Gulp

As I write this, it's 4pm on Monday afternoon. I have a train down to London tomorrow afternoon, where I get to spend the afternoon with my brother and his family; they have a young daughter, so it may be the last time I get to see them for quite some time.

Then it's off to Heathrow, where I'm booked into a hotel, and then at 11am Wednesday morning, I'll be off to Canada, to start off my visa.

I'm not scared.

I was scared last week. By now, I'm pretty much running on pure terror.

I think I've got almost all the paperwork I need; I spent a little while this morning wandering around my banks, getting ministatements from them (a total of six accounts - I think that that might possibly count as too any savings accounts). On the plus side, though, I can demonstrate that I have comfortably more than the minimum they require for immigration.

The only thing that remains is the forms listing the possessions I have when I come into the country, and the stuff that will follow on. Since it's going to be a brief flying visit, I'm going to have comparatively little with me, and I've been told that the follow on stuff that I'll be getting shipped over can be quite vague - there's no need to list every book I'm taking, just how many boxes they are. So that will be the plan for the evening - I've got the list from the movers about what I said I'd take, and I'll essentially use that as a template.

So I think I've got everything under control. Though I'll admit that I spent most of this morning panicking, and there's been a couple of fairly stress-filled calls to Canada so far today, too.