It's official. Elvis Loves Me.

Happy New Year, from New York City. Yes, I'm back in the city I love most with tales from a colourful three-week interlude at places elsewhere, while I accommodated the expiry of my first 90-day visa.

The holiday season was spent with my 'little' sister Natasha at her home in Glasgow, Scotland. Tash has lived there for about seven years and in that time I have visited her twice. From the moment I arrived this third time though, I started planning my 'escape'. Oh don't get me wrong, the little sis' is lovely. It's just gloomy Glasgow that gets to me. Having said that though, we did have a fun time during an afternoon trip to what I regard as Scotland's prettiest city, Edinburgh. We visited my favourite t-shirt shop, Fabrick, to stock up on personalised slogan numbers. That's right, you think of it and they'll print it. Last time I was there, I had a tee printed with "Elvis Loves Me". It has always gotten a great reaction, so I was keen to outdo myself this time with these three new additions to my wardrobe:

• IT'S NOT ME. IT'S YOU.


• I ROCK


• TODAY IS CASUAL SEX DAY

Not sure when I'll wear the third one, but it did seem like a great idea after a couple of drinks over lunch.

Continuing in the Scottish tradition of drinking for any or no reason, Christmas day was spent with dear friends of Natasha's playing board games, eating turkey and consuming copious amounts of wine. I had New Year's Eve to myself for the first time ever, which was a real treat . Typcially, NYE for me is spent performing somewhere. Or during my married years, it was also spent celebrating my wedding anniversary. So with a glass of wine in one hand, and a box of chocolates in the other, I toasted my achievements of 2007, acknowledged the day nine years ago that I became a 'Stansfield', and continued working on my escape plan.

My craving for Vitamin D had finally climaxed and I spent my days in Glasgow fantasizing about sunnier shores. Literally. 'Plan A' was to try and get a direct flight to the Cayman Islands in the Caribbean, followed by a direct flight to New York City. 'Plan B' was to book a direct flight to Miami, Florida. Flight availabilites and finances overruled my first choice, so on Sunday January 6, I arrived back in the USA on a nine-hour direct flight from London to Miami.

I had flown into London the night before and managed to get about five hours sleep at an airport hotel before heading back to catch my next flight. By the time I arrived in Miami and waited more than an hour in line at immigration, I was exhausted. I knew I'd be relying on divine intervention to convince the customs guys that my request for a 90-day visa was for vacation purposes only.

Before leaving New York in December, I spoke with a lot of Australian travellers who had visited the USA on back-to-back 90-day visa waivers. The short version of this very long story is that if the folks at immigration suspect that you're trying to live and work in the USA illegally, they can and may refuse entry. I had given this a lot of thought and was convinced I had all bases covered. Even down to the clothes I would wear upon my re-entry.

When I finally made it to the front of the queue, I noticed there were just three officers processing the visas from our flight. The closest to me was about five metres away and he was attending to a young couple. It didn't take long for him to notice me in the line. Not because I look fabulous on no-sleep and after a long flight, but because he liked my t-shirt. We then had a conversation across the five metre stretch of the room that went something like this (remember, he's still serving the young couple):

Him: "Oh wow, I love your t-shirt."

Me: "Gee thanks."

Him: "That's so funny. Elvis Loves Me. That's so cool because usually it's: I Love Elvis."

Me: "Yeh. The sad thing is, I had this made."

Him: "Oh, you're fan?"

Me: "Yes. It's his birthday in two days so this is my tribute."

"NEXT!" It was my turn to step up to the immigration desk. Fortunately it was to the guy sitting next to my newly acquired t-shirt fan.

Him again: "Hey man, look at her t-shirt. It's so cool."

Me: (Stick my boobs out. Say nothing).

The second immigration guy was lovely, but wasn't so charmed by my slogan. (thank god I didn't wear the "today is casual sex day" t-shirt). Guy number one however said he'd like to go to Graceland with me. Guy number two gave me a grilling but, well, here I am. You see, there is a God. His name is Elvis. And like the t-shirt says, he really does love me.

I stayed in South Beach Miami for almost a week, lapping up the sunshine and taking private scuba diving lessons with a super-hot Cuban. I consumed almost a full box of sea sick pills to cope with the 3ft to 4ft swells and churning currents and can now proudly say that I am a certified PADI Open Water Diver. It was just the achievement I needed to get the adrenaline pumping for my next series of exciting adventures in the USA. Whatever they might be.

Until next week friends, may The King be with you.

Kaylie