Leaving the sinking ship of Blighty was what we had long dreamt of.  Life looked so much more attractive on the other side of the Atlantic.

And then it happened – my husband was offered a job in the USA.  If only it had come five years earlier. The timing was downright inconvenient!   

So we did what generations before us have done – in the best traditions of the pioneering spirit, the man would go on ahead and the rest of the family would follow later.

So it was two years of manning the fort in London, carrying on my normal life as a BBC journalist and mother of three.  

The “VH” (or “Virtual Husband”), as he came to be called, fell in love with his new life in the “Land of the Free, Home of the Brave”.  America was the place for him.  

He applied to become a permanent resident and to get that coveted Green Card.  Eight months later he got it and with his Green Card came permanent residency status for me and our three children.  

We had six months to take up our Green Cards or the offer would lapse.  No time to prevaricate.  I gave up my job, put the house on the market, notified our sixteen year old son’s school he would not be returning for the sixth form, said my goodbyes to family and friends and left.

I am an immigrant!

What will we all make of the Yanks? And, more importantly, what will they make of us? Will I ever really understand what makes Americans “tick”?

Will America live up to the dream?