with foul mouthed chavettes who are spitting fish and chips from the Big Fry and cider everywhere".

Or "marvelling that Woolies is still in business".

Or "saying 'at least its not Attleborough'" to your disgruntled wife and son with the same tone as the protagonist in The Mosquito Coast. TO quote one of the best books ever set in Norfolk aside from The Coot Club, "the past is a foreign country: they do things differently there".

North Nofolk rules! The rest of Norfolk drools! Stay north of the Wensum and never venture south my boys!

Anonymous said...

You can leave us:( but always remember that you have a genuine Brooklyn boy

Go back to your latin roots Ha!

The above joke was soooo inside

Bill Norris said...

Do you have a departure date?

I suspect I'll be gracing the streets of Brooklyn in either June or July and would love to stand you a drink and wish you fare thee well if you're still a resident of the Boro of Kings at that point.

That said, I'd move back to Kilburn in the morning if I could somehow convince the Office of the Home Secretary that I'd a real reason to be there.

Emily Fabpants said...

Hooray. The invisible elastic that the dumplings tied you to has finally tugged you hard enough. Blighty doesn't like to lose a good egg.

If you're travelling through London during your job hunting visit, I may be able to get a train and met you for a warm English beer. You have my email!

Or if you're over on the 10th, and have it in you to travel, come to my birthday party by the sea!

Mondale said...

Listo, Norfolk is an old fashioned Tory stronghold with dilutions of liberalism, but mostly Tory. Should be fun.

Mactech, Aye, I hear you. It's certainly bittersweet.

Weasel You should know better! The best bit of living in rural england is dodging the pikeys, chavs and neer'do-wells that litter the town centre. And as for your comment about North Norfolk I shall resist the obvious temptations. You seem to like South Norfolk well enough when you come a'calling.

Msdee, The boy is Latin and you know it!

Norris, the title is a real life request. We plan on moving in mid-late July. We shall drink.

Fabpants, Alas, no London this time but soon we'll all be hanging out again. Yeah!