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The printer groans out the 20th sheet of paper. The roll spooling on to the floor, amid books and lego spaceships. I excitedly grab the sheets and start poring over the contents — tables of astronomical statistics and planetary dimensions.

I knock on the door and step into Mr Beardsley’s office. He looks tired and bored. It smells of moth balls and stale coffee.

“Ok,” he sighs, “what are your choices?”

“Planetary Sciences at Aberystwyth, Astro Physics at Bristol, Physics at Bath, Astro Physics at Durham.”

“Hmm… why are you choosing these courses?”

“Well, I really want to work in the space industry.”

“Hmm… Britain doesn’t really have a space industry. And you’d probably need to be a pilot in the air force anyway… maybe change your choices.”

I turn and walk out.

I’m huddled on the platform at Shepherd’s Bush. The rails are wet and the fog is illuminated sodium orange. I’m a programmer and have just finished a contract working on the intranet for a mining firm.

The train arrives.

I push into the steaming masses.

When I get back to my flat there’s an email waiting for me. “Have you ever considered job opportunities at Google?”

My hands are sweaty as I step up to the immigration officer. I hand him my passport.

“Right hand, four fingers.”

“Left hand, four fingers.”

“Thumbs.”

He looks at the screen, then looks at me.

“So, what brings you to California?”

“I got a job with Google.”

“And where are they based?”

“Mountain View. I think the address is 1600 Ampitheatre Parkway.”

“And where were you before?”

“Sheffield, England.”

He looks at the screen.

“What were you doing in Columbia?”

“I’ve never been, but I was in Honduras earlier this year…”

The following day I walk into my new office. I’m met by a red devil and a man in a bear suit.

My hands are sweaty as I step up to the immigration officer. I hand him my passport and green card.

“Right hand, four fingers.”

“Left hand, four fingers.”

“Thumbs.”

He looks at the screen, then looks at me.

“Welcome home”