The Advent Adventure

I remember the good old days when the only way you knew it was getting close to Christmas was when the advent calendar came out.  I don’t think my mum was cheap, (sorry mum) but I had the same one every single year and it wasn’t one of those fancy calendars with chocolate.  Oh no, I had the one with a little nativity picture behind every door.

The excitement grew throughout the month as every morning you ran to find the door of the day and open it before school.  I got to know that calendar so well that I pretty much knew what each picture was going to be. But somehow, it didn’t take any of the thrill out of it.   The day of the 24th was always the best because there was a double door! [*squee*]  I already knew there would be a picture of baby Jesus in his manger, but I didn’t care because the next day the big man himself would be here.

This is how I remember it

It really was a brilliant Christmas that first year the calendars came with Cadbury chocolate behind each door. Of course, I was too old by then to have one, but my children benefited nicely.  I’m not sure exactly how healthy it was to have a lump of chocolate before school every day for a month, but it did get them out of bed quicker, I must say.

It all changed when we got to America. It seems like nobody knew what an advent calendar was. My poor kiddies had to wait for some kind relative to send one to us each year, which invariably did not arrive until the middle of December.  This was actually fine by them as they got to eat two weeks worth of chocolate in one day.

It was like an actual Christmas miracle that first year I found an advent calendar here.  I was probably in one of those swanky “European” shops which sometimes sell PG Tips and Christmas Crackers. But there they were, up on the shelf, just glowing and calling out to me.  Of course I had to buy two and those flippin’ things were expensive.  (Now I know why I had the same one every year).

Over the years, they have become more available, but obviously still not as popular as in England. On a recent shopping trip, I noticed that America, apparently, still doesn’t entirely understand the advent calendar concept.  These things are everywhere – can you spot the problem?  You’ve got to put your own “stuff” in each day.  Where’s the excitement about that?  No, just no.  Sorry America, please go back to the drawing board.

I don’t have any children living at home anymore, so really, the Advent Calendar days are behind me…. Or so I thought.  Then I found this little beauty.  It's a Gin calendar... GIN!!  Please, please can someone buy one for me. And no, I don't care that it will be half way through the month.  I'm sure I can handle it.  Thank you. And Happy Christmas!!  [to me]

Gin - Don't mind if I do!!

Oh, and for all those US born peeps who still don't understand what I'm talking about - and I know you're out there because I've asked many of you, this is from Wikipedia:

An Advent calendar is a special calendar used to count or celebrate the days in anticipation of Christmas. Since the date of the first Sunday of Advent varies, falling between November 27 and December 3 inclusive, the Advent calendar usually begins on December 1, although many include the previous few days that are part of the season. The Advent calendar was first used by German Lutherans in the 19th and 20th centuries but is now ubiquitous among adherents of many Christian denominations.

What's in a Name?

When I was about 16 or 17 I decided that should I ever have children, one would definitely be called Chelsea….. obviously this was because I was (and still am) a massive Chelsea FC fan.  Fast forward a few years and I actually had a child which I did not name Chelsea.  By that time, I had grown up and somewhat matured and realized that to name your child after your favourite football team would have been a mistake. (Not as bad as if I had supported Arsenal or Tottenham, mind you).  I also had the idea back then that I would get married on the pitch at Stamford Bridge before a game.  Young people and their crazy ideas…! [And no, that definitely did not happen either].

I’m just glad I grew up a bit before I got around to naming children.  Obviously, there is quite some thought that goes into the process so you don’t forever saddle your offspring with a name they hate.  There is such stigma surrounding names sometimes that it makes you wonder what parents were thinking.  Back in the 80’s the joke names were Sharon and Tracey - stereotypical loudmouthed girls from Essex with black tights and white high heels.  I would like to take a moment here to thank my mother who in her absolute wisdom actually named me Sharon Tracey… a name which I have never been able to live down since this programme was aired:

BIRDS OF A FEATHER

To this day, I still get embarrassed saying my full name, even though absolutely nobody in American knows the reason.  

But America has their own problems with names.  I’m not talking about celebrities and their weird Apples, Buzzes and Apollos, but your typical suburban stay at home mommies who have nothing better to do than have their hair and nails done and take the littles to the park.  It seems as though they are all trying to one-up each other in crazy names.  Here are a few I’ve heard:

• Duff - I wonder if he was named after the Simpson’s beer
• Cash - Apparently someone likes money
• Aristotle - More money?
• Bear - I suppose it’s better than dog
• Kindle - Do the parents have shares in Amazon, I wonder?
• Zeplin - This name is just a disaster waiting to happen [*joke*]
• Cory/Corky  -  They sound like cats.
• Maverick - Tom Cruise/Top Gun fans?
• Cosy - I’ve got nothing!
• Destiny - Lots of girls have this name.  I think Beyonce has something to do with it.
• Boden - What?
• Hunter - My dad had a dog named Hunter 
• Dublin and Ireland  - I bet the parents think they’re Irish because, you know, everyone does
• Bass - A beer or a guitar?
• Burton - I’m thinking he was named after the actor and not the clothing shop
• Walker - Wonder if he has a brother called Luke and a sister called Sky?
• Jace - Sounds like a lazy version of Jason that the parents couldn't be bothered to spell out.
• Lincoln - After a president?  Or maybe that awful car

I would like to thank Rosie M for some of the names on this list and I just have to mention the conversation she related when she asked a mommie if her daughter Porsche was named after the Shakespearean heroine and the answer was "No, my in-laws have a Porsche dealership"  (Lucky it wasn't Volkswagen really!)  [Oh dear].

Sometimes, these names backfire.  Atticus, for example is a name I've also heard bandied about a few times. But these parents didn't realize what they were doing and have now changed his name.  [*slaps forehead*].

It does seem though that boys have the worse end of the deal where names are concerned.  For the first part of 2015, the top five boys names in the USA are Atticus, Asha, Ezra, Silas and Declan whereas for girls they are Charlotte, Amelia, Olivia, Isla and Ava.  It appears Anglophilia is alive and kicking in the USA as obviously Charlotte is a nod to the new Royal.

So it would seem that my plan to call my child Chelsea wouldn’t have been that bad after all.  In case you were wondering, my first child is named Liam and, oh dear, he was kind of named after a footballer (oops). But his grandparents are, in fact, Irish so I’ve got that going for me.  

If you can name the footballer, there's a prize!!  (*smile*)

The Page 3 Debate

So Page 3 has gone and this is apparently a victory for feminist campaigners around the globe.  To that I would say “I don’t care.” There, I said it.  I don’t care that women are on Page 3 with no tops on.  They’ve been there since 1970 and in fact, I remember, when I was young, drawing bras and bikinis on the model of the day – not because I was prudish, but it was more of a game when you had nothing better to do. It’s never bothered me one way or another.   In fact, there were times, where the beauty (or otherwise) of the breasts were discussed and rated, i.e., too saggy, too big, weird shapes, etc.  [Yes, I've always been a bit judgy]

When I’ve mentioned Page 3 to my American co-workers, the usual response is a kind of flabbergasted, shocked and repulsed look.  Most of them are disgusted at having ‘porn’ in a newspaper. Which to me proves the American archaic attitude towards sex and the female form. I know people who would rather have their kids play Call to Duty than see a pair of boobs.  They will cover their children’s eyes at the hint of a nipple on the television, but let them sit and watch death and dismemberment all day long.  What’s wrong with that picture?  It’s only the human body and there is absolutely nothing wrong with it.

Its not as if these girls/women are being forced into taking their kit off to be photographed.  They are choosing to do this in what, I presume, is an attempt for fame and fortune.  I’m sure everyone remembers Linda Lusardi, who’s claim to fame was posing topless, was then voted best Page 3 girl of all time and eventually became an actress.  Of course, there was also Samantha Fox who for some reason, I absolutely detested with a vengeance.  [it’s a long story]

Samantha Fox and Linda Lusardi (with clothes on)

Many of the models have gone on to other jobs and many have made an absolute bloody fortune doing what they do.  It's no wonder some of the recent models are a bit upset at basically becoming unemployed.  One current model, Rhian Sugden has been quoted as saying "Its only a matter of time before everything we do will be dictated by comfy shoe-wearing, no-bra wearing, man-haters."  A bit extreme!

It’s really nothing different to Kim Kardashian getting her massive arse out, greasing it up and posing all over the internet, but you don’t see feminist campaigners trying to ban her (oh, but we can only hope).

Rupert Murdoch has said it’s old fashioned to have a topless girl on Page 3 and that’s why he will stop publishing the pictures, while campaigners like “No More Page 3” have said “Whilst sexy pictures may have a place, the accessibility of the Page 3 picture, in the front of the paper, makes access to sexualized women’s bodies as much of a given as the TV Listings…” which is all very well, but if it’s the accessibility they're worried about, presumably they’ve never typed “Boobs” into Google.   I just did that (in the name of research) and got this:

‘About 120,000,000 results”

So, not much accessibility there, is there? – and that was only “Boobs” – I could have typed any other name in there and got much the same result.  So it probably is time to stop Page 3 because if you really, really need to see boobs at breakfast, you have the internet now.

Maybe I’m too broadminded on this issue and I’m sure someone will object to my opinion.  But what’s next? We’ve already got people objecting to mothers breastfeeding in public, saying it’s offensive.  Again, another natural thing.  Are the campaigners going to try and close all topless beaches now because people don’t want to see breasts?  

They may think they have scored a victory against a newspaper whom they say believe "women are here for decoration," but when you have people like the aforementioned Kardashian who takes and makes public her own naked photographs, its going to be a long battle because for every step forward the feminists take, someone like her comes along and makes them take a couple of steps back.

I just think there are more important things to fight about.  (Sorry)

Gambling - A Great British Tradition?

The very first time we came to America to have a look at what we were getting ourselves into, my dad took us to Las Vegas – of course! Everyone has to experience Vegas at least once in their life. It was all very exiting!

So there we were, all packed into the car like sardines yet again, when we decided to stop for a late lunch at Stateline.  Now, as we came over the hill, I thought we were actually in Vegas – all I could see were casinos and lights.  But apparently not, Stateline is just a little teaser of what’s to come.

The buffet was calling our name and there was quite a wait, but hey, we were in a real casino so let’s gamble…. Or at least let’s feed a few pennies into a fruit machine.

So while the others were queuing up, I tootled off to the closest machine and began shoving quarters in one at a time.  A couple of minutes later, I hit it big…. Well, okay, I won about $50.  Nice - or it was, until I was suddenly surrounded by security guards.  Hmm… it turns out you can’t have a child in a Casino, or at least not next to the machines.  I was grilled as to who had put the money in the slot and why my son was with me (he had followed me over to the machine).  It was a wonderful introduction to the American world of gambling, I must say.  I think they only relented and let me keep the money because I was a tourist!  I sheepishly collected my winnings and did the walk of shame back to the family.  *sigh* They told me during lunch that if I’d put three quarters in at the same time, I could have won a bundle… but try explaining that to the security guards – I was happy to settle for the $50.

Although gambling is legal under US federal law, Nevada and Lousiana are the only states where casinos are legal statewide.  Other states have laws which restrict gambling to small geographic areas or to American Indian reservations. [Wikipedia.org] If you want to gamble, you have to really, really want to gamble because you will have to travel quite a distance (unless you already live in Vegas, of course).  The laws are extremely strict and heaven forbid if you’re under 21 and are caught trying to gamble or even walk into a casino on your own.  Gambling is a bit taboo in the US, mummies (or mommies) wouldn't dare let their child gamble - it's a big no-no, as if they will immediately be on the slippery slope to Gamblers Anonymous!

It’s a far cry from growing up in England where every seaside pier has an arcade choc-a-block with fruit machines, every pub and most chip shops have them too.  And anyone can play.  Here’s an example - my four year old nephew gambling away his pocket money in Brighton.

A big no-no in America

This is just something we do.  Growing up, if we knew we were going to the seaside, we would save all our 1p’s, 2p’s and 5p’s so we could go on the pier and – shock horror – gamble.  And blimey, us Brits gamble on anything – Horse racing, football scores, the elections, the weather, a white Christmas… you name it, and we’ll bet on it.  You can even see grannies having a flutter on the Grand National every year - its an English tradition.  Every corner has either a pub, a newsagents, a chippy or a betting shop.  A good Saturday night out for us was going to Wimbledon Stadium for the greyhound racing and letting my son pick the winners (or at least try to) and nobody worried about it!

Come on 6......

Although, there was that one time…..

I had been asked to put some money on a horse and went to the bookies with my 3 year old in tow. We were just in time for the race to begin so we stayed to watch.  To my utmost horror my son decided at that moment to stand on a chair and shout “Come on 6… Come on 6….” at the top of his voice, a result of  too many trips to Wimbledon, possibly.  The old fuddy duddies in the shop were not best pleased and we were asked to leave.  And once again I had to do the walk of shame…..  [is it just me or is this becoming a regular thing?]

Halloween USA Style

Halloween - Its a BIG deal

In October of 1994, we moved into our first house is the USA and our furniture had just arrived from England. We hadn’t brought our worn out three piece suite or our UK television, so we didn’t have any living room furniture at all.  So, by Halloween, the front door still opened into an empty room.  It looked like we were going for the empty, haunted house look - perfect!

Not my house

Having grown up in England where the only notable thing that happened on October 31st was my friend’s birthday, I’m not sure we were entirely ready for Halloween.  We’d seen the films, of course, and hoped that Michael Myers didn’t live in our neighbourhood.   I knew the children (and apparently teenagers after 9:00 p.m.) dressed up and went door to door “Trick or Treating” with a bucket or in some cases a pillowcase (greedy) collecting sweets, or “candy.”

My son was around 8 at that time and wanted to trick or treat with his new friends, so it was just my daughter and I at home that night.  We were ready, we were prepared, we had a couple of bags of sweets to give out, we had the lights on inside and out, I got a dining room chair and put it by the front door and we waited for the first children to arrive.   And did they arrive!!!

One after the other, in droves, with parents, without parents, babies in pushchairs (why would babies need candy?) and the costumes - from Disney characters and superheroes, to vampires and zombies we saw them all.  One notable costume and one which was my daughters favourite was a tiny little baby in a Tweety Pie costume.  That baby’s probably around 22 now and might really want to forget it, bless.  Some parents are very inventive with their costumes and I'm sure some of those babies might grow up to hate their parents for the indignities handed out.  For example - this one ..

Bless!

So anyway, there we were, giving out handfuls of sweets to every child and about an hour in I realized that we weren’t going to have enough. We had been willynilly throwing handfuls into each bucket and I thought the children were really nice when they were saying “Wow, thank you”  Look at me, I thought, I must have the best sweets on the street.  Nope, it was that they couldn’t believe I was so generous and I have since learned that they get ONE each…. Yes only one!!

Only ONE each!

So Plan B went into action – one sweet each and if possible, only pretend to put a sweet in their bucket.  Yes, this sounds like a terrible plan and it actually was…. I still remember the angry look I got from one little boy who knew I hadn’t put anything into his pillowcase and I stood there looking at him, daring him to tell me he knew – bad karma, I know (*cringe*)  I only tried it that once though – I couldn’t handle the guilt.

And throughout all this, every time I opened the front door, the first thing those little kids saw was an empty room.  I did get quite a few questioning looks that night and think I might have scared some of them actually.

And what do you do when you run out of candy?  Well, you close the door, turn out the lights and pretend you’re not home.  But that doesn’t actually work.  It seems those flippin’ kids will knock on every door in their hunt for sugar!  And then, as it got later, the children got bigger.  I was opening the door to teenagers, some of whom even had mustaches – and not the stick on kind.  Surely there should be an age limit to trick or treating?  My daughter and I eventually had to go and sit in a back bedroom because, quite frankly, she was getting scared (she was only 2.5) of all the big monsters knocking on the door.

Nowadays, I end up having way too much candy and I tend to buy what I like and fortunately, I now live in a neighbourhood where there aren’t so many children.  But then, I end up eating ALL of the sweets myself.  Not such a good idea after all!

My Favourite Shop

A few years ago, when I heard Tesco was coming to Southern California, I was so excited.  I was expecting to walk into my local supermarket and magically be transported back to England.  It turned out, it wasn't going to be Tescos at all.  It was Fresh & Easy, owned by Tesco, but designed for the American market.  Needless to say, I didn't bother going to see what the fuss was all about.


About six or seven months ago, it was reported that Tesco was leaving and all the Fresh & Easy's would be closed down.  Well of course, that peaked my interest and I just had to go and take a gander.  [they have since been brought out by an American supermarket chain, so are still here.] So off I went, with my fiancé in tow.  We walked a few aisles and I was a bit impressed.  They had great fresh ready-meals, fancy stuff and all kinds of food you didn't really see in other supermarkets here.

My New Favourite

But then I walked around the corner into the International aisle and TA DAH... the wind went out of me, my chin dropped, my knees were weak and I nearly cried (this may be a slight exaggeration).  There, right in front of me were shelves and shelves of British food.  I could hear angels singing and I'm sure there was a glow around that section of the shop.  Heinz Baked Beans, Heinz Tomato Soup, Salad Cream, Heinz Spaghetti, Bisto Gravy Granules, Paxo, pickled onions - I truly thought I had died and gone to heaven (or at least England).  I think I even squealed a little bit and I may have done a bit of a jig!

I am in Heaven!

My fiancé was a bit embarrassed and backed away a few steps.  A lady who was stocking the shelves was giving me a funny look too.  He told her "Oh don't mind her, she's English."  Of course, being outgoing Americans, they got chatting and she told us how wonderful it was at Christmas when tins of English biscuits, Christmas crackers and other wondrous (my word, not hers) items were for sale.  (I would have sheepishly smiled and moved away and never known about the Christmas goodies)   I kicked myself for not shopping there before.  What a waste of four or five years - I could have been eating spaghetti on toast all that time.  What had I been thinking?

Marmite too!!

I spent a lot of money that day, my trolley was heaving with all that English fare.  I make a point of going there at least once a month now to stock up on "my" food.  Still can't get my fiancé to try Marmite though, but I keep trying.    

The Two Fingered Salute

Being English I do love a good hand gesture. 

 

Unfortunately most of them don’t translate over the pond.  On a few occasions, I have given other drivers the fist shaking, circled thumb and forefinger sign (known as the ‘tosser’ or ‘wanker’ sign anywhere in Britain).  This rarely gets a reaction from an American driver – they just think you are shaking your fist at them.  I tried to elaborate by sticking my tongue in my cheek at the same time, but that just makes me look strange and feel a bit stupid, if truth be known.

I have now taken to using the middle finger or “flipping the bird” as it’s called.  I have no idea why it’s called the bird – I have done extensive research (i.e. I Googled it) and couldn’t find any answers.  It’s supposed to represent a phallus, so the bird doesn’t make sense to me.  But that gesture is now my go-to hand signal while driving.  Not that I’m driving and flipping people off all the time, but there are moments when you just need to express your opinion or distaste for others' driving habits.

 

People who know I’m English do still get the ‘V’ sign.  It’s so much nicer than that solitary middle finger.  And it has a great history.  Also known as “the two fingered salute,” “The Longbowman Salute,” “The Agincourt Salute,” “the Rods” or a number of other names, it's believed to have originated during the Hundred Years War at the Battle of Agincourt when the longbowmen used the gesture towards the French, showing they still had their bow fingers and could still shoot arrows.  It is said the French would cut those fingers off any captured Brits.   This may not actually be true, but in good English tradition, it sounds brilliant so we’re keeping the story.

Oops Mr. Churchill - wrong way round!

It just feels so nice to shake the good old ‘V’ sign with both hands now and then that I just don’t want to give it up.  So whether anyone understands it or not, I won’t stop!

10 English Words I Don't Use Anymore

1.         Everso

            This expression somehow fell out of my vocabulary.  I’m not even sure what word I put in it’s place.  I think it might be “really” as in “I’m really hungry”.  It sounds more quaint when you say “I’m everso hungry.”  Maybe that’s why I don’t say it – I needed to blend in.

2.         Fortnight

            Nobody understands when you say you’re going on holiday for a fortnight.  You have to say two weeks.

3.         Holiday

            A holiday is not a holiday as we know it.  A holiday in America is Christmas, July 4^th,  Thanksgiving or any other day you have off work.  A holiday is now a vacation – which is never as long as a fortnight, unfortunately.

4.         Brolly

            During the recent rain storms here in California I told someone I was looking for my brolly.  I got a blank stare until I explained it was my umbrella.  I hadn’t used that word in ages, and I then realized why.

It's my Brolly

5.         Biro

            Ask someone to borrow their Biro and you will get that blank stare (again).  Apparently Biro do not make pens in America.  You need to borrow a pen – nothing fancy, just a pen.  The same thing happens when you ask for Tippex – you need to ask for White Out, which I always thought was a snow storm.

Biro - or is it just a pen?

6.         Anorak

            I don’t use it for a jacket or a trainspotter (and I’m sure there are such things in the USA).  I tried once and it didn’t go over too well.  Rain jacket or parka are used – even though a parka as we know it is nothing like an anorak.

Parka - Not really an anorak

7.         Nan

            When talking about my nan, I don’t call her my nan anymore.  She is now known as my grandma or grandmother – which makes me seem frightfully posh.

8.         Roundabout

            I don’t use this one anymore, because if you do happen to come across one, its called a traffic circle.  I only knew of one locally and that was removed because people kept having accidents as they didn’t know how to use it.  Oopsie.

9.         Rubber

            When I started work, I was surprised to see that all the pencils had rubbers on the end (we just had regular old pencils where I worked in London).  In fact, I actually exclaimed to my new co-workers "Oh, the pencils have rubbers on the end" ... having picked themselves off the floor, they explained my error and told me that it was, in fact, called an eraser and a rubber in America is something totally different!  I quickly removed that word from my vocabulary in the work environment.

           

10.       Motorway

            I have to use freeway now, and suddenly it feels very awkwardly English to say motorway.

 Ten Words I Refuse to Change

1.         Garage – I will not say Gar…arrrge (with a soft g)

2.         Petrol – although I do sometimes slip up and say Gas

3.         Nail Varnish, not Polish

4.         Zebra – I refuse to say Zeeeebra

5.         Zed – not Zeee

6.         Pram – Baby carriage seems a bit archaic

7.         Lead, as in dog lead – Leash just doesn’t sound right

8.         Sellotape – I just can’t get used to calling it Scotch Tape

9.         Indicator – as in American turn signal.  I have been known to shout at people “Use your bloody indicator”

10.       Maths – why is the ‘s’ dropped?  I’ve never understood

What's on the Telly?

Am I wrong, should I be so excited?  They’re making a Paddington Bear film and I can’t wait.  I remember back in the day sitting with my children watching Paddington on the telly every afternoon.  It seems though that most American’s have no idea who he is.  How cruel.

The film is due to be released in England in November.  I wonder if it will reach the USA?

 

 

And this made me wonder how many brilliant children’s tv programmes never made it across the pond.  It seems as if they always travel the other way and we got American shows.  How can I forget Scooby Doo and Little House on the Prairie (we called it crying day because it was always so sad).

My son was a huge Thomas the Tank Engine fan.  He had all the videos and books with cassettes and he knew all the words. (yes, it was a while ago)  Ringo Starr was his friend.  That one did make it over, but it annoys me that everyone calls it Thomas the Train.  But nobody seems to have heard of Thunderbirds and I was so sure it was an American programme.  Didn’t they all have American accents and names?  I had a huge crush on Virgil.  Oh dear my first love was a puppet!

Good grief - look at those eyebrows!
Thunderbirds are Go!

I could watch forever

While flicking through the tv guide recently, I found Charlie and Lola.  Although made for toddlers it made me stop and watch because I just can’t get enough of those English accents.  I never realized before just how wonderful English children sound.  It’s just so… well, cute!  (Arghh, an Americanism)

They say such wonderful things as "I'm really everso not well."  Perfect!

 

Nothing makes me more homesick than listening to English children.

 

Pancake Day

Listening to the radio earlier, I heard a report that today is pancake day at IHOP (International House of Pancakes).  Apparently, in 2006 they invented pancake day to raise money for charity. (???)

Well, I’m sorry IHOP, I have to disappoint you.  You did not invent pancake day.  Anyone in England (possibly Europe) knows Shrove Tuesday is pancake day and in fact, it may have been invented by Jif Lemon, but I’m thinking Jif may have been invented because of pancake day.

Actually, in Olney, Buckinghamshire, there is an annual pancake race, which has been run since 1445.  It was said to have started when a local housewife, hearing the “Shriving Bell” ran to the church with her frying pan in hand.  She had been cooking pancakes and thus, the race was on.



Don't forget to flip as you run

America calls our pancakes “crepes.”  Their pancakes here are basically stodgy dollops of goo fried in a pan for a while and served with anything from syrup to fruit or even eggs and bacon.   

 

How frightfully uncivilized, having sweet and savory on the same plate!

American Pancakes

 

The Great British Pancake



Beans Means Heinz

Last night I had a wonderful tea.  I had baked beans on toast.  Not just any old baked beans – curried baked beans.  Heinz Curry Beanz!  Who could ask for more?  It took me right back to my childhood.

Now, I had never had Heinz curried beans before so this was a treat.  I had recently found them in a local shop and I was so excited.

 

I poured them into the saucepan and they looked kind of funky… very dark, not at all like the Heinz baked beans I remembered.  Obviously I had to lick the spoon and they were, yes I’m going to say it – Awful.  I felt like a traitor.  How can I not like curried baked beans?  They are Heinz Baked Beans, and they are curried – who could ask for more?  I felt as though I was losing all that is British within me.  *sigh*

Oh, and they had raisins in.  It took me right back to those awful school dinners when it was curry day and you had to pick the raisins out of that slop they said was curry, but clearly wasn’t.

A very English tea

But, I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away, after all they were Heinz Baked Beans.  The more I ate, the more I realized they weren’t so bad.  I did, in fact, eat the lot, even mopping up the sauce with my toast.   By the time I was finished, I think I had convinced myself that I liked them. I probably won’t buy them again, but I was an experience (to say the least).

  

Did you ever find something you had craved since moving from England only to find you don’t actually like it?

 

Beside the Seaside

Photo Courtesy: Tony Ray-Jones

When I was growing up, to go to the seaside was a major adventure.  Although it was only about 40 miles or so, it would seem to take hours to get there.  We would pack sandwiches and a flask of coffee for the journey.  And on a Bank Holiday, forget it - it would feel like days of sitting in traffic.  When you got there, it was cold!! 

We always had to look for that one particular parking space which was close to the beach, close to the shops and of course close to the funfair or the pier.  We were so excited to get onto the beach.  The wonderful beach – ahh those perfectly formed round pebbles in every size, some big enough to stand on, while others were just the right size to get into your shoe or between your toes to create the most pain.



Get to the Water Dance!

Children learn to run to the water and into the waves to find that illusive bit of sand so you can actually stand still for a while.  Everyone else does the “Get to the Water Dance”… arms out to the side, elbows pumping, knees jerking up and down, eeks and ahhs squealed.  Hilarious to watch, but we all do it! You get to the water and stand for just a moment before your legs go numb from the cold… and then the dance begins again, back to your spot (if you can find it).  And you shiver, wrapped in a towel behind your windbreak, on your rented deck chair, eating cheese sandwiches which somehow manage to have sand in – although you couldn’t find any sand on the beach if you tried.  Where does it come from?

IF you can find your spot!

Every trip ends with a walk along the pier and a stick of rock – or my favourite, a seashell full of sweets in the shape of pebbles. Oh those were the days…..








And now, here I am living in sunny California. To go to the beach is a spur of the moment thing. Grab a towel, jump in the car and head west for about 40 minutes (or less). When you get there you sink your feet into the golden sand and “walk” to the water, which is warm! Pure bliss!!

I just wish I could find a stick of rock!

Gor Blimey Guv'nor

I’ve been here quite a long time now and I am still managing to keep my English accent – kind of.  According to relatives back home, I sound like a “bloody Yank!” 

During the first few years it was a struggle – especially on the phone.  While working my first job, I’m not sure I should have been the receptionist.  Typical telephone conversations would sound like this:

 

How do you do?

            “Hello, Law Office…”
                        “Hi, Can I get your address”
            “Certainly, It’s  (blah, blah) Road, Suite K”
                        “What”
            “Suite K”
                        “A?”
            “No, K”
                        “What did you say?
            “K, for Kettle”
                        “What?”
            “K.. for Kettle….. Oh never mind, hold on…”

I also try to avoid drive-throughs, ordering over the phone or putting my name on the list in a restaurant.  Something definitely gets lost in the translation.  I stopped giving my name as I would get Sherry, Shary, Sean, Karen … nope – it’s none of those!  So I tried Dave… easy, you would think.  Um.. not so much – now its DIVE… even when I spell it out.   Oh dear…

But it seems everyone in America, no matter who or where, loves the English accent.  Even though there’s quite a lot of them who have absolutely no idea where I come from.  Over the years, I have been asked if I was from “the South,” Texas, Scotland (close, but not really), South Africa, France (wait, what?) and of course…. Australia!  Everybody thinks I’m Australian!  *rolls eyes*

Now don’t get me wrong, I have absolutely nothing against Australia – but it gets really annoying to be mistaken for an Australian all…the…time.

And the worst thing ever (and it happens on an extremely regular basis) – talking to someone and having them mimic your accent in the most god awful Dick van Dyke-ish London accent. 

 

Stop it!  Stop it now!!! Please……

 

 

Nice Weather for Ducks

Rain… it’s piddling down, it’s raining cats and dogs, it’s drizzling, pouring, bucketing down, pissing down, spitting… I think us English have about the same amount of words for rain as Eskimos have for snow.  But then we are used to the rain, it’s a way of life for us.  It could be lovely when you leave home, but you better take your brolly as it could tip down any minute.  Arrange a BBQ?  Better make alternative plans – just in case.

So when it comes to rain anywhere else, it’s quite funny to see the reaction, especially in sunny southern California.  Oh dear – it’s a disaster – Storm Watch 2014!!

I’m driving on the freeway, well not actually driving, just basically sitting because it’s raining.  No, not pouring, not piddling, not even spitting, it’s just a little bit of hazy, drizzling rain and the freeway has ground to a halt!  I know California is the land of never ending sunshine, but really.  The tiniest little drop of rain and every head automatically goes up a bum.  There are two classes of people – the “Oh no, I must drive really, really slowly in case I have an accident” and then there’s the “Oh, I better drive really, really fast because I’m a California speed racer and I know how to drive in the rain.”  WRONG!  And accidents abound.

Tsk, tsk California.  I would really like to see how all these people would cope having to stand at a bus stop for 30 minutes in the rain, getting soaked to the skin.  We do it, we have to and we all complain about the weather, we are English after all – it’s a national pastime.  But of course we do have that stiff upper lip which prevents us from being too outspoken.  We just mumble “bloody weather” and get on with it.

But I do have one question.  When did rain change it’s name?  Why is it that every weather forecaster now calls rain “precipitation?”  “There’s a bit of precipitation coming in the next few days…”  Is it supposed to make us feel better, give us a sense of security that actually, you don’t have to be an idiot on the freeway because it’s precipitation and not the dreaded R word…. R-A-I-N!

Where I come from, rain is rain!  No fancy names, just Rain!

 

What Happened to 'U'?

How do you attempt to get a job in a new country?  That was my dilemma.  I knew I could do it, but it was so incredibly frightening.  What if I can’t?  What if they don’t like me?  What if I screw up so badly that I will never get a job?  Can I go home…. Please??  (*sad face*)  After a fruitless couple of months looking, one thing was becoming exceedingly clear to me – Americans LOVE the English accent!  Every person I spoke to, every interview I went to, everyone - without fail - said “I just love your accent”…. Oh joy!   

So, I was finally able to convince someone to give me a job.  And then a whole new frustration started.  New country, new job, new …. Language?  What the?  American English is not English English.  I had to learn to spell all over again.  It seemed like every single word had a different spelling than I was used to.  We all know the “U” is missing from almost every word in the US.  In fact, the American keyboard only has 61 keys instead of the 62 on a UK one.  I presume it’s because the U is hardly ever used. 

‘Our” becomes ‘or’; “re” becomes “er”; “ogue” becomes “og”; double “L” becomes single; or then again single “L” becomes double; “ise” becomes “ize”; “ce” sometimes becomes “se”….good grief.  And on top of all that, the bloody keyboard is arranged differently.  What is a girl to do? 

SPELL CHECK – Spell Check is Your Friend.

That was my mantra for at least a couple of years.
 

I think I’ve got it now, although for my own purposes I still use all the “U’s” I can.  I refuse to conform. I will not write American English.  So there Noah Webster, you and your silly new fangled American spelling dictionary!  Trying to get us all to change because you were too lazy to write the whole word!

 

Hello New World

 

August 12, 1994…. That fateful day when we (the family) boarded a plane at Heathrow Airport and started on our journey to our new life in California, where the streets were paved in gold…. Or so we had heard. It’s been nearly 20 years and I still haven’t found those pavements, but I’m still looking!

 

It was weird, that first year. Moving from a fairly busy town in South London to, basically, the middle of the desert. For a while we were living in the 'high desert,' on a two mile dirt road with no television and just, well dirt…. What a culture shock! It didn’t take long for us to look for the nearest civilization and get the heck out of that dust basin. We moved down the hill –that’s it, not far, but you wouldn’t believe the difference – oh joy, actual grass, no horses, no dust!

 

I could have done with this for the first two years!

The biggest hurdle? Trying to remember to drive on the wrong side of the road. Now, I’m not saying I’m a brilliant driver (I am), but I do have a problem with my right and left. Tell me to go right and I will invariably go left – I’m sure I’m not the only one with this problem, but try getting into a car and driving on the “other” side of the road, especially when there are no lines down the middle. A couple of near misses didn’t even phase me, I still managed to get it wrong. I think over time I’ve been quite successful.

 

However, there are still times I get in the wrong side of the car… try driving off when you realize you’re sitting in the passenger seat.

 

And I would like to ask WHY? Why America do you need to drive on the wrong side – this isn’t Europe. There’s no need to be fancy. I can understand the French wanting to confuse us, but aren’t England and the US supposed to be related, cousins or something… now that’s a dysfunctional family - stop being mean to us.

 

Oh well, I’m here and it looks like it’s for the long haul, so I had better just get used to it. Oh if only I could….