Which on one level is not that big a deal, because we're still not in the house and there's no sign of our things; Jayne and Bryan insist that they enjoy the company and don't mind us underfoot at all, but I mind. This isn't like vacation, where we have an end date when everyone knows they'll have the house back: the builder is a friend of Bryan's and he's working as quickly as possible to get the problems resolved (now it's the heat exchanger and the connections to the sewer mains), but you know how territorial I can be about my space.

And there will be considerably less of it: the original part of the old house was 1200 square feet; the addition in the '70s added 500 more, and the entire basement was finished -- three people in nearly 3000 square feet of house! The new house is 130 square meters -- nearly 1400 square feet -- but 21 meters has to be subtracted immediately for the conservatory sun-space; the remainder is split over two levels and there will be four of us living there (as well as three cats). We packed practically nothing and I'm almost beginning to hope that the container never arrives; some of it's certainly going to have to go.

There's a washing machine in the kitchen, but no dryer; I have two six-foot-long dryer maids with pulleys that will raise them to the top of the sun-space (and plenty of room outside for retractable lines in the summer). The cooktop is an induction hob, so it's just as well I left the pots and pans and the Simplex kettle behind; copper bottoms don't work on induction hobs. Bye, my shiny pots! Hello, my cast-iron stuff! No bathtub, just one walk-in shower (without the overhead shower head, alas!) for the use of all the residents -- Jayne thinks this a sin against the natural order, says unkind things about Thames Water's restrictions on new housing and has promised that I shall always be welcome to use their tub; I don't have the heart to tell her that I've always preferred showers, especially in the face of her offering some of her stash of Lush bath bombs.

The refrigerator is smaller, supplemented with a chest freezer in the shed in the carport -- which doesn't hold a car. No dishwasher, no TV: Scott's new computer monitor has a S-video input, and he and Bryan mean to spend a happy few days tinkering with parts for a home build DVR, with Bryan's old set-top Freeview box and the terabyte hard drive hooked in to it, as soon as we're moved in. (Yes, we paid for a TV license -- we also updated Scott and David's addresses with Selective Service within the 10-day limit, and my Home Office ID is every bit as awful as I thought it would be but it rides in my wallet all the time. Tedious bits of bureaucracy, but I mean to quietly follow the rules and avoid even a speeding ticket until we've been here long enough to apply for citizenship.)

All of this -- the small size, being mid-terrace with at least 300 mm of insulation on all sides, the lack of "toys" -- means that we can heat and power the house relatively cheaply; between the PV shingles on the roof and the communal wind turbine, we'll have no electricity bill and can trade our energy rations for more food, or sell it outright. Once the heat exchanger is working, that and the masonry stove will keep us more than comfortable, and there's a back boiler on the stove to supplement the hot water if the solar thermal tiles aren't quite coping with the cold.

It is cold. The papers and the TV are full of reports on fuel poverty; people are being constantly reminded to check in on elderly or disabled neighbors, and asked to consider moving such relatives or friends into shared accommodation if they're currently in inadequate housing. Bryan hasn't mentioned it, but he's probably been trying to persuade his mother to leave Bournemouth and move into the MIL addition they built for Jayne's mum -- another reason why I want the work on our house to hurry along. The government is reminding everyone that 18C is the minimum healthy level, with 21C recommended for houses with very small children, or the elderly or disabled: there is a fuel savings associated with lowering the thermostat below 70F, and UK houses are normally kept about 10 degrees cooler than houses in the US, but the NHS is going to have enough cases of pneumonia and hypothermia . . . I'm seriously wondering if we're going to be seeing chilblains become commonplace enough that treatment recommendations are back in housekeeping manuals. And the guys who built our stove have found a cracking market in using the soapstone scraps to make glove and boot warmers and bed warmers; I've swapped them some of our petrol rations for enough of the bed warmers for everyone in the house.

Have you ever looked at photos of the UK and wondered why all those people are wearing scarves? I will tell you why: the wind cuts through your neck like a sword blade if you aren't. Your grammie's scarf is seeing constant duty these days, and I have persuaded Scott that he does not, in fact, look goofy in sweaters. (It helps that he's lost so much weight that it's far easier to find decent woolens at charity shops.) Thick knit tights are all the rage, as are lined wool trousers, longer hairstyles -- even on guys! -- and hats. Of course, all headgear looks ridiculous on me, but I put on my wool hat and my long wool coat and out I go. I could wish for the return of lined snoods very, very hard.

We're going to the store with Jayne so that all of our ration cards can be charged, and I can see that it's going to take a little time to get a supply of staples in the pantry; it's tough to get enough in the course of a week to build a surplus. Jayne said that she'd take me out to the farm shops once we're in the house, but that won't help much with things like flour -- I wonder if the Co-op would have a better selection?

I was shy about opening my mouth at the grocer's, and when I did there was a little animosity at my accent at first, but Jayne accessed the situation and took charge by going into "gossip mode"; she introduced me to everyone -- not as her friend from America, but as one of the new senior midwives at Campbell, and "isn't your granddaughter expecting, Maggie? Lucy here will probably be handling some of her antenatal care, and she'll be driving out to the house for most of the appointments:  won't it be nice not to have to use the petrol ration to drive to Aylesbury for a check-up any more? Oh, goodness yes, practically all of her experience is with home births, and she's never yet lost a mother or a child; still, it's good that the maternity wing at Wycombe General is staying open: backup's terribly important . . . ."

And after I said that I had children, and smiled good-naturedly at the ribbing about soon being someone's "nan" (Emily has sworn an oath: no kids until she's finished her degree, and she consulted me on contraception. Don't tell her mother), things were more pleasant. It's understandable that people are going to look askance at us at first, but hopefully after the first few times I make the effort to show up for the pub quiz after having been up all night helping some of the local women give birth, the whispering will be mostly behind our backs.

David may have a lead on a job closer than Scotland: he went to a local intake for Raptor Rescue to see about transferring his raptor rehabilitation certificate to the UK, and wound up in conversation with the veterinary surgeon who was speaking that evening. She told David about a position opening up in Gloucester at the Barn Owl Centre; it's 70 miles away, which is better, but I find I hate the thought of him being that far from us. You may now make overprotective mommy noises. (How is Ellie? Is she getting excited for Thanksgiving?)

I don't know enough about work yet to say much beyond "OMG support staff!" and "OMG I don't have to sterilize my own equipment!" and  "OMG what do you mean I have to learn to drive over here? I've never driven a standard! Everything's on the wrong side!" The car belongs to the NHS and is intended strictly for home visits: I have to sign it out with a SmartCard AND with the security guard at the gate, they're parked under the clinic in a secured area and the GPS tracks movement. Not entirely comfortable with that . . . .

Oh! I can tell you one thing: we're seeing a BIG increase in women coming in for consultations on contraception. It's free here, and so is emergency contraception, and the numbers of women picking that up are increasing as well. It'll be interesting to take a look at the birth rate in the UK since this started, and how much work there'll be over the next year.

All right, time to head home: it's my night to cook and I'll bet you 5 points off my food ration card that no one prepped the dough for the rolls. Corn and cheddar cheese soup tonight (only four ounces of the latter, hooray!), with (maybe) rolls and stewed fruit for dessert -- sorry, I meant pudding -- I would serve a salad with it, but there's not much in the way of greens to be found.

It's good. Scary, because I am living in another country and I'm probably never going to see my books again and I hate to share a bathroom with anyone but Scott, but good. I go upstairs after watching the news and put the bed warmer under the blankets before I go to brush my teeth and such, and I can go downstairs and get something to eat if I'm still hungry, and when it rains the rain stays outside, and my family is here.