Finally, after sending to the embassy a pile of documents that put War and Peace to shame, we were judged to be of good enough character to move to Belgium. More fool them!
As soon as Hannah's work found out, the slo-mo bureaucratic process gave way to a feverish rush. Why wasn't she there yesterday? Movers were booked within minutes, and then it was time to send Pete to school with some Belgian goodies to hand out on his last day.
The movers arrived and were done in two days! I've found that it's always good to be specific when dealing with professionals: "I don't care about my wife and son," I told them. "Just make sure my piano and coffee machine get there undamaged."
They understood, but also informed me that my wife and son had to accompany me on the aircraft. After that revelation our tickets were booked, and our time left in Texas started to be measured in hours rather than months.
What better way to spend those hours than drinking? As we can't export any booze, we threw a Take-Your-Own-Bottle pizza party on the driveway for all of our wonderful neighbours. They did us proud, and vodka, gin, whisky, etc. disappeared, including one bottle of red wine that smashed, leaving a nice purple stain on the concrete for whoever rents our house to deal with.
