It’s the morning of the flight to Canada and everyone’s up early. A new life beckons.
Running out of space. A dash to Maidstone for another case.
The taxi is late, the M25 is stationary, there’s a fire alarm at Gatwick, but we’re on our way.
Forms stamped by immigration, “Welcome to Canada”. A new beginning.
Week 1. Hotels, motels, apartments, bank accounts, Social Insurance Numbers, cell phones, schools and a house sale that fails.
Months go by. Kids in school, a move from Vancouver to Burnaby, networking, letters, doorstepping, discovering that being an Apple Tech is not for me.
3 weeks money left and the UK house sale finally completes. Sigh of relief.
Five former Essex schoolkids share a beach on the Shuswap. Surreal.
Invest in a house. Burnaby to PoCo. No income, but once again mortgaged.
Full time work so close yet passed over for a local despite the verbal assurance. Frustration.
Level 1 insurance agent. Relentless pace, long days. Short lived.
The big break, back in to the green world, someone’s taken a gamble on me.
And suddenly it’s 3 years.
Time to contemplate citizenship.