Another tick in the box

Was in the local grocery store doing the weekly shop. My Cell phone rang. Who the hell was calling me after close of play on a late Friday afternoon? Is the thought that went through my head. I didn't think of anything I hadn't finished this week.

"Put down whatever you're holding." Mrs S's dulcet tones came from the other side of the Atlantic.
"I've just finished shopping. I'm at the checkout." I replied, wondering what on Earth she was going on about from over six thousand miles away.
"Never mind that." Vouchsafed my beloved. "Where are you?"
"In the Supermarket. What's up?" I reiterated. At this point I was mildly concerned, but her tone gave me pause for thought. She sounded excited; pumped, even.
"Get back home. There's stuff you need to see -now." She sounded quite emphatic, so I quickly dropped the weekly shop into the back of the battlebus and sped off back to the barn.

Twenty minutes later I'm back at home staring at a form on the computer screen forwarded from our immigration Lawyers in Quebec with my jaw lightly grazing the carpet. Final medicals have been requested for Mrs S, myself and our girls. Considering we're all in rude, dare I say even abusive health, this should be a breeze. We have all passed all the immigration qualifications re education and experience, and all our Police clearance certificates are 'green board'. Yes! Yes! Bloody yes!

I'm delighted, amused, and currently very light headed having sunk two triple Jameson's on an empty stomach by way of celebration. The Dog is prostrate across my feet, obviously content simply because his boss is happy. Mrs S is happy because she's a step closer to where she's always wanted to be, and I am utterly, wonderfully, ecstatically, pleasurably, and completely contentedly delighted with this news.

Tonight gentle reader, if you will forgive me, I am slightly more than a little drunk. I am also a very happy man. Of course I will be even happier when our permanent residency is definitively confirmed and we can put in our citizenship applications. A metaphorical 'postcard from Switzerland' may follow. God bless Canada. It may be a trifle premature but the theme of a certain movie is playing in my head right now.

Update: Our requirement for an Immigration interview has been waived (We don't have to do one). Another two thousand dollars for landing fees, medical costs, and final lawyers bills and we're in. Bloody hell.