Football or Soccer?

Around this time last year, I was at a NFL American football game at Wembley Stadium with a bunch of fellow American expats. This time around, I was headed to Arsenal Stadium with a bunch of Brits, Kiwis, and Aussies to watch a different kind of football game. The times, they are a changing.

Arsenal was slated to play the Bolton Wanderers in the Carling Cup tournament, and a bunch of my work mates and I decided to check it out. The tickets were dirt cheap, and we headed there as a group after work.

There were loads of stands outside of the stadium selling all kinds of food and football gear, and we all bought a little something. I scooped up an Arsenal scarf and a korean bbq baguette. I was super surprised that they had korean food, which isn't exactly common in London, and even more surprised that they had put bulgogi in a baguette, but I wasn't complaining as I wolfed my sandwich down.

Prior to coming to the game, I had decided to cheer on Arsenal for three reasons: (1) it's a London team; (2) they have a Korean player (go Park!); and (3) their fans are referred to as gunners (pronounced gunners or gooners), which reminds me of my time in law school where overanxious students with their hands perpetually in the air were commonly referred to as gunners (J was, I wasn't).

We finally headed into the stadium, and let me tell you, those turnstiles are super narrow! I saw some larger people after I entered, and I couldn't figure out how they got through those damn turnstiles. We had a few pints and then went looking for our seats, which were pretty close to the field!

The game itself was lots of fun. The first half was quite boring, but the second half was much more exciting and had us up on our feet most of the time. My poor friend sitting next to me had to explain a lot of the rules of the game to me, but no explaining was necessary when our team scored a goal and I jumped up to cheer with the rest of the crowd.

There were a few things I noticed that were a bit different from other sporting games that I had gone to in the US:
(1) The chants and cheers - Definitely very different. I didn't know half the stuff that they were chanting, but a common one was "Who are ya? Who are ya?" hollered at the fans of the opposing team while swinging your arm and pointing at them.
(2) They applaud after their team has missed a goal. I asked why, and the response I got was that it was a good kick and it wasn't their fault that it didn't go in. Wow, talk about good sportsmanship.
(3) The game keeps on going no matter the weather. It started raining midway through the game, and the players and a lot of the fans were getting soaking wet. Nevertheless, the players kept on playing and the fans stayed resolutely in their seats. That's devotion.

All in all, it was a great game, and now there's talk about going to another one in a couple of weeks. Could this be happening? Am I turning into a football hooligan? It remains to be seen...

Conquering Fears - Marmite

Sorry it's been so long since my last update, but the cold weather has been making it hard to do much of anything. It's definitely autumn, and I just want to curl up on the couch with a blanket and a good book. Needless to say, everything's kind of fallen by the wayside until I've made the mental adjustment to the cold weather.

The nice thing about the cold weather is that it finally got me to try Marmite! Now what is Marmite, you ask? Per Wikipedia:

Marmite is made from yeast extract, a by-product of beer brewing. The British version of the product is a sticky, dark brown paste with a distinctive, powerful flavour, which is extremely salty and savoury. This distinctive taste is reflected in the British company's marketing slogan: "Love it or hate it."

Judging from the description, this doesn't sound at all appetizing. It's even scarier when you ask people to describe the taste, and they just don't have the words. I've been instructed that the best way to eat Marmite is to get a nice piece of toast, spread a thin layer of Marmite and top it off with a slice of cheese. Believe it or not, Starbucks supposedly does a great Marmite and cheese sarnie!

I was at work late one day and the cold weather gave me a craving for some hot food. My work mate was making a Starbucks run, and on an impulse, I asked her to pick up a Marmite sandwich for me. It was hot and gooey with lots of melted cheese - perfect for a cold night!

I didn't hate it and I didn't love it, but I did like it enough to have it again. The best way I could describe it is that it tastes like hyper-concentrated gravy - brown and very salty, but with a much runnier consistency. I cut up my sandwich in bits and shared with some other people that hadn't had it before. Another American hated it, while the Japanese girl liked it.

Of course I couldn't let J get away with not trying Marmite at least once, so I dragged him to a Starbucks the following day and bought him a sandwich. His verdict - he liked it! Definitely enough to eat it again.

Now I just need to try Bovril....

Clay Pigeon Shooting at Holland & Holland

What do you get when you put eight lawyers and a bunch of shotguns in a field? Just another typical Saturday morning... not!

One of the perks of J's job is that he gets taken out to fun events, and today's was clay pigeon shooting at Holland & Holland in Northwood, Middlesex. Lucky for me, my parents had bought me a very fancy British hunting jacket for Christmas, and I finally got a chance to break it out!

We all met up early this morning by Baker station, and I got the feeling that some of the people weren't told that we were going shooting since they were dressed like they were going to deliver a lecture in a university hall as opposed to shooting a shotgun on wet hunting grounds. Anyway, we were soon whisked away in two silver people-carriers (vans) to the shooting grounds in Middlesex, which was maybe a 45 minute drive away from London.

Once we arrived, we were greeted by a very nice lady who offered us tea and coffee and bacon butties (bacon sandwiches) while we waited for our instructors to assemble our shooting gear.

I took a quick wander around while everyone munched on their sandwiches, and I came across a very pretty cannon. Well, at least as pretty as heavy munitions could be. =) In any case, the story behind the cannon is that it was cast in Spain, and Napoleon somehow wrangled it from the Spaniards, and then the Brits snatched it way from Old Bony.  Now it sits in the middle of the field, and it's shot twice a year, and they have to warn the neighbors since it can be heard 8 miles away!

I quickly rejoined everyone after frolicking amongst the cannon, and we were split into two groups of four. Our instructor John doled out nifty caps and safety glasses to everyone with strict instructions to keep them on during the shoot to protect ourselves from any flying bits and pieces.

I was the only one in our group who hadn't shot a shotgun before, and although I had shot some handguns before, the shotgun looked like a whole different ballgame. First of all, it's a lot bigger. Second, it's got a pretty strong kick-back to it. Third, it's much more difficult to handle than a handgun.

I also have to confess that I wasn't quite strong enough to load or break down the gun, and John took care of all this for me. I anticipated having some trouble shooting flying targets, but I didn't think that I would have problems just flicking the safety off - I've been strongly advised to do some thumb-strengthening exercises. Also, a word of caution: when you break the shotgun to reload it, the empty cartridges have a tendency to come flying out of the still smoking barrels.

Anyway, in clay pigeon shooting, they throw out clay disks (black in our case) that simulate the movement of a variety of birds that the Brits used to hunt such as the grouse or the pheasant so the clay pigeons move in a particular fashion in each stall. Thanks to John's excellent coaching, I hit my first target on my first go on a 20 gauge shotgun! John handed me the empty cartridge to keep for luck.

Then we all got pretty comfortable yelling "Pull!" and blasting away at those clay pigeons...

The kick back was a bit much for me, so I put on a special shoulder pad, but I eventually ended up taking it off since it made aiming the gun a bit more difficult.

Midway through, we headed back for a short tea break, and I got a chance to find out a bit more about Holland & Holland and its history. Apparently, they are the gunmakers for royalty, and their guns are not cheap. A pair of them could run you over 100,000 pounds!

Their drawing room was quite beautiful with lots of leather and fancy guns hanging about, and there were heads of big game hanging about the room including some caribou, rhinocerous and some buffalo type thing.

After we were refreshed, we went out again for a bit of competitive shooting, and John announced the top three when we came back...

and it turned out that J took third place! I couldn't be prouder. =) John also treated J and I with a quick peek at the secret stash of big game guns that can take down an elephant and are kept locked away - they were beautiful and huge!

Of course I couldn't leave without one last pose by the cannon with my shotgun...

It was one of the funnest things I had ever done, and I made J promise to bring me back soon. My shoulder aches a bit, and I smell like gunpowder, but I was grinning like a fool by the end of the day. I wasn't as good as I would like to be, but it was a blast, pun intended!

Stand Up and Be Counted, Or Else...

You'll be fined 1000 pounds and prosecuted as a criminal by the good people at the census enforcement people. Overreact much?

That's right, it's census time here in the UK so we must all dutifully complete the form we received in the post or suffer the very dire consequences. I don't mind so much, and I understand the need behind census-taking, but some of these questions are way beyond the line of comfort; the ACLU would have a freaking field day with some of these questions.

First off, the questionnaire focuses on an exact date - March 27, 2011. They want to know who was in your house overnight that night, visitors and all. I'm absolutely serious.

Some other invasive questions:

• Are you in good health? Do you support anyone who isn't in good health?
• Do you have a job? How many hours do you work a week? Where is your job? If you're unemployed, are you looking for a job?
• Where were you born? What religion are you?
• List all of the passports that you hold.
• What kind of education do you have?

I have a question for the census questionnaire people: Are you criminally insane? Who asks these kinds of questions in a census?! I've only recently gotten used to the CCTV cameras everywhere, but this just strikes me as bureaucracy run amok. But that doesn't mean I didn't fill it out - I don't have an extra 1000 quid laying around folks!

Happy Red Nose Day!

Every year on March 18, the UK celebrates Red Nose Day which is a day put on by the Comic Relief charity founded by two comedians to aid those suffering from starvation in Ethiopia. The deal is you buy a red nose at a grocery store or wherever, and the proceeds go to charity. I suppose you're meant to wear them all day - and who says that the Brits don't have a sense of humor? =)

For you choosy ones out there, there's a selection of three monsters you can sport on your nose: Honkus (lots of teeth), Captain Conk (pirate) and Chucklechomp (glasses), and they all come with cheesy kind of jokes you usually see on a popsicle stick. One of my work colleagues brought one for each of us, and I'm happily sporting monster Honkus on my nose. I kind of adore it, in spite of the fact that it tends to pop off when I smile too wide. But how can I not?

Two Very Important Holidays

Goodbye American holidays, and welcome British celebratory occasions such as Shrove Tuesday and International Women's Day!

I had never heard of either before I landed on these foreign shores, and I got a nice surprise today when my male work colleague bought lunch for me and another female colleague in honor of Women's Day. Who said chivalry was dead? But I admit that I did feel quite the cougar having a much younger man buy me lunch. =) As for what the holiday is all about, the title seems pretty self explanatory so congratulations to all you women on having that great XY chromosome!

Shrove Tuesday is a bit more confusing. I haven't really looked into it, but apparently this is the day where Brits get to cut loose and race around with pancakes in frying pans. Which is a bit confusing since it seems so much like an American thing to do. I mean, we are the home of IHOP and you can't hardly find pancakes on any British menu - you're lucky to find a waffle even. Maybe they don't enjoy eating them so much as just running them around town. Hmmm...

Fish and Chips - Finally!

And the lucky place? Fryer's Delight in Holborn.

The place is pretty small, with maybe about four large booths. There were eight of us, so we ended up taking over basically half the restaurant. My friend P is a regular there, and she advised me on what to order. I ended up with rock fish (you get to pick what kind of fish you want) and chips (that's french fries for you Americans out there) with tartar sauce and vinegar and gherkins (pickles) on the side.

I never thought I'd be saying this while living in London, but the portion was freakishly huge. Like Cheesecake Factory huge. Apparently, fish and chips is the only British dish that's guaranteed to be served on a plate that's the size of my torso.

Not a great pic, but at least you can see the fish & chips. And my giant white head. It's the flash, I'm not that pale!

 The fish and chips were alright, but not really my thing since I'm not really a fried foods kind of girl. And we're supposed to be running a 10k and a half-marathon soon, and I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to be feasting on deep fried goodness in preparation thereof. Eh, I'll run it off tomorrow. =)

Word of the Day

to chunder: to vomit uproariously after being out on the lash

Needless to say, we exchanged our most disgusting drinking and vomiting stories at work today. Yes, we've sunk that low in a herculean effort to amuse ourselves. The stories involved lots of unfortunate carpeting, parking lots, strangers' bathrooms and taxicabs. Exactly what you want to hear to put you in the Christmas mood.

It all started when our employer decided to gift us all with bottles of wine, and we were debating whether to crack open a bottle of chardonnay after lunch. First off, let me say that the drinking culture in the UK is quite different from the US. It's common to see lots of black-suited City people around lunch time having a drink or two before hoofing it back to the office to do very important office things. If you were to do the same back in the US, people might stage an intervention to get you to join a rehab facility (preferably one without Lindsay Lohan), and you'd probably get fired.

Ultimately, the puritanical Americans convinced our UK colleagues that drinking on the job was probably not the best idea. One of the Americans suggested that we find a park nearby where we could imbibe in the wine off the firm's premises. The UK lawyers were initially a bit puzzled at the suggestion. Was greenery that important in enjoying a glass of wine? Did Americans derive some sort of special pleasure from drinking wine while standing on grass? In the end, the idea of shivering in our winter coats while encircled around a bottle of cheap white wine while standing on muddy grass didn't sound quite appealing enough, and the lonely bottle ended up unopened in the mini-fridge in our kitchenette.

I'm still undecided as to what was the proper course of action. It doesn't seem odd to have a glass of wine with lunch, even if you are working in the afternoon, and in fact, I've done this with partners at my old law firm. And it seems even less of an offense in the UK, where people drink all day every day. But then again, we are working for a very uptight NY law firm. Oh well, the bottle will still be there when we come back from holiday. =)

A Holiday Tipple

I've just wandered home from having a holiday pint with my work colleagues, and it turns out that a half cider is about all I can handle before someone has to wheelbarrow me home. I figure this is good information for me to have any future pub trips. In any case, the Cittie of York in Holborn is definitely worth a visit - old building, not too busy, and clean with great decor. What more can a girl looking to get smashed ask for?

Continuing our cultural exchanges, we spent much of yesterday playing with Christmas crackers we got from the canteen workers, wearing crowns and saying jokes and playing with yo-yos that fell out of them. It's too bad that they're regarded as explosives so I can't send some to the States. The terrorists really do ruin it for everybody.

Looks innocuous, doesn't it? Not per the TSA.

Cultural Exchange

I had a little burst of pride today when one of the UK lawyers got up from their desk this afternoon and announced to our group that it was time for a "froyo" break. Yes, the conversion has begun... Although, it seems the conversion has been going on for a while already.

For instance, I wasn't aware that all the little grey squirrels that I see in the park everywhere are much reviled as American squirrels that had the gall to chase away the native British red squirrel into oblivion. I have to admit, I have yet to see any little red critters about. And apparently, the Americans' monomania for turkey as traditional holiday fare has carried over into the Brits adopting turkey as the meat du jour for Christmas dinner. But I refuse to admit any blame for that, we never said that they had to abandon the goose (A Christmas Carol, anyone?) for our much less attractive poultry.

At attention and ready to fight!

Preoccupied by nut. Almost too easy.

v.

Other things I've learned today:
Irn Bru (pronounced Iron Brew) is the national drink of Scotland with very amusing adverts
You can get pretty much anything deep fried in Scotland, although they were pretty disgusted when I told them about the deep fried Twinkies you can get in county fairs all across America
Cinnamon buns haven't really taken off here but they know and love brownies
There are wallabies in the UK
There is only one private university in all of the UK, but it's only popular with the foreign set
Blackadder and Forty Tower are apparently must-sees
They've heard of Jon Stewart, but not Stephen Colbert so much
Don't be surprised if you see a fox in the streets of the City

Wait, was it a left or right turn? Damn, I knew I should've brought my London A to Z.

I'm telling you, I learn a million new things every day. And I try to teach a few things about our culture too. For instance, I introduced them to Conan O'Brien's Triumph the Insult Comic Dog (Star Wars Premiere, it's a must click on YouTube). America, I hope to do you proud.

Back to Work

It's been a bit quiet on the blog since I started working on Monday. Nothing serious, just a short placement at a US law firm as a contract lawyer. It's dry work, and the funnest part is hanging out with the other contract lawyers, two US qualifieds (Boston, Chicago), and three UK qualifieds (Polish, Scottish, English). We're all in one room for eight hours a day, and although we're plugging away at our work faithfully despite the utter lack of supervision, we still find loads of time to swap stories about our different cultures and getting a big kick out of the differences.

We got into a conversation about pronunciation today, and we were all laughing at each other by the end of it.

OREGANO:
US: o-REH-gano
UK: o-re-GAH-no

CAPILLARIES:
US: CAP-ill aries
UK: ca-PILL-aries

Trust me, the UK way of saying these words is weird and strangely hilarious. Also, frozen yogurt doesn't seem to have taken off yet in the UK, and two of them had never tasted it before encountering the frozen yogurt machine in the lobby's canteen. They couldn't stop laughing when I told them that it was called "froyo" for short.

I think the word "hella" threw them for a loop too, and they were completely unaware that there's different ways of saying fizzy drink in the US depending on what region you're in: East/ West: soda, Midwest: pop, South: coke (then you get to specify what kind).

Other questions that were asked today:
What is a "punter"? Varies, but it can mean a sports fan.
Why do the Brits like to talk about the weather so much? There's just so much of it.
How do the Scots feel about the film Braveheart? A good film, but not at all historically accurate.
Where does scotch whiskey really come from? Most likely the Chinese, and not the Scots.
What's in a Cadbury Double Decker candy bar? A thin layer of crispy cereal, nougat (pronounced noo-ga), and caramel covered in chocolate.
What are A-levels? Similar to the SATs, except they follow you around forever.
What are university and law school fees like in the UK? You don't want to know the answer to this if you're an American - it'll make you weep with envy.
How did the Brits become a nation of tea drinkers? A secret raid on the Chinese emperor's stash by British soldiers apparently. The Brits were actually used to be a nation of coffee drinkers.

It's been four days so far, and it's been incredibly illuminating. We all laugh about how much we're learning, and none of it pertains to the law, much to my relief.

I wonder what I'll learn tomorrow...

Accents

When we first arrived, I tried to keep pretty quiet and not talk too much in public since I didn't want people to notice me and my accent. The problem wasn't the American accent, but that people would notice me, which give me the willies. Let's not play "Which of these things don't belong?" I much prefer to blend in rather than stick out, and the fact that I'm slightly larger than a good-sized guinea pig usually works to my advantage in that regard. But I figured an accent would make people's ears perk up even though there are scads of Americans in my neck of the woods so I became an avid fan of the much maligned mumble.

Anyway, I gave up on the not talking in public thing pretty quick because anyone who knows me knows that I can't keep quiet to save my life. I decided to compromise by talking as much as I'd like, but trying to keep the volume down. So far it's worked like a charm - no one has noticed, yay!

Turns out, I need not have worried. The phone engineer showed up at our flat yesterday to install our phone line, and we had a nice chat while he was doing his thing. After he finished, I sighed and said, "Damn, now I have to learn how to use my new phone." That earned me a strange look, and I quickly explained that it was my first UK phone, but that earned me an even stranger look. He asked me where I was from, and I told him that I was from the States, and then he asked me where I lived before the States. I'm from the States, end of story. Then he asked me where my parents were from. Um, from somewhere else.

After all these questions, he explained that he was surprised that I wasn't from the UK and he wouldn't have known that I wasn't from around here until I said so. I accused him of "yanking my chain" (because that's how I talk to all my service providers), but he was completely earnest. Needless to say, I was astonished, and I tried to explain about my Valley accent (which becomes much more pronounced when I get excited) and pointed out my frequent use of "like." I'm the girl that had a boss sit her down and tell her that she can't call him "dude" any more.

Instead of agreeing with me, he got into this whole explanation of how Americans sound to the British ear. It was pretty fascinating to hear about how we sound to the natives. Apparently, he had come across a lot of Americans in London, and Americans have a bit of a twang in their speech. He assured me that I didn't sound "posh" but that my speech was much more clear and therefore, local. Wow, what a relief that I don't sound posh. ;)

I don't know exactly how to take this. J and I had a good laugh about it, and we figure it's because we're from California, the land of no accents. Did you know that people from California get the most media jobs across the US because of that fact? They must not get a lot of Californians here... that's about the best I can figure, because I'm not one of those freaks that adopt a British accent after living here for a few months. Who does that, by the way, and why? It's not like you're fooling anyone, and probably pissing someone off instead. And I'd hate to come across a pissed off Brit. Just imagine the indignant sniffing you're in for.

It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas

Except it's not. Not even close, in spite of the fact that temperatures have dropped to a chilly 10-12 degrees (Celsius, thank goodness, it's not that cold yet). But that doesn't explain why there have been Christmas decorations everywhere for the last three weeks or so. If you walk down Oxford Street, there are giant ribbons and presents covered in fairy lights floating high above the streets. I can't go grocery shopping without walking past stacks of chocolate Santas and reindeer at the local grocery.

Back in the States, it's almost a given that you can't start spreading the holiday cheer until the day after Thanksgiving. And fie on those overeager neighbors who insist on putting out their inflatable reindeer before that time. So Thanksgiving is more important than just being an opportunity to roast an entire turkey and eat too much pie, it's the official jump off for Christmas/ Hanukkah/ Kwanzaa celebrations.

For obvious reasons, there is no Thanksgiving in the UK. I don't think they really understand the point of the holiday, and I've been told that they think it's an over-hyped rehearsal for a real holiday, Christmas dinner. Obviously, they've underestimated the importance of Thanksgiving. Without any clear start to the holiday season, they've jumped the gun, and we all know what happened to the hare - it pooped out early in the race.  The holiday season is a marathon, not a sprint, what with all the present-buying, gingerbread-making, and tree-decorating that happens.

I love Christmas, probably more than the next guy, but I think I have some serious competition for who loves Christmas more.  I've come across more than a few year-round Christmas shops in the UK, and I've heard the celebrating here is something fierce.

I'm excited - I just hope I can keep it up for another two months...

The Right Response

"You alright?"

The typical answer would be, "I'm doing great, and how are you?"

But what if what appears to be a question isn't really a question? What if it's just a typical greeting that doesn't call for an actual response?

Lots of people here use that phrase as a greeting. Enter a store, "you alright?" Walk past builders working on your flat, "you alright?" Get into a taxi to go home, "you alright?"

I still have no idea how to respond. I've just resorted to my American version of the phrase so my response is, "How are you?" J suggested the Joey from Friends version, "How you 'doooin?" but seeing as I'm not a fictional Italian man from NYC, I don't think I can pull it off.

Clever, eh?

Smile, You're on CCTV

I think I mentioned before that the Brits are a wee bit paranoid. In fact, they'd give Howard Hughes a good run for his money, and the dude was loaded.

The paranoia seems to be pretty widespread and permeates day to day life. Want to walk down the street? Be prepared to say cheese for the cameras that could be found about every fifty feet. The good news is that should you get stabbed in the middle of Oxford Street, the police are much more likely to have a good idea of who did it. Yay! Want to take a nice drive through London? Watch out for the yellow speed cameras at every intersection. Fine, forget driving - how 'bout riding in one of the famed London taxis? Heed the warning that you may be filmed while you're a passenger, so no funny stuff unless you want to be one of those stories that the taxi drivers share at their local pub after work, AND they've got video. (By the way, did you know that every taxi driver has to pass a test called "the Knowledge" in order to become a taxi driver? The Knowledge comprises of knowing every single street in London, and they have to pass an oral exam. If you've ever seen a map of London streets, you'd realize that the SATs were a breeze in comparison.)

We even have CCTV at our house! If you should ring the intercom for our flat, we get a very clear video image of you before we decide to let you in. Imagine the possibilities! Blind date? Screen them! The in-laws surprise you with a visit? You're not home! A potential rapist and/or murderer is trying to get in? Don't let them! The possibilities are endless! Incredible, this is even more amazing than Cham-Wow!

Don't worry, the paranoia is not limited to just cameras - they're also very worried about fire. This one's a bit more understandable with London burning down so many times and all, but dude, that was like three hundred years ago. Our kitchen has a fire extinguisher and fire blanket, and most of the flats here have doors everywhere since they slow the spread of fire. Now, I'm not against doors or anything, but I'm getting a bit tired of opening them and they're heavy. They're in my kitchen, they're in the dining room, they're everywhere I don't want them to be. Fire extinguishers are cool, but there's a pair of them every 25 feet or so, which makes me entirely all too aware that the building I'm in could burn to the ground any second.

And the king of all paranoia - the banks. I hate the banks.

You can't open a bank account without proof of UK residency, which is hard to do when you've just moved here. Once you prove you live here with three different kinds of identification and a vial of blood from your oldest living ancestor, they'll send you your bank documents. But not all at once. Oh no, the joy of completing the process in one fell swoop may kill you! First, they'll send you your bank card. Then they'll send you your PIN, which you need to use your card. Then they'll activate your card. But only over the phone. With five security questions that you need to answer. They know more stuff about me than J does.

Then you get to put money in your account. But not too much. They have a secret limit to the amount of cash that you can deposit at once. They won't tell you, no, they're much too clever for that. You can guess, but you will be wrong. If you should attempt to do so, they will quiz you about the source of the money - are you a drug dealer? Do you engage in illegal activities? How do we know that your parents gave you the money? Who are your parents? Where do they bank? How did they get the money? Please trace the money up to the point they came off the presses at the US Mint. Arghhh! And btw, I'm not joking about these questions.

Once you're done with the fiasco of actually getting a bank account and putting money in it, good luck getting it back out. They're like the pimp, and you're their bitch. You hand over your hard earned money, and they "hold on to it for you." Which basically means you'll have to pry it out of their cold dead hands if you should ever actually want to take it out and use it, god forbid. There was a story in the news the other day about a British woman who went to Germany for cancer treatment and needed to pay the clinic a large amount of money, and the bank refused to release the money. She called, her husband called, and her daughters called over a period of five days, but all to no avail. Until the media caught wind of it. Then the bank released the money. WTF? Did I mention that the woman was terminally ill? Nice going, NatWest.

But don't get it twisted, I like it here. Why? Because I like not getting stabbed without the guy who did it getting caught, burning sounds like a painful way to go, and money comes in pretty useful. But maybe they should heed the words of the honorable Judge Alex Kozinski - "Parties are advised to chill."

Reserve, What Reserve?

Before we came here, I was warned to expect the natives to be a little reserved, standoffish even, in comparison to the general friendliness of Americans. Case in point: Americans invite you to their home if they want to make friends; the English make sure they want you as their friend before inviting you to their home. I think both make equal sense. Anyway, I was told that the English would have to be certifiably crazy before talking to a stranger of their own free will.

So imagine my surprise when a very nice Englishwoman directed me to the delicious jelly beans that M&S carries when she saw that I was hesitating among the many sweets that were available i.e. Percy Pigs, M&S rocky road mini-bites (unbelievably, addictively good) and chocolate covered caramels.

And imagine my absolute shock when two very nice English gentlemen sitting at the table next to ours at Pizza Express in Leadenhall Market advised us that it may be easier to pick up the slices of pizza that we ordered as opposed to trying to eat it with a knife and fork like everyone else. Our table was pretty wobbly and shaking all over the place while we tried to eat our pizza English style, and I think they felt a wee bit sorry for us. We told them that we enjoyed the excitement of wondering whether our water glasses would tip in our pathetic attempts to detach a forkful of cheesy goodness, but J gave up halfway through and went New York style. By the bye, the pizza here is pretty good - I actually prefer it to Domino's or Pizza Hut or any of the pizza chains in the US, the dough is much less doughy.

Oh, and I found a late night cookie delivery service so J and I shared cookies, a brownie, and a jug of milk while watching the last two episodes of "Lost in Austen" last night.

Food, it's what brings people together.