This is something dear to my heart!!

My father, a retired headmaster and former school inspector is starting a quiet revolution!!

To reform education. 

The focus being the best way to teach children to THINK. Not the best way to reach unrealistic goals and targets set by out of touch Government.

He is passionate, dedicated and determined.

Please take a moment to look at his site. 
He has already gained impressive backing....and then PLEASE sign his petition to the Government.

Thank you!!

Visit Ordinary Voices

http://www.ordinaryvoices.org.uk/

Then sign the petition!!

http://www.change.org/en-GB/petitions/members-of-parliament-set-up-a-national-education-commission-to-manage-education

"Pride comes before..."or maybe after turning forty!

Just before I horrifically turned forty, I found myself scouring (with reluctance) the library self help book shelves for some help I felt I perhaps needed. I eventually checked out several books covering subjects like, my impending age milestone, feelings about not having achieved more in life, how to change negative thinking patterns, how to connect with your inner truth! How not to be fearful of success. There were nine in all. I didn't read any of them cover to cover, in fact I soon realized that I appear to be doing okay thank you very much.

I read about all these people who had made an absolute mess of their lives and they weren't even actors! These were real people who had chosen real, safe, prescribed career paths and sensible lives who had never the less completely imploded either when “they reached forty” or “they got laid off from a job” (they were bloody lucky enough to have had for several years) or “their marriage fell apart and they were left alone to bring up a child”. Poor babies. ALL of those things had happened to me and I hadn't fallen apart!

Some of them had become alcoholics or drug addicts or spent years as useless basket cases unable to believe that they would ever achieve anything again or be loved again or be able to find a man or a job or happiness or hope. NOT ME! Feck. I was only a few pages into this stuff and I already felt GREAT! These self help books are better than I ever realized. 

I didn't even need to flick through “Feel the Fear and do it anyway...” or “Failure”. What a revelation. So it was with a feeling of superior righteousness that I returned my heavy load to a crowded Burbank library branch one sunny Saturday afternoon. There I stood with my son, flanked by a very good looking young man who was smiling at us warmly and another handsome and distinguished older man who winked at Ed...but not in a creepy way. 

I handed over my books with a sense of relief and mild frustration...why would someone as successful and attractive as me EVER think I needed all this “help”? I'm fine. I've clearly always been fine and my life is great! ; ))

The dumpy frumpy librarian takes the books...looks at me and proceeds to read EVERY title loudly, slowly and with purpose. Everyone in the entire library can hear her and is listening...

Fortytude!

I make a fake puzzled look at the cute young guy next to me...

Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway!

I try to let that one pass and look at my son who looks back at me with amused expectancy, he knows what's coming...

Failure!

Ha, ha...I chuckle...as if!

Embracing Fear!

Oh God. I look at the floor. I can hear what the guy next to me is thinking...he can't believe how f**ked up I am and I had looked so nice!!

The Winning Mind Set!

Okay, well, that's...

Finding Your Own North Store! She corrects herself, Finding Your Own North StAR!! She repeats, clear as a bell and even louder. All eyes are on me. What a looser, they scream.

Excuse Me Your Life is Waiting!

So, this just needs to end now, quickly, so I can pick my broken self esteem up from off the floor right at the feet of the handsome young man; so I can repair my burst balloon of superiority and reinstate my fragile ego by eating a big piece of humble pie in the car on the way home.

Life is just so good at keeping me in check and I'm very grateful!

Fun with Service Providers and Leaf Blowers...

About a month ago I had to call AT&T because my new cell phone kept shutting itself off. So I called AT&T which is one of the biggest telephone service providers in the USA.

They have an automated voice system and I already know it only understands an American accent.

Me- (in my best English accent, I’m not giving in to a machine) Speak with a representative.

Phone- (in fake happy, computer generated American accent) I’m sorry I didn’t recognize your

request.

Me - (like Mary Poppins) speak with a representative!

Phone- (see above) I’m sorry I didn’t recognize your request. Please choose one of the following options. For billing press 1. To upgrade press or say 2...etc.

Me - (more slowly...even condescending, if you like) speak with a representative.

Phone - you can speak or dial your selection.

Me - (louder) speak with a representative!

Phone- I’m sorry I didn’t recognize your request.

Me. Oh my God. SPEAK WITH A REPRESENTATIVE.

Phone - I’m sorry...

Me - (in absolutely OTT ludicrous American accent) SPEAK WITH A REPRESENTATIVE! SPEAK WITH A REPRESENTATIVE! SPEAK WITH A REPRESENTATIVE!

PHONE- Would you like to speak with someone from Customer Services.

Me - Yes!! Customer Service. Oh my God. YES!

Phone - I’m sorry....blah Blah blah.

I finally get a human being on the other end who insists on calling me Mrs. Anna, after everything  she says ( I get the feeling English is possibly not her first language). She thinks I think my phone is off when the screen goes black. I tell her no, I’m not stupid. It’s going off...completely.

She can help me with that.

She transfers me to some one else...I have to explain everything all over again.

Again she think I’m stupid, calls me Mrs. Anna and suspects that I am either inadvertently turning it off myself or I’m thinking it’s off when the screen goes black.

I try to explain again, politely but you know, this is dragging on a bit now.

I state VERY clearly once again that I am NOT stupid etc or any of the above. So, then they need my order number but they can’t hear me properly on their end. Am I pressing some buttons on my handset??

No. I say. Absolutely not. I’m not pressing anything. There ARE no buttons, it’s a touch screen!

All I can hear is beeping Mrs. Anna. She says.

Well, maybe that’s another thing that’s wrong with my phone...I suggest. It was a refurb after all.

She says she needs to call me back on my land line cos this beeping thing is impossible for her to handle. When I hang up I see that the side of my face has been continuously dialing the numbers 7 and 9 on the virtual keypad on my phone’s touch screen...But at this point I feel customer service doesn't need to be informed of that.

She calls me back on my land line. That’s better. She needs numbers and info from me....But suddenly there is an incredible noise outside my house. The leaf blowers are here. It’s my weekly assault by dust and antiquated gasoline fueled garden machinery.

Now I’m the one who can’t hear! What the F**k is she asking me??

I’m sorry...what? I say. Still nothing, it’s no good. The machines are too powerful. Hang on.. I say. I move to the front room but they are out the front too. It’s absolutely deafening. Sorry, WHAT!!? I say. She tries again but it’s still no use...

Oh my God will you PLEASE just bloody shut up!! I scream into the ether.

I’m sorry Mrs Anna, she says... No, no not you I say, it’s the gardeners...they are so bloody loud, I wish they wouldn’t bother to be honest, I mean it’s only ever dust that they blow about and I’ve nearly always got my washing out there when they come so I have to dash out and well... anyway... I’m so sorry.

She needs that number one more time but can’t understand a word I’m saying until I give it to her in an American accent. So finally, I fold. I complete the entire rest of my call with her in my fake but very convincing American accent. This woman must think I am schizophrenic at best. But anyway, I’m American, she can hear me... and now we’re cooking.

There’s a lesson in there somewhere.

My Week With Gary Barlow.

Last Fall I responded to an audition notice on one of the most popular LA audition notice boards, Actors Access. It was for a singer/actress who could move well to go on tour with Take That. The ad had instructions to call Gary Barlow direct on a UK number.

Now I am skeptical, but bear in mind that almost ALL the auditions I've been on in the last two years (and most since then) come from this source. So I called. The number was engaged...but of course! I forgot to mention the wages attached to this job, which were BIG (and maybe in hindsight too big). I suspected every actress in LA who could vaguely sing and move (which lets face it could equate to nothing more than the ability to walk in time to music) was calling Gary.

I tried again and got through and there he was. My British readers will back me up when I tell my American friends that Mr Gary Barlow's voice is pretty distinct. No, it's VERY distinct. It said, “You've reached Gary Barlow, you know what to do”. Wow, his delivery is dead pan, kind of disinterested and dull sounding but I knew what to do.

I got in touch with one of my mangers and asked if he could check it out but he never got back to me with any info. So, I forgot about the whole thing. My mum was staying with me at the time and when she picked up the phone the next day and told me it was Gary Barlow I was, I'll admit a little taken aback.

He spoke, I listened....for a long time. He told me what they were looking for, directed me to some on line footage from previous tours to give me an example of what I would be doing etc. I was very un sure. It sounded like Gary and talked the talk but I've been in the biz a while and this is not normally how things are done. He sensed that this girl was perhaps not as “excited” as most girls might be, if they were speaking to Gary Barlow. “Are you alright?” he asks, dead pan. “Yes” I say, giving away nothing!

He goes on to talk about his kids, his experiences on the British X Factor, which he is currently in the middle of shooting, even the weather. I don't know many real details about him (I know he got a bit fat, then thin, used to be the un sexy one but has aged extremely well...) I try to ask pertinent questions which test his authenticity without being too obvious. I ask if he's seen my material on line, his response is vague. I get the feeling he must be lonely or nuts or maybe it is all just nonsense, but I've met so many people in this industry who have developed massively odd personality traits that I go along with it without investing any real expectation of a job. I mean, surely he is too busy to be doing this himself. One of his “people” could be doing this for him, maybe he is bored? But strangely, while speaking to someone who grew up in one of the most successful and famous boy bands ever, I could come up with no notion of what “normal” for him might be. Let's face it, he probably doesn't know what “normal” for him would be. So I keep listening while he holds forth. After an hour he has to go and make another call and will call me right back. But he doesn't.

The next day is Saturday in LA and by the time the weekend has come and gone I forget all about Gary Barlow and the possibility of going on tour with Take That. Bit of a bloody shame but I wasn't convinced anyway...

First thing Monday morning Mum picks up the phone. It's Gary Barlow. “Alright!” he says in his unmistakably dulcet tone. “Shit” I think, then “really?” and off we go again...He tells me he's actually in LA now, flew in over at the weekend and is at his house in Brentwood. I tell him my friend lives near by in Santa Monica and we talk about how lovely the neighborhood is. He wants to meet me the day after tomorrow (Wednesday) at the Beverly Hills Hilton, in the Polo lounge to discuss contracts. “Oh” I say. “You don't sound very excited”, he says. I say something along the lines of “just wondering if and when you'll be holding auditions”? He explains that they wouldn't be because it was so last minute. Some one dropped out suddenly and that's why he's doing this himself. He wouldn't normally. (!) He has seen my material on line now, remembers me from Holby City etc. We talk about all the people we know in common in the industry. I worked with Keith Allen, Gary often works with his daughter Lily Allen and hasn't Alfie Allen done well and I remember baby sitting him during the Jack of Hearts shoot. Then onto songwriting and how taxing that can be. More talk about how much warmer it is here than back in the UK and doesn't this LA water taste funny, I agree. He has jet lag now and he has to go but will call me back.

Then my Dad Skype’s me, he knows what's been going on. “I hope you don't mind” he says, “but I called the TV station and asked if they could tell us the where a bouts of Gary Barlow because you were in touch with some one in LA calling himself Gary Barlow...They will look into it and get back to us....” “Oh. Okay”. “Did I mind”? “Well, no” I say.

Then the phone rings and it's Gary and he asks me if it's sunk in yet and I'm not sure what he means and he explains that the job is mine if I want it. I am flabbergasted!!! He is sweet and totally understands. “How soon will I have to go, I have a little boy”, then, “what's his name” etc. “Don't worry the record company will take care of everything, what's important now is that we get to know each other a bit better, we're going to be on the road a long time”. “How long”? He lists all the dates including the days off and says that I will be able to fly home to visit my son on the breaks...most of the band have kids now and that's the way they do it these days. He talks about previous tours, about the rift between Robbie Williams and himself and how they've all grown up, how great it is to be back together as a band and that they're almost all Dad's now days. “So what's happening with the X factor”, I ask. “I've got a break and then it's from the judge's houses” he says. He asks me to look at last weeks show and we laugh at the expression on his face when a rather camp gentleman does his act!

Also he thinks we should meet tomorrow evening in a prominent Hollywood night spot to start the publicity wagon rolling and so that he can introduce me to the press. Do I have someone I'd like to bring, he doesn't want me to feel uncomfortable...wow, any doubts I had must surely be unfounded, this is real and it's happening and I'm going to meet Gary Barlow. I tell him about my friend who is also an actress. He's interested, “she lives near you in Brentwood” I say, “around the corner almost”. “Who is she, do I know her” ? “Maybe” I say...I list some of her fantastic film credits, About A Boy, The Beach. Then he asks me where is a good place to go and get papped...he's not in Hollywood that much these days. I say my friend will know. “Call her” he says “and I'll call you back in ten minutes”.

I call my lovely friend who is SOOO excited for me and knows just the place and will come with me with her husband and will even lend me her best pap worthy dress.

Gary calls back...I tell him the place. “Did she book a table”? he says. I don't know. “Call her back”. So I do. Then My friend and Gray end up talking on the phone to arrange booking the table. She calls me squealing, “I've just been talking to Gary Barlow”!!! “I know”! I say, almost in shock. “What do you make of him”?.... “a bit nuts” she says, “but they all are. He kept asking me about the lunch I was making and kept on about how I was cooking my potatoes”. Then Gary calls me back so my friend hangs up. Gary tells me about my friends potatoes....wow, is this for real, really? Then he says he has to call her back again and find out exactly how she's cooking them.....This is tooo insane, but really famous people do loose the threads of reality and what do you do? You can't call them out? I want the job (if there is a job) so I humor him and so does my friend. All the arrangements are finally made. Tomorrow eve in West Hollywood and then the following lunch time in Beverly Hills to look over contracts, then he flies bak to London. He's happy I'm bringing my friend and her husband and suggests also including any other reps or managers that I am working with.

Wow, now my head is starting to spin and this is the first moment I actually believe this is true and real happening to me!!

Gary has to hang up again and will call me back.

My friend calls me.....she's stoked. “You deserve this honey”... “But it's insane” I say, “but we're in Hollywood love” she says, “This is the stuff you read about that happens here and that's why we came. All your struggles over the last year, getting so close to big projects and then not getting them, it all makes sense now. This is your moment”. I'm almost emotional.

Then her other phone rings, its' Gary again, off she goes.

A while later my phone rings and it's Gary...he's been talking to my friend for ages....wow. I was possibly right about him being lonely, but he did say he hadn't brought the family with him on this trip so I guess it's understandable.

He talks more about what to expect on the tour and what everyone's personalities are like and how the whole thing is structured. We talk more about my son and how soon I will have to get us all packed up and shipped back to the UK.

So I'm all set for tomorrow night and as he said, “please bring my reps with me” to the meeting on Wednesday.

Now I have been really struggling with my “reps” for some time. At this point I'm on my forth or fifth representation team here in Hollywood (!) and to be frank nothing much is coming forth. This “job” submission didn't come through any of my reps or include any effort on their parts.

So, I tell him... “I'm not sure if I should put this through my reps Gary. Especially as I'm going to be returning to the UK. They've not been great to be honest and I had been thinking that I should probably move on from them”. Then something extraordinary happens, some how we start to talk about fate and God and how sometimes things happen at the right time for some one and he suggests that he may have come along at just the right time to help me. Wow, if only he knew! He could even work with me on my own material if I'd like? Apparently, he often scouts for talent quietly in clubs and he has his own label where he works with new artists. I'm a bit bowled over... “only if that's something you'd be interested in doing” he adds, now I'm completely bowled over. “By the way I hope you don't mind but I've got a little gift for your son”. “Gosh really”? “Yeah its a Play Station 3 has he got one? Do you mind”? What can I say. It's all still too un real.

“I tell you what” he says, “why don'y you give your reps a call and sort out what you need to sort out with them before we meet”? “I think I should let them know I'll be leaving the country”, I say, “it's not really been working out with them anyway”. “Well, tell you what, don't worry cos we can do loads to promote you once we're underway with the Tour and that. You get rid of them idiots and I'll call you back in a bit and then we'll talk about what my management company might be able to do for you. Alright”? What can I say.... We hang up and I send emails to both my reps telling them I will be returning to the UK.

Then my friend calls. “Darling”, she says, (and I can hear it in her voice) “something started to not feel right”. “Yeah”, I agree (I think). “He kept calling me and calling me” she says “and I can understand him wanting to talk to you loads but why me? And why all the interest in my potatoes? I ended up inviting him over for dinner with us on Saturday night and to watch the match” she says. “But he has to get bak to the UK for X factor”, I say. . “I know” she says ….then she is quiet, “honey, I'm friends with Louie Walsh so I thought I'd send him a Twitter to see if I could just check things out a bit” she is quiet again. “Gary Barlow is in London Studios with Louie filming the show as we speak. They've just come off stage....Who ever this nut is just called me again and I confronted him with it” she says....”You did”? “Yep”. “And” ? “Well, he denied it and then got mad and upset and then said he was going to call Louie cos he doesn't know what he's talking about”.

We are both quiet.... “I'm so sorry darling”, she says. “No, I kinda knew it wasn't right” I say. “ I'm sorry to have dragged you into it”. And before I can say it she knows and heads me off.... “He was feckin' BRILLIANT” she says. “He is clearly a sick, sick person but he TOTALLY had me fooled. All the detail...” My stomach is in a tight knot. I feel sick, numb, stupid, sad, relieved. I didn't tell her that I let him talk me into letting my reps go...I guess she'll read about it here.

“Oh God, do you think he's really in LA”? she asks. “Oh God he has my landline number which means he can get my address” I say.

With that the phone rings. “Darling”... she says.

I don't pick up and he calls four times in a row. The final time he leaves a message. “Anna it's Jason...call me”.

Wow....who's Jason? For a split second the thought crosses my mind that it could be Jason Orange (another Take That band member) but really the chances of him calling me at this point, well....nuff said.

A few hours later the Burbank Police are in my house taking a statement. “You won't go to meet him will you”? they ask. I must look as stupid as I feel.

Images at the start...

Winter in Cape Cod 2006

Sunset Lake, Braintree MA.
Christmas 2006

Skwarm Lake, New Hampshire.
Fall 2006

Letter 1 from Boston...

My life had already changed forever and no turning back. Now ten months after giving birth to my first child, my beautiful son Ed, it was about to change again with such a force of utter destruction that had I know what was ahead I would have fallen before I was out of the gates. I was ready to emigrate to the United States. Something I had planned since I was roughly thirteen years old. On emigration day, I was 35. 

Three months earlier I had moved out of my beautifully appointed, baby ready home in SE East London that I had fallen so totally in love with the day I viewed it. I had had to persuade my then fiance that it was the perfect home for us. It's ironic now that he still owns it and I was the one who gave it up. 

It had taken me weeks of going back and forth, leaving my son with my parents at their house where Ed and I were staying, to pack up my share of the 12 month old wedding gifts along with the rest of what amounted to my life so far. I had taken my baby, who never slept and I had left my marriage. My heart broke in a way I cannot describe effectively, even now with six years of distance and perspective.

Those three months of packing, looking at all the photos, keep sakes, letters and trinkets collected during our 5 years together, then separating out the furniture, bedding, plates, pictures...my God how trivial but ridiculously painful. It was a strange kind of catharsis and at the same time a torture so profound that I acquiesced to taking Prozac for a few months. I would never want to take it again but it helped and I did need help. I was determined that I never would cry or feel sad around my new baby and I didn't. I'm an actress after all, well trained and I know I didn't let the all consuming pain I felt out but it was inside me...waiting to come out some other day.

Today, August 14th  2006 I was headed to Heathrow with suitcases containing all I could carry with me into my new life, that dream come true life, in America!

This is where my story begins...and as I begin...you will be listening to the voice that I used back then. You will discover as my story unfolds, that I don't have that same voice today. Today's voice will try to butt in. You will hear her, (in the brackets). 

This is the email I sent my relatives and friends back in the UK, describing my journey to and arrival in America. Written Aug 18th, 2006. My 1st Letter From Boston.

Dear friends,

As most of you know, Ed, who was already packed and booked on the flight to Boston with his grandfather and I, was rushed into the hospital with an awful stomach problem that had his temperature dangerously high and resulted in him being put on a drip etc. So, we were unable to emigrate to the USA on the day initially planned. However the main thing is that Ed was OK. Thankfully my Green Card date was a further two weeks away so I could still enter the US for the first time as a resident before the deadline! 

We did have to cancel and re book everything and attempt to claim back some of the losses which was a bit of a hassle but things could have been a lot worse. 

We decided to try to fly again on Aug 10th but then thought that perhaps Ed would need a few more days to recuperate. Thank God we didn't book the 10th. That was the day that every airport in the UK ground to a halt due to International terror threats. 

So having already packed absolutely everything we owned we now had to re-pack it all in order to satisfy the critical level security measures. NO hand luggage. Brilliant!!! 

By now we were beginning to feel a little daunted but we were not put off. We repack and make do with next to nothing in the way of belongings in hand luggage. We end up with eleven, yes eleven pieces of luggage to check in. 

The fateful day arrives,  August 14th. We set off in a hire car or should I say wagon, full. We give 

ourselves tons of time to do the journey to the airport. However we hit two major accidents on the M4 

which sets us back over two hours and it starts look like we are actually not going to make the check in time. 

I call the car hire company for some reason and ask if they can help us??? I become so hysterical on the 

phone that the nice man hangs up on me. Perhaps he thought it was a hoax call. 

We finally get to the right place in the airport with all our bags and Ed in his stroller and then realize 

that the two of us (my father and I) cannot actually move. AT ALL. We have two trolleys piled high with the eleven bags and Ed in his stroller and we don't have enough limbs between us to physically move it all. I tried mind control but it didn't work. 

So on a day when the airport and it's staff are at maximum stretch, we require one of their staff to push 

one of our trolleys. 

The airport is like a refugee camp. Thousands of people are sat on the floor in an open air car park 

with all their belongings. They look dispossessed. We do too. But the over stretched staff are bringing around free sandwiches and water. I can't face eating so I decline the free food. Besides I'm sure there'll be plenty more where that came from. There isn't. 

We take it in turns to que for ten full bladdered minutes each to go to the toilet. Not bad considering. And there was even some loo roll left. 

Dad is queuing to pee when they tell us refugees that some of us can actually proceed into the terminal 

building. I signal across to Dad that he should stay in the toilet que and have his pee. Who knows when 

we'll get another chance. 

By the time we find another nice man to help us push all our stuff to the check in gate we are last but one in line. Everyone is very friendly though considering. I imagine this show of spirit must have been what it was like after the War. Lots of people even think we look very funny, with all our bags and little Ed in his stroller trying to maneuver through the endless snaking lines. 

It's hours later and we're still queuing and the flight is about to take off and we haven't even checked in. Oh my God I feel I might be getting hysterical again. I remember that the last outburst didn't get me anywhere and think better of it. So then dad has to go que somewhere else because he doesn't have a seat allocated. He takes Ed with him and I'm left to hump eleven oversized, maximum weight bags onto the belt. I actually manage this somehow!? Could this be the Prozac kicking in maybe?

Then we run hell for leather, like fools to the gate. But it's OK because we get to que here as well. The flight is delayed. At least now we are free of all the bags. Dad has been given an upgrade to business class but this means he can't sit with me and Ed. A difficult choice but he decides to ask someone to swap with him. A nice french lady says she doesn't mind swapping her cattle class seat for an upgrade, but she doesn't say thank you, not even a merci. 

We sit on the tarmac for an hour while the FBI check the passenger list, apparently! The flight itself isn't too bad considering. Ed gets a little bassinet and actually sleeps in it for a bit!! 

Dad and I do that thing where your head lolls forward and your mouth opens and you try to imagine you're in your bed kind of thing. The first meal arrives and not before time. We haven't eaten or drunk a thing for over six hours. It's not great but we do our best. Then more strange pretend sleeping, in turns, then another meal. Thank God! I AM STARVING! 

Ed is up and about now though and he is running perilously up and down the isle at high speed. I put my food to one side while I see to him and when I turn around they've bloody taken it. My food I mean. I can't believe it. I ask if I can have it back but all of a sudden it's too late. We are beginning the decent to land. Once we touch down I ask the steward if it would be okay if I went to the toilet to be sick. He agrees even though the seat belt signs are still on. 

I can't even be sick my stomach is so empty. So I make that nice retching noise and do the being sick 

actions...head down the loo, you know the kind of thing. I emerge feeling a lot better surprisingly but everyone has heard me and look both disgusted and sorry for me at the same time. 

Immigration goes like a dream. No problems. I'm IN. I'm a US RESIDENT! So is Ed! 

We wait for our eleven bags to arrive on the belt at Boston Logan. We wait and wait and I already know what's going to happen so strongly that when it does happen I am not even fazed (possibly the Prozac at work again here too). Ask my father. He was fazed. I wasn't. 

One bag finally appears. "Phew, here they come"" says dad. I don't. Someone comes and gives me Ed's car seat and wheels and his travel cot and apologizes because these are the very last items to be taken off the plane. "I had eleven bags" I say, quite calmly. "Oh" she says. We go to BA's help (!) desk and describe all the bags in detail and they say they will probably turn up at some point. We are the very last people to leave the airport. We have one bag which contains only my winter clothes, boots, coats, woolens. Nothing of any use what so ever in August in Massachusetts. 

I HAD packed food for us for when we arrived and were starving. Enough food for Ed's first three days and enough of his milk to last three weeks. He now only has the clothes he has been wearing and two spare nappies. Dad and I have NOTHING. 

NO, underwear, clothes, shoes, toothbrushes, cosmetics, razors, not a hair brush or a tissue or anything..... 

Ed has three empty bottles which we fed him during the journey but nothing else, at all. I can't wash him, or change him or feed him...it's like a nightmare. (It would seem I might have finally hit rock bottom. It had been a tough time but this must surely be it. (I was wrong)). 

Suffice it to say, we survived and my American dream truly has begun!

The family who are renting us the apartment have been wonderful. Thank Heaven for them. They fed us and their children gave Ed some toys. So kind! 

Our bags did come after three days. It wasn't easy but we were very thankful that we got them in the end. 

We hope you are all well and enjoyed hearing our news. Since the dust has settled on all the drama, we have been slowly exploring our new surroundings. Braintree, MA is very pretty and our accommodation is great. People are extremely friendly and welcoming. (except for the bitch who pointed at Ed in Shaws and called out “My God, that poor baby,  he's only wearing a diaper. He only HAD a diaper. That's why I was in Shaws!).

We are looking forward to having the rest of the clan (really just my mother) join us here in the coming week. 

Please keep in touch, we miss you. (and please do bear in mind that I am currently taking Prozac. Did I mention that)?

Much love to you all! 

 Anna 

What I hadn't told the folks back home was that my marriage was in pieces on the floor and once night fell I too was in pieces on the floor. My husband would soon be following me to America to activate his Green Card, gained through his marriage to me but he would be living separately from us. I thought it had already been hard, I hoped like the fool I had become that we might find some way back together, that he might love us too much to really let us go, but it was about to get so much harder. In hindsight, the hard part hadn't even begun...