Now I have to hope to the god that is part of my new official state religion (do I need to have the local vicar over for tea when I move?) that someone over there hires me soon. Amazingly, people want to interview me.
The goal is to get the fuck out of America with my daughter before Trump is inaugurated. No specific plan of where to move, just wherever I get a job. We will move to the Falklands if we have to.
It feels so close now.
Do you really want our American kind of biscuit? Because I have a feeling you will be highly disappointed in what we call a biscuit over here.
It’s a test. Bring the right kind of biscuits.
Can I just wait until I get over there and buy a packet of Hobnobs?
This is the right answer.
Bring me a few boxes of Cheez Its and I’ll love you forever.
Have you had Goldfish?
No thank you, crimes against biscuits are punishable by revoking your right to remain… Permanently.
But you and your family are welcome to stay otherwise
I thank you.
I’ll take some Jacob’s Cheddars (the nearest international foods store doesn’t stock them and I can’t be arsed to order them online)