My version of a living in the UK trip adviser review, in letter format to the country herself.
Year one in the UK.
My dearest Blighty:
I’ll be honest – I’ve landed here in your lovely country under duress. I lived with you years ago, and I know full well the thatched rooves and shortbreads lose their charm quickly. Since I saw you last, I have been raising children with modern North American conveniences. I’ve also just given up a real career break in the US, in favour of someone else’s big career break in the UK, so I’m bitter and resentful before we even land at Heathrow.
But my darling, it seems you’ve just not kept up with the times. In month one, my trainers have gone moldy in the leaky sieve you call a garage (or as you prefer, ‘ga-rage‘), my washing machine holds two hand towels and a pair of my (large) knickers. The dryer is here just to taunt me.
Your roads, while charming, seem more equipped for horse and carriage than the 38M vehicles registered on your small island. When I drive the kids to school, I spend half my time trying to avoid the curb and the other half keeping an eye out for Robin Hood and his band of Merry Men popping out of the woods to rob me. I feel like I have stepped back in time.
I know you love your traditions and your people keep telling me “there is a way of doing things”, but the daily grind is a wee bit inconvenient for this Westerner and each annoying thing builds on the one previous.
For example, finding a parking space, wondering if my train will arrive on time, waiting three weeks for internet set-up, bagging my own groceries (while the cashier sits on a chair?!!), timing my hunger with a restaurant’s peculiar hours of actually serving food (which also requires a booking, when it looks mostly empty inside). A breakfast taco or a Starbucks drive-through would really make my day, and would it be so blasphemous for the shops to carry a few wines from new world (a California Cab Sav to be precise).
And I hear your loyal subjects want to leave the EU?
You must have a word.
Year two in the UK.
Dear friend:
I do apologize I was a little hard on you last year. I know you love your traditions and while I find some of them tedious, I’ve come to find some comforting. Take your love of hot drinks. In the world of work, I spend half my day having coffee (or tea), scheduling coffee (or tea) and fetching coffee (or tea) for customer meetings. It is perfectly acceptable not to commence any work until this has ritual been done, a few times over. And since none of us arrived on time due to the motorway traffic, nobody seems too fussed about getting in those eight hours.
Ah. Your old country pubs. Put the inconvenient hours and strange numbered wooden spoons aside and there is nothing lovelier than a roast dinner, next to a roaring fire, with a couple of wet dogs resting on your feet. No washing up! Just a suggestion though, a little salt goes a long way.
I also appreciate your love of alcohol. Not only is alcoholism not frowned upon, it’s encouraged! Having a drink midday is perfectly acceptable, even at my children’s sports day where they set up a Pimm’s tent. If my train is two hours late getting home, it’s quite all right because I can buy a mini bottle of fizz at M&S whilst waiting. Now that our subdivision (aka: housing estate) has curb side glass recycling, we all feel a little less ashamed about the state of our bin because everybody’s looks the same. No judgement here.
And you have the best neighbours. I can put aside my shower’s complete reluctance to drain when I know that old world charm with modern infrastructure is only a quick flight away. With the generous holiday time you provide, I’ve been to France, Germany, Belgium, Austria, Italy and Sweden. All wonderful.
Year 3 in the UK.
Dear old chap:
We are mates now, aren’t we? Believe or not I told a newcomer the other day “to have a stiff upper lip” and explained it’s best to just get on with things versus pointing more efficient alternatives. A G&T in the evening also helps to localize.
I have more than one true English friend now and although they were standoffish at first, two years of my foolishness and I think I’ve grown on them. The school is actually considering trousers for the girl’s uniform – modern times await my friend! Next thing you now the girls might actually play sports with the boys.
There are some things I am going to miss about you – like your fabulous curry, a take away fish and chips; enjoying a lengthy afternoon tea with those adorable little sandwiches. Watercress and egg salad. Coronation chicken. Oh, and Victoria Sponge. The clotted cream here alone makes many of your misgivings forgivable. I also love a savoury pie; scotch eggs make a perfect snack and those pork pies with that delightful layer of congealed pork jelly. Heavenly.
These days, I can back my car into a shoe box sized parking spot whilst enthralled in a Radio 4 drama. Will Lexy be coming back for Ian and Adam’s new baby in Ambridge? And thank you for calling menopause, The Menopause, because it deserves it’s grammatical article. Canada, take note here I am bringing that back with me.
There is just this one thing I don’t think you and I will ever come to terms on.
Your weather.
Why do you love the rain so much? There are so many types of rain – – light rain, moderate rain, heavy rain, drizzle, buckets and buckets, deluges of rain, downpours, tipling down, pelting down, raining cats and dogs, chucking it down. And when it rains, why must we all talk as if it has never rained before! I’ve put fashion aside and bought a head to toe waterproof, and whenever I wear it, my husband asks if I off for a ride. We don’t own a horse.
There was a week this past September where it rained every single day. I took a few videos to demonstrate your relentlessness and to ask if you could consider letting up a little next month.
http://nastybrilliantblighty.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/10/Save-Me-Final-.mp4
Until then, all the best, your friend,
Jamie
Note: Italicized words represent English lingo.