"I was prepared to love you anyway."

A favourite recent quote from V* during a recent conversation wherein she expressed relief that I hadn't developed an affected British accent during my time here. But it's nice to know she woulda loved me anyway. :)

I'm over it.

I'm officially never eating chocolate again.

For the record, British chocolate is good. Really good. But this past weekend was Easter weekend, a.k.a. Four Days of Mandatory Chocolate Ingestion. Let's face it; when you're in a new country there is a temptation to do as the locals do, and the locals do swallow down a massive amount of cocoa and sugar products during this season. I have literally seen Easter eggs the size of human heads disappear rapidly, making all the British comments about the gargantuan sizes of American food portions um, ironic to say the least.

All this to say if I don't see another Cadbury egg or Lindt bunny until...well I guess until next Eater, I mean Easter, I'll be ok.

You haven't seen excitement...

until you've witnessed the hyper reaction of an entire office after the announcement: "Hot cross buns upstairs!"
For you Americans, I'll have to explain hot cross buns later as I'm at work.

Five Words for Britain.

Air conditioning. Look into it.

My New Hero

On a recent plane flight, in the rare few moments when I wasn't gripping the armrests in terror, I managed to start reading Bill Bryson's Notes From a Small Island, which a friend gave me a few years ago. I'd like to write like him when I grow up, though his hilarious observations about Britain basically render my blog superfluous. OK more superfluous.