England is Evil [2]

After 22 days in England, I grow weary of the mantra. It’s difficult to determine which is more annoying, the ‘England is evil,’ ditty, muttered in glowering tones of impending doom, or the ‘when we are go America?’ question, in the alternative. It’s tempting to climb into the tumble drier and hide, but of course in England domestic appliances are designed for people of diminished stature. I’d be lucky if I could put one foot inside the dinky little machine, manufactured to dry one pair of underpants at a time. It’s a timely reminder of why all British people wear thongs, regardless of age or physique.

The national shortage of Goldfish crackers, is of course unforgivable. Curiously, of all the many evils of England, the medieval practice of afternoon teatime at four o’clock is a big hit all round. I fester over the issue as to whether Jammy Dodgers biscuits are available in America, as their little red hearts are so endearing? Sadly, I already know that our arteries shall not be clogged with clotted cream, as strangely it is a culinary extravaganza that hasn’t caught on in the States.

22 days has meant a seamless automatic translation of fries into ‘chips’ without so much as a stutter. Collectively we overcome many new obstacles and learn a great deal. We learn that it is indeed possible to play beach cricket if one employs a neon yellow tennis ball, which appears to be close enough to ‘golden’ to make it acceptable foreplay. We learn that shower grouting can liquefy, but hardens very nicely on warm bodies. I learn that rather than a Rolls Royce being a stately and magnificent tribute to the British car industry, it is really only ‘cute’ and ‘weeny.’ We learn that the current level of hand strength means that it not possible to remove a three pin plug from a wall socket, even if you use a knife. We celebrate tool usage and a narrow escape from an ER visit. Furthermore, British road users prefer foreigners to use the same side of the road as they do, the left. My sons are indifferent, although it’s far more ‘fun’ when we drive the American way by mistake.

We learn that small fingers can be persuaded to pick up shells from sandy beaches. We learn that mother’s who lie about Hermit crabs inhabiting English shells are likely to be stoned, one way or another. I’d better nip that habit in the bud before someone becomes really crabby.

England is Evil

Don’t get me wrong, I’m delighted that he feels able to express his viewpoint verbally. I’d just prefer it if he could be a little more circumspect, especially whilst we happen to be in England. I’m sympathetic to many of his complaints, that the milkshakes are too small and that weather is too big, but loud mouthed Americans are just to much of a cliché, even for him.

Handy travel hint of the day – to ensure that your suitcases are fresh for next year, tuck a tumble drier sheet inside before storage. Take care to assess whether or not tumble drier sheets should be eliminated from your life style, along with the tumble drier to reduce your carbon footprint on the planet. Should you suffer the misfortune of someone vomiting in your suitcase, admit defeat and chuck away the suitcase, carbon footprint be damned. Be grateful that your brain torture has ceased and that the mysterious stench is no longer mysterious. Don’t forget to thank the thoughtful child that shut the suitcase after use.

Normal service shall be resumed as soon as humanly possible.