My visa arrived in the mail today. You'll never get rid of me now, Britain!
In the end there was no need for immigration lawyers or angry letters to MPs or copulation on the steps of the Home Office to prove our devotion. I simply sent them 58 new pieces of evidence. And one lovely letter of hearty endorsement from Rory.
You may ask why I didn't just send 58 pieces of evidence in the first place. But when the form requested "a minimum of 10 and ideally 20", somehow I missed the invisible sentence that followed, "and another 38 would be quite handy."
My advice to anyone planning to apply for permanent residency: start saving everything. Every bank statement, insurance policy, phone bill, Post-it note, parking ticket, Durex wrapper, milk carton, flat tyre and soggy teabag. Put it all in a big box and send it to the government. Recorded delivery, of course.
Gareth has already skipped off to see his solicitor. I personally wanted to go to Reno so we could end this charade in sunny Nevada where it all began. But now that I'm a permanent resident of Scotland I'm far too tight to fork out for airfares. Seriously comrades, I'm happy. I love this wee country. Thank you for your kindness and tolerance during my moments of madness. You rule the school.