BEATS OF LOVE
165. Make No Mistake by Keith Richards
MY MATE, Jeff proclaimed after a few weeks of me moving in that he expected Keith Richards and got John Major. My persona met with reality.
I concur that I'm risk averse and I'm paying a heavy price for it. I met the missus in the first week in January in 2012 and had we married prior to August that year, we would've fallen outside hostile environment policies. Granting us settlement. As it was despite marrying in 2013, once I was sure a marriage could last, it subjected us to the full force of law changes in 2014. By full force, I mean full force.
Finally, our MP helped resolve matters in 2016 and they placed the missus in writing on a ten-year partner route to settlement, not until I was three hours away from flying her out of the country. In 2018, she had one chance to switch routes to save time but was told the rules would have to be met in full on subsequent visas or face a reset. Brow-beaten, we decided it was safer to pay extra and wait longer for peace of mind. Now, knowing we met the rules to settle earlier, we're devastated to learn that the political party we supported and who supported us now proposes to overhaul our settlement terms. Placing us once again in limbo.
Shabana Mahmood is going too far for many, but not far enough for others. Effectively making nobody happy. Me and the missus were in our local when some unhappy soul was in Nazi saluting after sighting us both. Mahmood's sorry blue labour rhetoric apologises for it. She understands why mixed race couples can make people feel so incensed; I guess.
I now recognise myself in the fictional comedy character and his alter-ego, brought to life in John Sullivan's brilliant Dear John. Beginning this ordeal like Kirk St Moritz, an online lothario and ending it as Eric Morris, a neurotic letter writer. Jeff was dead right about me.
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