Love dot com – Part three

Ahhh, love.  Of course none of it was as easy as that, and Belfast did freak me out.   But every moment of hardship, stress, adversity has been more than offset by the wonder of love and life with my gorgeous fella.  In spite of all the crap we’ve gone through, and my health problems, I’ve never been so blissfully happy and content.  Yeah, gag, right, I don’t blame you.  But it’s true.

I reckon the worst, the very, very worst thing we had to contend with was all the Visa Applications and Immigration Departments.  I needed a Fiancée Visa to get into Northern Ireland; then a Spouse Visa once we’d married; then when we moved back to Australia Tuxedo needed a Temporary Visa; and then a Permanent Visa.  Each of these documents required applications of up to six forms, plus all our birth and marriage certificates, passports, statutory declarations from us and at least two others that we were who we said we were plus photographs and documentation et al proving our relationship was genuine, copies of wills made in each others favour, evidence of our good financial and employment situation … the list went on and on.  Each “package” was about two inches thick and at least two copies were required.  How much of the Amazonian rainforest we earmarked for destruction when we fell in love I do not know.

So, Visa Applications were a hassle and a full time job to organise.  No wonder many people get agents to do them for them [maybe that’d be a good side-line job for me now?].  Actually dealing with the Immigration Departments was another thing entirely.  Immigration Departments dwell somewhere between the Eighth and Ninth Circles Of Hell.  My Fiancée Visa from the British High Commission in Australia came through in just three weeks; amazingly stress-free, and the agents were so nice and obliging.  In a delightful contrast, the Immigration Department of the UK [located in Croydon!] was vile; poor or even non-existent communication of guidelines, shockingly bad service, a non-computerised system for crying out loud, and a mind-boggling ability to lose my file at least three times a month.

My Spouse Visa should have taken six to eight weeks; it took ELEVEN MONTHS and was only completed because Tuxedo and I threw ourselves on the mercy of the local MP.  He and his staff were lovely, and chased up after the benighted document every single week, and even placed a Question On Notice as to why perfectly decent Australians weren’t allowed to have their applications considered when Romanian refugees were hustled through with indecent haste?  [I’m sure the Romanian refugees were extremely deserving but the discrepancy was marked.]  A friend-of-a-friend told me later that he only got his Visitor’s Visa to Australia because he literally camped outside the IND for a fortnight!

As well as a side-line in Visa Application/Migration Agent, I’d make a good International Relocations Agents. All that moving hemispheres is exhausting, especially when the ship with your container on it goes missing somewhere in the Atlantic for six months.  Fun times.

. . . . . . . . . .

But for all that, courting and developing our love online and long-distance worked well for us.  While we are both silly and playful to the max, we were able to be highly rational and logical about our internet relationship.  We never descended into melodrama; we communicated beautifully and completely, and still do; we were open with each other about our thoughts, hearts, expectations, and goals.  If we’d just met in a pub and dated in the conventional sense, maybe it all wouldn’t have worked out so well – apart from the whole “living 15,000 km apart” thing.

So whenever anybody scorns and scoffs at the weirdos who conduct their relationships over the internet [match-making sites aren’t in this category; they’re just, well, match-making brought into the tech age] I can proudly hold up my head.  It’s great stuff, but – and this is my caveat emptor – you have to be honest, open, undramatic, make yourself clear and never, but never, play head games.  Also, you must be over 18 years of age.

My only other piece of advice, if you can call it that, is in regard to spelling and grammar.  This is  oh-so-important [see: making yourself clear] and tells the other person a lot about you.  If Tuxedo had had poor spelling and grammar, I doubt if even his charm and wit and general gorgeousness could have redeemed the situation.  So call me superficial but “U R nice lets tok abt teh wethr” aint gonna get u N E wear.  FFSL*   FOYYG**

*  For Fuck’s Sake, Like
** Fuck Off Yeself, Ye Gobshite 

Post a comment or leave a trackback: Trackback URL.


  • Scary  On Sunday 9 March 2008 at 11:54 pm

    Visa applications! Aaaargh!

    When I was on my way over, Jeremiah filled out the forms six months in advance. Between him printing out the forms and sending them in, the price was raised and they sent them back. I didn’t end up being able to come over until three weeks before our wedding and we hadn’t seen each other in seven months.

    I would have though emmigrating/immigration from/to Austrailia/England would be a bit easier given that they are both in the same commonwealth. I guess government is government wherever you are.

  • Karen  On Tuesday 25 October 2011 at 9:27 pm

    Awwe crap, thay aint gunna giv moi a VISA then r thay? Wayte I awllready have wun. Its cawled a visa card and ewe give it two tha peeple at the showps and thay give ya tha stuff ya want.

    CUB – Cashed Up Bogan! xxxx

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: