Postcards From Across the Pond

This date marks the start of our 25^th Anniversary Extravaganza.

Though our wedding anniversary is still 218 days away, our journey began 25 years ago today, and the ensuing seven months contain a string of minor anniversaries—first visit, engagement, arrival, etc.—before the big event. I’m not planning on celebrating them all, but as this is the genesis of everything, I thought it was worth a mention. And to commemorate the event, I wrote a new Postcards book.

25 Years an Expat is an updated version of the essays I wrote as a starry-eyed newcomer to this country, revisiting many of my original essays to express my views as a long-time British citizen.

The story begins in Ireland. (If you want the details, buy the book.) At this point, I had been in the country for six days. I’d had two days without adult supervision (and, boy, did I need it) before joining up with the hiking group at Shannon Airport. We’d had three days of hikes, during which my I took notice of my wife, and she took notice of me, and she was not best impressed.

On the 22^nd of August, we ended up walking together and talking, and just never stopped.

The following day we spent together exploring Inishmore, and the day after that—the 24^th of August—we skipped the hike and went to the Cliffs of Moher, then took a long, leisurely stroll to Doolin for lunch, and a longer stroll back to Lisdoonvarna, where our group was based.

It was on this walk that I realise I was in love with her, and she became at least a little keen on me.

The following day, she—and the hiking group—returned to England, leaving me, once again, without adult supervision, which I remained in need of.

I returned home a few days later, determined we would, somehow, be together.

All I can say, without regurgitation the entire text of Postcards From Ireland, is that it all worked out: I moved to the UK, married her, rented a flat, got a job, and became a British citizen.

And twenty-five years later, I’m still here.