Run-down. Stressed. Worried. Anxious. Frustrated. That’s the state of my mind right now, having had the worst day today. Needless to say, my visa application at the home office’s Croydon branch did not go well — namely, the fact I was lacking original birth and marriage certificates for my grandparents and parents. At least they told me they were refusing my application today before I paid the £1,350 fee — otherwise “broke” would’ve been added to that first sentence too.

As my ancestral visa expires next Tuesday and all the appointments have already been snapped up before then, I’m now forced into doing what I really didn’t want to do — sending my application in by the post. Sure, it may be cheaper by a few hundred quid, but it also means foregoing my passport for six months (the average waiting time, apparently), and having all this anxiety hanging over my head for the period.

We can also kiss goodbye to going to Morocco for our first wedding anniversary, like we were hoping to — and it’s likely my passport won’t be back before September, so I’ll miss the annual IFA tech show too. (Though that’s a silver lining, for anyone who’s ever been.)

After 24 hours of trying to recall every visit outside the UK I’ve made since May 2006; collecting payslips, tax returns and other bits and pieces, and not to mention scanning-in and printing every page of my passport and certificates emailed to me from Australia by some poor nurse Dad tasked at the hospital today, I’m spent. Jim’s in Boston until Sunday; there’s no food in the fridge (our local Sainsbury’s has been closed 15 days now — who knew we depended so much on it!?), the flat is a mess and dear god if the pizza delivery guy doesn’t arrive soon, I’ll eat my arm off.

Image Credit: Kelly McCaleb via Blue Pool Road

Haven’t had much time for blogging recently — and this week’s Tumblr Diaries will be a little late I’m afraid! — because I’m busy studying for the Life in the UK test, so I can get my indefinite leave to remain visa, and then *breathes deeply* citizenship.

Funny story on that subject: I bought the four study guides needed for the test on Amazon last Thursday after Petah’s recommendation, but because we went to Paris on Friday for a long weekend, I missed the delivery. As the post-man sometimes delivers things to the indie book-shop near us, I ambled over to see if my package was there.

Lo and behold, it was! But it was covered in Amazon’s usual blaring graphics, and as it was handed to me, the nice book-shop guy gave me a bit of grief for ordering books on Amazon instead of buying from him. I was so flustered and embarrassed that I blurted out some excuse about them being study guides and him not selling them — which is true! — but the damage had been done :(

If the discomfort I experienced in that little preamble to the test doesn’t make me British, then passing a quiz about British history barely does either.

Image Credit: Make Blog Not War via We Heart It via Photojojo

The last several months it’s like I’ve had the weight of Atlas on my shoulders, tossing and turning every night in bed fretting about getting a Certificate of Approval to get married in the UK.

As an Aussie, I can’t get married here legally unless I obtain one. This involves sending off both yours and your fiance’s passports, along with answers to a series of convoluted questions about yourselves and your citizen statuses, no earlier than five months before you’re due to get married.

The catch is, it can take up to three months to get approval. Meaning if they deny you the first time – for not supplying enough information, for example – you could potentially not get approval before your big day.

Not to mention the problems with the Home Office having your passports for such a great length of time – as we both travel a lot for work, this really wasn’t ideal. Jim had to actually stand outside their Croydon offices last week, the day before he was due to fly to Milan, and wait there until they became so exasperated with him they gave it back.

This followed three weeks of daily phonecalls, demanding it back. To an 0845 number. With a 20 – 30 minute wait per call just to speak to someone. Someone who is more used to speaking to non-English speakers, and is so fed up with their job, and life, that they make you want to just move back to Australia instead of spending another minute on the phone with them.

Regardless, we finally got approval! No thanks to Royal Mail, who mishandled the envelope so badly that our certificate – with official hologram! – is all creased.

I’m off for a celebratory lie-down and a little cry now. Just 62 days until the wedding *hyperventilates*