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So in less than a week I’ll be moving to New York, which is both exciting and kind of nerve racking. I have about a thousand things to sort out between now and then and have yet to even make a dent in my to do list. Today I was tasked with going to the US embassy to sort out my visa, which was… an experience.

The embassy, ironically, looks like it came straight out of communist Russia, it’s this monolith of a building in one of the nicest squares and contrasts entirely with the other buildings. They’ve finally got rid of those ugly concrete blocks they erected after the 9/11 security alerts and replaced a lot of it with black metal grates, which I guess is an improvement but it stills looks hideous.

After standing outside in the cold for 30 minutes to go through security (I’m just glad it didn’t rain or snow), I ended up inside, which is where the fun began. Inside you are placed in a queue, where you are positioned by a number you are given when you come in. It’s a bit like Argos, just without the book of things you don’t want to buy and people wearing tracksuits. Actually some people were wearing track suits, and there were lots of crying children. A good combination for a monday morning, I’m sure you’d agree.

Luckily when I arrived at the desk I was told I was given the wrong number at the start and would have to go through the process all over again. Whatever, I’m not bitter. I have my visa now and I’m flying out in less than a week, so I’ve put all the pain behind me. After all, in the long scheme of things, what’s five hours of pain here and there. It keeps you on your toes.

Next step is finding a place to live which means trawling craigslist for decent sounding apartments, going to viewings, and praying that the people I end up living with aren’t psychopaths.