A Day in the Life

A real phone conversation:

Me:      Hello, I would like to make an appointment please.

Them:            Have you been here before?
             Yes, a long time ago...
                      Okay, what’s your name...
            Sharon Clark.
                      Shannon Clock?          
            No, Sharon Clark...
                      Shannon… can you spell your last name…
            SHARON… C-L-A-R-K...
                      C-A-L-C-K?
            No, Clark….C-L-A-R-K, Sharon...
                     Okay, Clark.. Shannon?
            No, Sharon, S-H-A-R-O-N...
                      Ok.. what is your date of birth?
            8^th of July 19.. (not giving that away) *smile*
                       September 10, 1953?
            No, July 8^th 19___
                       Oh, let me look in the computer… you said your name was Shannon?
            No… Sharon *sigh*
                       I don’t see you, and you said it’s not September 10, 1953?
            Nope...
                       Hmmm… I don’t see you Shannon, maybe you haven’t been here before, let me put you in as a new patient…..

(*bangs head on desk*)

Arghhh…. How hard is it to understand my accent, I wonder?

I don’t know if she was just really that dumb, or if I was speaking particularly Cockney this morning.  Bloody Nora, some days I just want to drink .. a lot .. really early!!  *Sigh*

 

A Little Etiquette Please

I have often wondered why Americans don’t use knives when eating.  Having been brought up to eat properly with a knife in the right hand, fork in the left, it continues to amaze me when I see people trying to actually cut their food with a fork.  Go to any restaurant and you will see it all the time. 

But what’s even more hilarious is watching them when they actually try and use both utensils.  Totally the wrong way round, they might as well be wearing boxing gloves!  The fork is always upside down and the knife, well, don’t even ask what they’re doing with the knife.  It looks a bit dangerous, as if the food is about to shoot off the plate at any minute.  You can watch this for agonizing minutes and then once the “cutting” is over, they go back to eating all their bite size pieces with only a fork, which they have switched back to the other hand.  A bit like cutting food up for your baby.



Right?

Wrong?

I have often sat and watched Dave try and cut a juicy steak with his fork, leaned over and said “You do have a knife you know, wouldn’t that be easier?”  I get “the look.”  Now I’m not saying it’s the wrong way to eat (it is), but it is just so, well, awkward and looks like a a lot of hard work. 

Here’s a short and possibly quite possibly ‘politically incorrect’ lesson in using a knife and fork the Downton Abbey way. 

 

 

I find it very peculiar and funny to watch the Americans, but I will admit I get funny looks when I’m eating Pizza and fried chicken (not at the same meal) with a knife and fork. I am told “That’s what your hands are for.” But it doesn’t feel right to eat with my hands.   That'll be my "stodgy" British upbringing. 

Oh and one more thing, when you’ve finished, America, please put your knife and fork together in middle of the plate. Thank you. That’s all.

 

 

Charlie Bit Me!

We have Dave's grandchilden staying with us this week (Dave being my fiancé -  I thought I better give him a name, he was feeling  a bit left out) and it's, well, an experience.  *smile*

Our dog is Charlie and he just love, love, loves little children.  Not to eat, of course, but then he is a pitbull type of dog (okay he is a whole pitbull) but he loves to play and tends to get excited and nip at clothes and sometimes gets your skin.  So this morning I hear "Charlie bit me!" and a bit of a sob.  As I run into the kitchen Charlie is sitting looking at me as if to say "What did I do?"  And the little'un says again "Charlie bit me!" Which, of course, reminded me of this video, a classic from England.  I just had to take a look again - it's so lovely and British.  How can you not smile?  This is actually where Charlie got his name.

The thing is, it just doesn't sound quite the same in an American accent!

This is Charlie

What Did I Say?

I shocked myself this morning as I walked into work.  When the cleaning lady told me to be careful as the floor was slippery, I smiled, thanked her and said “Have a nice day!”

It wasn’t until I was in the lift I realized what I had said…  Bloody Hell, I’ve turned into an American!!  Whatever would my relatives think?

It’s just as well I’m going home for a holiday this year – I need a top up of some good old English and then maybe next time I will say “Ta Love” or maybe just "Cheers."  She won’t understand a word of it, but it will make me feel better.

Beside the Seaside (Part 2)

I previously did a post about our daytrips to the seaside here.  But I’ve been thinking it over and there are so many more things I miss that I can’t get, or just don’t happen in America.  Here’s a few:

The Shellfish Bar

I did a post about cockles and how they didn’t get to America here.  But it’s not just cockles they sell… mussels, winkles, oysters, lobster, jellied eels, shrimp, crab, whelks.  Oh how wonderful to see all that fishy seafood sitting in the sun.  Of course, it’s a British tradition to get your fish fix when you’re at the seaside.  It’s just that some of those things look a bit, well, nasty.  I will stick to my cockles.

Photo coursey TripAdvisor

Donkey Rides

How can you go to the seaside and not have a donkey ride?  We used to beg and beg our parents to please let us have a ride.  The answer was usually a “No,” but that didn’t stop us from begging.  Of course, you have to take the obligatory photograph of the donkeys, lined up in a row with poor unsuspecting children balanced precariously on their backs.  After being dragged and bumped down the beach for five minutes you were back on solid ground and your parents were out a few quid that they would never get back.  All because those donkeys are so lovely!

Doughnuts on the Pier

Ahhh… to walk along the pier and smell that wonderful scent of cooking batter in hot oil.  There was always a crowd around the window watching those sizzling little doughnuts fall into the mound of sugar at the end of the conveyer belt.  They were always tiny, but perfectly cooked.  It makes my mouth water just thinking about them.  We always ate them too fast and wanted more.  There’s nothing better than freshly cooked doughnuts still too hot to bite.  Krispy Krème try, but they cover them in slimy goop, so it’s just not the same.

Love to watch through the window

Punch and Judy

Although a great British seaside tradition, it’s a bit creepy if you ask me.  Always set up on the beach in a striped “tent” and always, so it seemed, the same storyline which includes Mr. Punch, his poor beaten wife, Judy, a policeman, who I have a feeling wasn’t there to stop her being battered and a crocodile with sausages(?).  There may have been more characters, but I could never stand it long enough to watch until the end.  It fascinated people who, in chorus, chanted “That’s the way to do it” while Mr. Punch was beating his wife black and blue.  It’s a wonder women’s libbers haven’t had it banned by now.  Used to scare the pants off me.

A bit creepy?

Saucy Postcards

How can I possibly remember the seaside without mentioning those oh so saucy postcards?  Every souvenir shop sold them and we, as children, would spend ages reading them all.  I’m not sure we actually understood many of them, but they were so risqué and so part of the British seaside experience that you couldn’t not stop and look at them.  Whether it was buxom women, fat women, skinny little old men, milkmen or doctors they were always very double entendre.   I wonder if anyone actually sent those postcards from the beach?  Something to give the postie a giggle!

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.    

I'm Not Irish!

March 17. When I lived in England, that date meant nothing to me, I didn't even know anyone who had a birthday on that day. But apparently, it's St. Patrick's day. It's the day where the whole of America believes it's Irish.  You have to wear green, possibly a badge professing you are Irish, that you need to be kissed or pinched or that you need a drink. And of course, everyone eats corned beef and cabbage.

Now, my late mother-in-law was Irish. Very, very Irish. So much so that when I was going to meet her for the first time, I was told I "wouldn't be able to understand a word she says." Very reassuring and a much needed confidence boost!  Anyway, she was extremely Irish and in all my time knowing her, I never once saw her eat or cook corned beef and cabbage. I never saw her drink Guinness either, I didn't actually see her drink anything, but that’s a whole other story.

Corned Beef I remember

Corned Beef and Cabbage??

 

 

 

My point is, I had never heard of corned beef and cabbage, nor seen so much celebration of St. Patrick’s day until I came to America. My definition of corned beef was the meat that came in a funny shaped tin or in little square slices at the meat counter in the supermarket.  And St. Pat’s day was for the Irish to get drunk in the pub.  Us English wouldn’t get involved.  I think it might be different now, but when I lived there it was just another day and there was certainly no cabbage involved!

So what is it with America that they celebrate so much? I can understand those on parts of the east coast celebrating a bit since most of the immigrants from the potato famine settled there and there are huge Irish communities, but really, California, how Irish could you possibly be?  It’s all very confusing to me.  But I think I may be able to force myself to have a Harp or two.

And yes, I'm jealous. Why isn't there an “I wish I was English” day?  Couldn't you once, just once, celebrate St. George's Day (does anyone know when it is?)  Don't you know America, that we helped you settle here and we pretty much created your government.... Oh, never mind, that makes sense then. *smile*

But just so you know, you may celebrate your independence on July 4th, but the English are sneaking back in - one family at a time!

[And by the way, St. George's Day is April 23, although it's usually celebrated on the first Monday after Easter week, which changes most years... confusing?]