S. Worthen | Weblog

Walking bareboot on the grass at Lords, I could understand the desire to run. It isn't a running track, but the vast expanse of cricket grounds, gorgeously manicured grass protected by a cover which moved on hovercraft. On the field, the stands curve protectively around and the sky is large, even with lowering clouds and light rain.

I went to my first cricket game today, an International One Day, England vs. Australia Women's teams. legionseagle was endlessly patient in teaching me what I was watching and with all my questions about the details. The teams obligingly demonstrated a whole variety of ways to hit the ball and go out. England was particularly obliging about ways to go out, and Australia was particularly good at batting today, as well as bowling. At the end of the game, they were down only three wickets to England's ten. Not that England played badly per se.

There were large numbers of schoolchildren thronging parts of the stands, loudly enthusiastic in following the game. Which is why it was so noticeable when they all left before the end of the game, possibly because it was the end of the school day.

Thanks to clanwilliam for organizing!

Either I've been fortunate with passport turnaround speeds, or the governments I've been dealing with prefer - quite reasonably - to give high estimates, just in case it *does* take longer to process an application. The last time I renewed my US passport, it took a week, from the day I sent it off, until the day I received my new passport.

The estimated time of processingly a new passport holder's application in the UK is six weeks. It took me less than three, and that was with the interview-arranger's warning that I would have to wait an extra week for my interview if I went with the central London interview office instead of one of the county ones. (Interviews are now - as of a couple of years ago - required of first-time passport holders in the UK.) My new passport came by special delivery this morning.

Now going to visit Wales really would be entirely for the fun of it, and not in the least an act of symbolic rebellion against travel limitations.

Since I was going to be without a passport for six weeks, I was sorely tempted to go to Wales, just so I could say I had left the country without a passport. (Well, okay, also, I haven't been to Wales in years.)

The passport agency has ruined my faintly clever plan by returning my passport to me less than a week later.

Oh well. No rush on Wales then.

As of today, I am a British citizen.*

The weather got itself together, and was stereotypically grey and rainy. Despite stereotypes, this is not actually all that common as weather conditions go around here, especially when it's been snowing as often as it has lately.

The ceremony was in Chelmsford, in the Council Chambers at County Hall. They are charming, in a 1930s somewhat brutalist fashion, lined with the names and dates of the Kings of Essex, a listing and portraits of major personages of Essex, gilded maps of Essex, and illustrations of four major events in the county's history, most of which involved people revolting or fleeing the country. My favorite, thematically, was the painting of an Essex man and his family sailing off to America on the Mayflower.

We had been speculating on who the dignitary for the ceremony might be. To my surprise, it was someone I recognized, from when I visited his family seat last year as a tourist, and he was out walking the grounds. I had been told to say hello to the man officiating over our ceremonies, thanks someone I know through the local history group; when I did, he remembered that he had been told the same, and we complete the social connection with a handshake. The official photographer turns out to be based in my town: he knew exactly where my house was from my address, down to the nearest pub. I had thought this would be a ceremony with strangers**, but found I was, in small ways, already connected to them.

There were perhaps 35 of us, divided into two approximately-equal groups based on whether God or lots of adverbs were involved in the words with which we became citizens. The speeches were generally good, county-specific when good, and more general when less so. I didn't really need to be told about the concept of citizenship going back to the ancient Greeks, because it meant I sat there thinking about how women, such I or the mother with toddler beside me, would not have been citizens. The dignitary made jokes about us not needing to swear loyalty to the Kingdom of Essex. It's been defunct for about 1300 years now, after all. We finished with the first (usual) verse of the national anthem; for a rarity, in this country not given to patriotism, plenty of people sang along. It was, after all, appropriate. On the way out of the chamber, we were given Union Jacks to wave.

The county gave thoughtful and appropriate gifts to welcome us to citizenship: a small, heavy medal, commemorating the occasion, and a box of several souped-up*** jams from a major Essex jam company. One momento to keep, one to eat: a good distribution. Speaking of welcomingness, they laid on a good-looking spread of sandwiches, rolls, scones, and mince pies, in addition to drinks. We were full from lunch, and didn't partake. They also had a little fake Christmas tree set up, and played tastefully-subdued Christmas carols.

My welcome pack also included a county employee's official ID card. Kind as it is of them, I'll be mailing it back to County Hall tomorrow.

* This makes me a dual citizen. Neither country requires me to give up my other one.
** In the ceremony itself: I was delighted to have C. and fjm there with me in the audience.
*** Not literally with soup.

Yesterday, an envelope which looked like junk mail arrived in the mail. It was a single sheet of paper in a generic envelope with pre-printed second class postage. It told me that, a scant five weeks after applying, my application for British citizenship had been accepted, and that I should schedule the ceremony which would make me so within six weeks, and here was the address and phone number to contact. It was surreally anti-climactic.

Today, a nice, thick envelope arrived from the county council, sent first class. It contained a map of Chelmsford and another, hand-drawn map of the county hall. I love maps! I have never been to Chelmsford! A touristic opportunity awaits! The envelope also contained lots more information, on the actual ceremonial part which completes the process of gaining a second citizenship.

The enclosed letter was addressed, ‎"‎Dear Future Citizen".

As of yesterday, this process all felt like a bureaucratic function. Today, I am rather delighted to hold this relatively rare, liminal, transient status I must surely share with not much more than around a thousand people (at most!) at a time: that of future citizen.

I was back in sushidog's old neighborhood today, to take the Life in the UK test. The test, as the practice versions make clear, is a medley of the very easy with the pedantic. Mostly, it's pedantic about the 2001 census. Since I clicked a button swearing I wouldn't give away details of the test itself, I'll give you this example from the practice book:

[Poll #1591448]

Large parts of the study book aren't on the exam at all, as noted in the introduction to the book itself, including the rights and responsibilities of citizens, and history.

Another omitted part is an extremely dangerous bit of advice about buying goods on the internet: "You also need to make sure that the website offers a secure way of paying- this is shown by a small picture of a yellow padlock at the bottom of the screen." No, no, no. It's true if you're using IE - as, I suppose, the civil service is obligated to? - but is not true for any of the web browsers I use. Also, it's worded generally enough that it seems an open encouragement for all scammers to put a little picture of a yellow padlock on the bottom of their web pages.

As of the exam-taking experience itself: it was in a soulless, slightly weary, poorly-labeled office building. There were about 15 of us, and I was easily the palest-skinned person in the room. I was also the only person who did not have black hair. Thanks to two cryptic questions, I reviewed my answers and stalled on submitting the last two for nearly 15 minutes. I was third out. I was fifth called for results afterward, a very slow process involving a lot of staring out the window at distant hills north of Stratford on my part.

The one thing I really wish someone had told me before I went to the test center? Bring a rigid folder, to be able to bring home the piece of paper they give you afterward without getting the edges ratty.

Five years ago today, I landed in a remarkably functional London, given it had been bombed only the day before. We, on the full flight, were quiet but very awake, thanks to the guy in the row in front of me sporadically, but loudly, shouting "Free Tibet!" during the flight. I had a lot of luggage, and some of our many boxes had already arrived, with remarkably alacrity.

Five years later, and I still live in England.

Sometimes I idly wonder where the protester these days, and why, two hours from the end of the flight, he suddenly felt the need to share his cause with all of us. Sometimes, I wonder which of the still-packed boxes in the loft are leftover from that move, for when we finally have a bit more furniture and room to unpack them.

A very exciting thing (for me - also a very trivial thing -) happened at dinner tonight after the BSFA meeting. In conversation with four British men, a question came up to which I knew the answer - and I only knew it thanks to having idly browsed the Life in the UK booklet last week. I had no previous certainty that browsing for this exam might ever again me Actually Relevant Trivia!

Note that I was the only non-British person there.

***

On the way home on an already crowded train, we pull into Holborn, where the massed throngs of humanity are waiting to board. Someone on my carriage called out, ‘Here come our new friends!‘

Once upon a time in my life, TSO stood for the "Toronto Symphony Orchestra". Today, it stands for "The Stationary Office", apparently. The English alphabet needs more letters; or perhaps English should just make more effecient use of its less-well-used letters to avoid so many duplicate acronyms.

I have barely flipped through a few pages of the Life in the UK book, and already I am indignant. Part of its required knowledge is an NHS phone number which has two digits too few to be valid as a current UK phone number. *sigh* The booklet is right. I have now fact-checked. But I am now indignant that NHS is messing with the telephone system by having a phone number which does not map onto a standard length. Also, I had thought I would briefly skim the book; now I am deeply certain that I shall sink into a morass of fact-checking because of things like this which seem too improbable to be true. And I already know some of it won't quite be true thanks to ambient media coverage.

It is never possible to proofread too much.