Chinese Visa Blues

The first reaction I get when I tell people I'm moving to Shanghai is one of disbelief/excitement/shock, a 'what an amazing city' kind of surprise face.  The second reaction is one of muted horror for the bureaucracy that they assume/know I will face.  I've laughed it off; I mean, i've moved to Britain and Britons like their red tape, queues, more red tape, more queues.  

But now, less than a week and a half before my flight, I'm a prisoner in my own flat waiting for the DHL delivery man to drop off my visa paperwork so I can walk into the Chinese visa office, pay a fee, drop off my passport and pick it up four days later.  Every car door sounds like a delivery van and I run expectantly to the window to see the bin men, a granddad with his daughter, a moving truck (laughing at me?), a delivery of dog food to the neighbours. I may as well be 16-years-old again sitting next to the phone willing it to ring merely with the power of my mind.  

The embassy has little (read: NO) sympathy for me and my employer has taken to avoiding my emails. Woe is unrequited visa love. 

Fingers crossed, fingers crossed, fingers crossed.