Dear Santa,

How would you propose I get all of these presents home?

I guess this is evidence that I’ve been “running” (see previous post)

Please send Rudolph.

Yours truly,

Bailey (good list)

Hey, if I can get this across the ocean, I can get those piddly presents into one suitcase, right?

English word of the day: Is that sorted? = Are you all set? Heard frequently in office vernacular. Often times used in conjunction with, "leave it with me," which is code word for "you're never seeing that again!!" 

Singing in the rain

It being Christmas time and all, I have taken to planning my runs so that the route conveniently ends at a shopping venue. It’s a great way to explore, it pushes me to run a little farther than I normally would, it gives me a destination to work toward, and as I said before, it conveniently ends at a shopping venue. What happens if I find something I like, you might ask. Easy. I always carry my credit card in one pocket, and my Oyster Card in the other so that I can purchase until my little heart’s content, then hop on the train with my bags of loot for a quick ride home. System’s flawless!

Until the system break down…

So today, I got home from work, and was really not feeling the whole running thing. I started making up excuses; it’s late already, so windy, kind of cold, finale of the Young Apprentice is on…all the usual suspects. Making a compromise with myself I decided on a little run, something short, sweet, to the point and without the laborious process of having to ride the tube back post-shopping (also without the reward of some brand new goods, but I was in a low risk low reward type of place). Off I went with only my keys. I got going for a little bit, was feeling pretty good, pushed it a little more, and right when I got to my halfway point where I decided I had enough for one day and it was time to turn back, cue the waterworks! Torrential downpour. And what did I have with me? Nothing but my keys and my own two feet. Not only did I not even want to go running in the first place, but there I was halfway up the river without a paddle! London is just so silly. Out of nowhere it can just start pouring buckets? What's that all about? What is this, Boston?

That’ll teach me to force myself to run. Or better yet, I think the lesson we take away is that we always end a run at a store and take the tube home. Everyone wins.

English word of the day: When asked, what did you read in university, they are actually asking what you majored in. Easy enough to figure out but I was recently caught off guard by the question and fumbled through my answer until I landed on “economics.” They were probably thinking….yea sure, if you even went to university. Language barrier, gets you every time.

Walking in a Winter Wonderland

The beauty of not having Thanksgiving over here is that nothing holds you back from getting into the Christmas spirit. Christmas decorating in the states has crept up a bit on the calendar, with more and more people flipping the switch on their icicle lights and nativity scenes before they are officially allowed to, i.e. before Turkey Day, but here they take it to that next level. What started with a reindeer in the street…

                   Ended in a Winter Wonderland!!!

 

Deliveries for the Winter Wonderland extravaganza began at the end of October. And at some point between then and November 18^th, the elves must have swooped in while we were asleep and assembled this masterpiece! 

Filled with people, this North Pole wonderment is a great place for people of all ages. Sprinkled throughout are games and rides for the youngins, and then shopping and dining for the young at heart. 

Since I missed it in New Orleans I made sure to plan a visit to the rotating Carousel Bar. Much like the one in New Orleans, this one too gives you that spinning sensation while you drink. And yes, it is most certainly the carousel that gives you the spinning sensation, not the alcohol which you are imbibing. 

Now I heard rumor of this famous Bavarian Beer Garden, and when I stumbled on it, I was immediately transported back to my time in the German beer gardens of München. They had das boots. They had beer wenches. They had spätzle. They had potato pancakes. (and great advertising!) 

 And THEY. HAD. SAUSAGES. Boy oh boy, did they have sausages.

White sausages. Red sausages. Curry sausages. Spicy Sausages. You name it! All being cooked on these massive sausage grills. This would be my dad’s DREAM COME TRUE to have this in our backyard.

I can officially say I am in the Christmas spirit now!! And got my fill of German bangers too...

English word of the day: Clothes horse = drying rack. I was watching the British version of The Soup and one of the clips they rolled was a woman “stuck in a clothes horse.” Don’t ask why or how, just know that no animals were harmed in the making.

Inner Dome of Heaven

When my mom and I came over to London to house hunt internationally we stumbled upon this little al fresco dining area bustling with people, complete with heat lamps, Christmas lights strewn across the buildings, and an ICEBAR! 

I took this picture by the way. It's okay, you can be impressed.

That’s right, a bar made entirely out of ice! Upon further investigation, the details of the joint are as follows…

·      UK’s only bar made entirely of ice (shocker, I know)

·      Kept at about -5° C (equivalent to about 23°F for those of you not on the metric system, basically the same as Boston from January-April)

·      Everything inside is made out of crystal clear ice harvested especially from the frozen Torne River in Jukkasjarvi, Northern Sweden (not sure I entirely believe that…although there’s no way the Thames is that clear so maybe?)

·      Once a year the entire bar is completely transformed with a new design theme and layout by a team of skilled ice designers and sculptors, using new ice from the Torne River (there’s reference to that silly river again, if it even exists!)

And my personal favorite fun fact…

·      You are given a designer thermal cape with a hood to keep you warm during your visit

After that sales pitch, I was sold and vowed that I would go back once I moved here for good, perhaps almost entirely because I thought you got to keep the cape and gloves, but that’s besides the point.

So, fast-forward to Jon’s visit and you better believe I made a very special point to put this outing on our itinerary (yes, I made a very detailed day-by-day, hour-by-hour itinerary for us, no one’s surprised). I assure you we were not disappointed, that is, until the end when I had to give my cape back :(

We were on a very strict timeline, exposed to the chill for 40 minutes, and 40 minutes only, and they proudly displayed that countdown above the door to avoid any Ötzi the Iceman situations. Given our own special ice shot glasses, picture personalized ice luges, the drinks were flowing and the crowd loved it. 


We explored a little bit…

And got a little silly!

 

 

Until basically we were the last one’s standing and had to be forced out.

All in all, real fun experience, one I would certainly recommend.

English word of the day: Surgery = doctor’s office/consultation. I only know this because I registered for my first NHS GP since I have now given up my insurance in the states, scary I know, and I was told to “go on in to surgery”. Wary of what body part my new GP thought needed operation; I proceeded in to find nothing more than your run of the mill doctor’s office. Although I would have liked to hear what work I needed done surgically.

Happy Thanksgiving America!!

I am thankful for...

Bodean’s!

Where us ex-pats will be spending the holiday AFTER working a full day in the office! Nothing like a good smoked turkey at a BBQ joint with all the traditional trimmings from back home. Well, almost all, sadly I will be missing my Sweet Potato Soufflé, Manatee Rolls, Cheesy Potatoes, Green Bean Casserole and last but never, never least, my personal favorite, the Cucumber Mousse – how well do you think that travels? Can that get shipped here you think? 

I guess there’s always Christmas.

Wishing you a very Happy Turkey Day!

A funny thing happened on the way to the Underground

Funny, that is, for all those around me who witnessed it. Let’s begin the recap of my day…

London has this strange way of always looking like it just rained. You hardly ever see the rain, but the ground seems to hold this moistness that makes you grateful for your timely departure, like, “SCORE, I just missed the storm, this is going to be my lucky day!” So today began just like that. I get to the tube, my feet still damp from “the last hour’s” rainstorm, I make it to the bottom of my first flight of stairs, my shoes lose all traction, and there I go Kristi Yamaguchiing my way across the station only to land on my right shoulder, cushioned by my rather large purse. And the kicker…no one said a word! I mean I’m sure they all continued on their way to work and told the best water cooler story ever once they got there, but come on!! Granted I probably said some American profanity under my breath that completely ruined my guise as just another Brit on their way to work, but still! No one moved an inch to help remove me and my, then soaked, leather bag from the floor. I think it’s time I invest in some Wellies (Christmas present idea number 1).

I successfully made it through the rest of the day on my feet, put in a hard day’s work and was ready to head home. Completely engrossed in my 3^rd book since I’ve been here (Christmas present idea number 2), I was rounding the corner following my “Way Out” crew and it hit me! Running full speed, same height, same blindness to the crowds, only with eyes for minding the gap and making the train, a Brit…and we smacked right into each other, face to face. If it weren’t for my complete devotion to the latest twist in my book we would have landed mouth to mouth. Thank you Kindle, wasn’t really feeling like crossing off “make out with complete stranger in tube station” from my list.  

Just when I wanted nothing more than to be home, the last incident of the evening occurred. Fighting the crowd to get up and out with my newfound aggression, taking pointers from my mystery makeout man, I found my way to the front of the queue. Now, escalator rules are very strict here. It’s always stand on the right, walk on the left. No exceptions. 

So off I go, passing the long train of people standing on the right. I can’t help it but every time I choose to be one of the up-walkers rather than the standers I have this unwarranted sense of pride and accomplishment. Almost self righteous in that I am getting a workout while these lazy people just watch. (On the flip side when I am on the right, all I think is “Overachievers!”) So, nearing the top I think I’ve made it, and I’ve beat all those standers who didn’t even know they were in competition with me, and BAM! I trip over my own two feet and put myself right back at the scene of the crime from the morning, people stepping over me as they go.

Made my way straight to the pub for a well-deserved pint.

English word of the day: Pinched = Stole! So one of my colleagues came by the other day to discuss a marketing plan for one of our new data cube products. We had been discussing getting branded Rubix Cubes and he said he found one at a corporate event so he pinched it to show me. I was not sure how pinching something can help show it to me, what kind of metaphor was that? Like pinch me, to make sure I'm not dreaming? Pinch the cube to make sure it's real? Low and behold, he takes me to his office and showed me the cube in the flesh, which apparently he STOLE from the event! Got it now.

Hidden door, Hidden door on the wall...how do I get in?

So it only took me 1 month, but I have now finally mastered the office bathroom stalls. I know you have come to expect my obliviousness, but this took it to a whole other level. Let’s begin with directions I received day one to meet my colleague “on the men’s bathroom side of the floor.” Easy enough you would think. And yes I would agree, if all the bathroom doors weren’t made out of the same material/finishing to blend in with the walls! The only thing that gave it away, after I saw a few men come and go, was a tiny, little, 2inch plaque at the top right corner of the “door” with the symbol for men etched out. How was I supposed to see that!!

AND the inconspicuousness gets worse! Once I found the women’s hidden bathroom equivalent, I opened the door to…more hidden doors! I mean really, what are these people trying to hide in the loo! Walking down the long line of doors, all trying their best to blend in with each other, I would pull one handle after another, not knowing how you could possibly know which one’s are vacant or and which are occupied. I remember thinking, what do these Brits have x-ray vision or some sort of sixth sense that tells them their mates are previously engaged?? Until one day it hit me…

Notice the lacking indication of occupation on the doors here:

Just looks like a handle.

Now, look a little closer…

Still nothing?

Try a little bit closer….

Now you see it?! That tiny pin-sized red indicator means occupied! Now I can successfully go to the bathroom without pissing off  (pun intended) all my colleagues by startling their quiet time in the stalls, pulling on every door as I pass it until I find one that is open!

English word of the day: Bap = a sandwich roll! More specifically, in my example, a breakfast sandwich made on these delicious half ciabatta/half English muffin type rolls. I’m bringing sausage, egg, and cheese baps to America. You can thank me later.

We're here to see the Mayor

Another eventful weekend in Londontown. From a 1920 Speakeasy to an American sport bar, my adventures certainly ran the gamut. Let’s stick to the fun stuff, the secret password bar. So we went to this place, The Breakfast Club, which looked like a diner. A diner with a DJ. We’ll call it the staging area. Reading online reviews we were instructed to approach the list keeper/bouncer, which we interpreted to mean the biggest guy in the bar, and say the magic words. Finding the Big Man we say, under our breath of course, this is a secret club – we’re no amateurs;

“We’re here to see the Mayor”

Ushered to a table in the midst of the dance-party-DJ-diner, Big Man told us to order some drinks and the mayor would be along shortly. Only a few carafes of sangria later he was ready for us. Rising to gather our things, Big Man directed us to the door, the refrigerator door that is, and down the stairs to see the “Mayor of Scaredy Cat Town.” On the other side of the fridge the atmosphere was completely different and they certainly achieved their step back in time vibe. It was one of those moments where I really wanted to take pictures but at the same time felt like I really shouldn’t take pictures. Here’s an idea of what the door to the bar looked like, but I’ll stop here. You have to see for yourself what the downstairs was like, that’s a secret I’m not willing to give up.  The quick and dirty, it was all wood, dimly lit, and had amazing bartenders who were incredibly attentive and into their mixology.  

Once we got our fill of the secret dungeon, we decided to exit, this time through the back entrance of a bathroom so it looked like we were just using the loo that whole time. Instructions on some of the menus downstairs told us to get creative with this exit, maybe even leave some toilet paper remains on a shoe as we left. Playing it cool we rejoined the party-before-the-party area where the DJ was still spinning jams.  Danced a little more and we were off. 

Strange turn of events...we actually ended the night at the Queen of Hoxton (see earlier post). Apparently not that sketchy when you go in with a group of people! I was just, er, scouting it out the first time I went. I knew we'd be back.

English word of the day: When you are asked if you want your coffee "white" they are asking if you want milk in it. AND in the office if one of my coworkers takes orders to run downstairs and get us coffee,  they ask "red, green, or blue?" Uhhhhh…..see blank stare. They then realize, ah American, ok whole milk (red), 1% (green), or skim (blue)? Got it. No clue ordering coffee could be so colorful! How’s that to brighten your day!

Let them eat CHEESE

After much hype I decided to take people up on their insistence to go to Borough Market on a Saturday when the stalls were full in bloom and the crowd bursting with excitement. Although it took effort to drag my morning after pub-going self out of bed, I was not disappointed. Although I missed Apple Day (yea still not sure what that must have entailed - how many things can you do to apples) at the market the week before it was still quite the experience. Tucked away in the shadows of London Bridge, every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday these stalls appear with locals selling all sorts of things.

Popular items included:

·      Oils, in fact I tasted an amazing truffle oil that I had to buy right then and there. And I don’t even like truffles.

·      Jams and Jellies everywhere you turned. They were making jams out of things I'm not sure they should make jam out of... 

·      Hummus spreads, strangest one I tasted – apple spice hummus…must have been leftover from Apple Day.

·      Chocolate covered everything. There was this one stall with every fruit, nut, and veggie under the sun dipped in all sorts of chocolates. I put on my best, "kid in a candy store face" and sampled a nice array of white chocolate covered cranberries, dark chocolate banana chips, and milk chocolate pistachios. 

·      Fishes, meats, and cheeses. As well as beers from around the world and hot mulled red wines. Us Americans even brought in our very own pumpkin ale from the great wild yonder – Saranac Valley!

The Main Event:

I can't say I wasn't sniffing it out, because we all know I have this ingrained tendency to gravitate toward anything cheese-related, BUT the most amazing stumble upon was when I followed this line that snaked all the way through the market ending at THE pot of gold, or rather, cheese, that put all other pots of cheese to shame! This picture does not do it justice but the amazing grilled cheese creations that came from this place looked like a delicious clogged artery in a dish. They have these special cheese harnesses to melt the whole cheese wheel, and then they slice off melted gooeyness from the top, lumping it ooze after ooze on your fresh-made baguette. PLUS toppings!! If I hadn’t filled up on all the other free sampling I would have tried this heart attack sandwich with cheese on top. A true fat kid at heart, I now find myself singing the jump rope playground tune that will swiffer the United Kingdom;

"Heart Attack Sandwich, Cheese on Top. 

Tell me The Name of my Sweetheart. Is it A? Brie?....you get the point. 

Oh well, reason enough for me to go back.

All in all successful trip to the Borough. (Cronin that word takes on new meaning now doesn't it?)

English word of the day: Candy Floss = cotton candy!! This one came about when a coworker kept insisting the office smelled like candy floss. Cringing in my chair for what that could possibly mean, I knew it didn’t sound pleasant, she decided it was coming from her coffee, and she happily gulped down some more. After looking it up online, I was able to rest assured, it was nothing more than good old flavored sugar. Mind out of the gutter.

Queuing is serious business

Contrary to the streets and subways of America, queuing here is taken very seriously. From the time the Brits are little they have been ingrained with the notion that cutting a queue is forbidden. This is my daily exposure to the queue phenomenon encountered on my journey home from work. Every day from the hours of 5pm - 7pm these serpentine creatures self-create, streaming from all entries. 

Although I was born with hips made for the American way of loading and unloading, it is kind of nice really, not to have to worry about boxing people out in order to push your way on the train. Very orderly indeed. 

 

As an aside, weather here the past two weekends has been gorgeous! 60s and sunny! How does that feel, snow-covered Northeastern America?

English word of the day: curtain twitching = spying, eavesdropping, peeping tom. Apparently along with queuing, curtain-twitching is a big part of the British culture!!

Are you ready for some football??

So for my first weekend in London I decided to do something very American. I went and saw the Chicago Bears play the TB Bucs at Wembley Stadium. I guess I decided I wasn’t entirely ready to leave the states and all that I associated with them yet.

Expecting there was no way to un-americanize American football, I met some fellow Yankees at a central tube stop and we were on our way. Welp, much to my chagrin, I was made highly aware of just how far away from home I really was. Turns out you can take the game out of the states, but with it goes most of the states! Reminders that I was, in fact, not in Kansas anymore…

1.     English people don’t really know how to tailgate. In fact I’m not even sure there was a parking lot, let along cars with large enough “boots” to become tailgates as we know them? Everyone came by public transport – this will become important later – and most fans only showed up shortly before kickoff (after visiting many a pub of course). LUCKILY, NFL to the rescue to set up the area seen below. Mind you this was taken once we had our American fill; I promise you it was packed with foreign revelers donning every team jersey in the league. Typically American of ESPN though to come and swoop in mother-ship style to impart the American knowledge and show them how to properly spectate the American game on their own turf. They even handed out beer helmets!! Ok maybe they didn’t go that far.

 

 

2.     It was weird seeing so many people root for some pretty lousy teams. And they were so invested!! AND rooting for the Bucs! It was weird, and I’m sure had a lot to do with the free paraphernalia the “home” team left in our seats, plastering them with pirate booty. I must say, however, I was quite pleased to see that anyone who owned anything NFL-related wore it to the game. It was a big NFL melting pot. I was just sad I left my Chrebet jersey at home.

3.     I’m pretty sure a majority of those at the game had no idea what was going on. Not to mention that the Bears threw a touchback in there! The collective “huh?” from the crowd was deafening.  These teams were really there to give the Brits a show. Trust me my English mates, that was a rarity. 

 

 

4.     Fantasy Football is kind of a big deal over here, and maybe that’s because betting is legal so they take it in all forms – equal opportunity betters? Even though the kids next to me had not much of a clue what was happening, they could tell me every player on the field and his stats for the past 6 weeks. Impressive.

5.     Fish and Chips at the stadium! Now that’s just silliness.

6.     Okay, and now for the most horrifying realization of them all…they used horses as crowd control. I know this doesn’t sound all that novel, if you’ve seen a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade or a Yankee Ticker Tape Celebration you have seen this technique employed. But they actually used them. More than just a scare tactic, these beasts became the turnstiles that corralled the crowd to the tube at the end of the game! And you all know how much I LOVE these larger than life, scary, crush-you-with-one-misstep animals…picture my excitement. The official attendance was announced at halftime, something to the effect of 76,868 so you can imagine all those people heading out at once destined for the same tube station to ride on trains that resemble miniature Disney monorails. Even though we caught the turnstiles in the open position, I did see one inebriated chap walk straight into the chest of black beauty, not sure if it even registered with him. Here’s a view from the good side…

If you look closely you can see the horses turned sideways blocking the crowd from moving forward.

Scary, eventful, all around great first weekend.

English word of the day: Crisps = chips of any flavor! Or “chip-ays” as someone I know lovingly refers to them.

Corn cup anyone?

Magic Corn cup! On the streets of London. How much more American can you get than corn off the cob in a cup! PLUS they have toppings!

I opted for the Sour Cream and Onion flavor (no one is surprised) this time. I might just go for some thai curry sauce next time! Options are endless…and yet so strange.

Good for you too apparently:

Natural Goodness 

Magic Corn retains a level of crunchiness and juiciness that’s unsurpassed. That’s because we’ve developed a unique method for extracting the whole kernel of corn from the cob, as opposed to the faster method of simply cutting the kernels from the cob. Once the kernels have separated from the cob, they’re immediately frozen within the hour to seal in all the natural nutritional goodness. No preservatives are added, of course. 

And that’s because we want you to taste only the corn and nothing else but the corn.

....seems strange then to encourage you to add a variety of flavors to the corn, in the end masking the flavor of corn entirely. 

 

Streets of London

In my first official, full weekend in London I was almost stiff-armed on the tube.

Here’s what happened. Leaving this really cool cocktail bar run by a couple of mates - as a sort of fun endeavor that they didn’t seem to take too seriously, but where the drinks were to die for and the pace was just right after the crazy Friday night we had where I learned first-hand about the true English drinking culture - we are walking to the tube so we could all go our separate ways and out of nowhere I hear;

“BAILEY!!!!! STIFF-ARM WATCH OUTTTT!”

Not knowing how to react to an exclamation like that I stay put and look straight ahead. Before I know it my friend physically picks me up (hernia, I’m sure) and moves me over as I see some guy come barreling through the sea of people with his arm extended and ready for battle. Who does that??? These people are nuts! But I guess they take their crowd control/tube journeys seriously.

English word of the day: Flatmates = Roommates and NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND. You see, your flatmates share a flat with you….your roommates share the actual bedroom. You get the drift.

The Queen of Hoxton vs. The Book Club

It was my first weekend night out on the town and I knew I was in store for a good one when I looked up the place my Harvard friends told me to meet them at. The Book Club:

Bringing together wit, wisdom and enough food and drink to see you through from early breakfast to a nightcap at last orders at the bar, The Book Club offers a cultural revolution to the East End’s social scene. The Book Club fuses lively, creative events and late night drinking seven days a week with an alternative menu of brain-teasing and mind-expanding thought for food in the form of workshops, talks, cultural showcases, parties, ping pong, pool and the best in new music.

Typical Harvard, typical…

The only challenge was getting there. Trying to limit my transfers because I hate the triple transfer, I got off a few stops earlier, which lent itself to a bit of a walk. Fine, it was nice out, not raining, would be fun to explore this part of the city a bit more from aboveground. Three wrong turns later and I saw a neon lit sign and a long line with fun music oozing through the window cracks. Unfortunately I couldn’t really tell what the sign said, need to get my eyes checked I guess, but I didn’t think this place was my final destination. I kept walking a little bit and finally asked a stranger if they knew how to get to The Book Club. He laughed in my face and said it’s right behind me, directing me back to the neon oasis. I gave in and went back, thinking maybe my friends were inside at the bar and not waiting outside for me like they said they would be. I paid my cover, and bee lined it for the bathroom, sending a quick “I’m here” text to the people I was meeting. Once my bladder was emptied and we went through the charade of see-saw texts saying I’m standing near x, or meet me at y, and after I had covered every inch of the place, I decided there was no way we were in the same bar.

Marching straight up to the bouncer I say, “Excuse me is this the book club?” Long pause, puzzled look…”No, never heard of it.”

Out the door I went, straight to the nearest taxi stand and I was off, only to have him drive me around the corner to the real Book Club. See map.

Moral of the story, my phone’s gps is the worst, and if something doesn’t appear to be what you’re looking for, most likely it’s not. For a visual…

                                 The Book Club                                 vs.                       The Hoxton Queen

This is where I was trying to go...

This was where I went originally...it looked very different in the nighttime!!

I eventually figured it out, have no fear.

English word of the day: Advice slip = receipt. Here I was trying to take out money at the "cash machine" to pay my nice taxi driver for bringing me around the block and I get to a screen that mockingly asks if I want an advice slip. Hell, I could have used some advice BEFORE I went into some sketchy bar hoping to find friends...but thanks for offering.  

Droids and Maps

So I got a new phone the other day. After a few valuable workdays of internet research and talking to my London-technology-guru (Thanks Glenn!), I set out to bite the bullet. I heard the actual process of picking out and paying for the phone, in a very un-American way was extremely speedy, like 3 seconds or less. I was skeptical. But I set out anyway. The one service provider I needed for the “best plan” was allegedly only a train ride away from work. I set out to navigate the maze that is Canary Wharf Estate…see below…(and I know it looks like a straight line, that’s what I thought, but it is nothing of the sort!) 

 

There are like 200 levels and even more twists and turns in there, I swear! So, whatever, I finally found the rail line I needed. I thought that was the hard part….

I pop up like a little prairie dog, or turtle-head, whatever metaphor you so choose, with no clue where I am. Turns out I had broken my number one rule too, “Thou shalt not leave home without the A-Z London Street Guide book.” So here I am, middle of The City, trying to find an obscure phone store, and believe me it was obscure, because I asked many a passerby and they had no idea what I was talking about. Language barrier I presume. All the while, I'm phoneless!! Using the girl scout skills I never obtained, thanks mom (knowing me, I probably protested the stupid jumper and sash and that’s why I was never enrolled, so I take that back mom), I knew I had to go north, so I read the sun! And then I walked straight into the nearest Deutche Bank to ask for directions because they seemed friendly. Two free printed maps, four more “I’m a lost American” stops, and I finally found it. 

And true to tale, in and out in less time than it took me to explain to the Kebab man what I was looking for in the first place! Fully equipped and phoned, I typed in my next address and went back to work. Only took two hours (nice long UK lunch break) and I was back at work and in touch with reality.

Now, if only I could get used to using the Droid I’d be all set. If my mom can do it so can I! (I just need to work on these fat fingers…)

English word of the day: Cakes = cookies, or really any type of sweets. Guy across the cubicle from me brought in “cakes” which I heard and thought it was extravagant to bring in multiple cakes, only to turn around and see a tin of bite-size cookie things – picture snack bite sized 7-layer bars. Megs, your specialty.

Baby on board

In the annals of weird observations on the streets of London, today while heading to work I noticed a woman wearing a pin that read;

Apparently this is Transport for London’s (like the mbta) way of bringing back chivalry. The ingenious plan is to encourage Tube passengers to give up their seats to mothers-to-be without having been asked to do so. As if a woman with a protruding child inside her body isn’t enough to encourage someone to willingly relinquish their coveted seat on a long subway ride…these silly pins have been put in place.

I can’t even necessarily get on board with the signs that women put in their rear windshields, let alone when they plaster them to their chests. I guess the British culture lends itself to fear of offense, and men would rather be spoon-fed the confirmation that yes, indeed this woman is pregnant and should be offered a seat.

“Mind the Bump” research justifies that the pins are designed for women in hopes of giving the impregnated the power of voice that will encourage them to ask for that seat – and I guess also to serve as a congratulatory prize so that all know they are in fact with child (and not just packing on some holiday weight). It’s the suffrage of the subway.  Moral of the story…British selfishness front and center here, and their “solution” to help curb it.

What would my feminist American friends say about this one…

English word of the day: Flapjack = no translation!! My coworker was on the phone and told an American he just rang her while she has a mouthful of flapjack. When asked she couldn’t describe it. I looked at it trying to assess the situation and offer up a word…I mean it’s kind of like a granola bar but chewier and syrupier (yep that’s a word). I will work on finding the American equivalent and report back.

Acculturation

There are some things I don’t think I’ll ever get used to over here. For starters, I almost tackled a guy as he got out of his silly English car this morning in the middle of traffic. Like, whooooaaaa buddy, you can’t just get out of your car and leave it in the middle of the road, I don’t care where you have to be and when! Then I slowly realized... left = passenger. Right, play it cool, you knew that. I don’t know though, I’m not sure I’ll ever stop thinking the cars are driving themselves with the occupant just along for the ride.

Another thing that’s wacky, their stupid keyboards! Please see the miniature sized what I think is supposed to symbolize a SHIFT key, smaller than my pinky. I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I plug that weird key next to the up arrow instead of the "shift". Don’t even get me started on all the other misplaced keys. And I’m not even a good typer to begin with so imagine what this is doing to my typing self esteem.

;my apologies in advance if my emails to you end up looking like this with an abundance of ;;;;; in place of capital letters. 

Things I will get used to…and perhaps the best revelation of my first day at work…

This doesn't even give it justice...

I'm talking floor to ceiling on this sucker!

A FREE COFFEE machine in the office. Coming from an office that doesn’t even provide water cups for our water cooler which is more often out of service than in, let alone a coffee machine with pretty white mugs and a multitude of options. Customs is going to love me when I try and shove that sucker into my suitcase to ship home. Not just a normal coffee machine but you plug in the numbers for what type of hot beverage you would like AND how you would like it – I’m talking how many milks and sugars, steam, froth, temperature, additives, etc!  PLUS you have the options of Tea, Cappuccino, Espresso, Latte, Mocha, Hot Cocoa, or hot water (sort of feel bad for hot water right here. who wants to be hot water in this choosing frenzy?). See visual to understand the Porsche of Coffee Mates. This makes my Keurig look like a Skoda. (that’s British humour right there, you wouldn’t understand. Look it up.)

One more thing I will get used to…cheese rooms at grocery stores! I’m talking a whole room dedicated to the beautiful makings of the creamy pasteurized goodness that I so much adore. Without fail, every time I walk into a grocery store I gravitate toward the amazingness of these rooms. Sort of like Disney World, great place to visit but I wouldn't want to live there. This is a mini one, but spectacular nonetheless.

 Jealous yet?

English word of the day: Dropping hose = Fire Hose? I think? Saw one on my tube ride home.