My England Diary or, a Texan in Old Blighty! PART TWO!!!!

First topic message reminder :

So surprise! After just two weeks in Texas, I'm back in an undisclosed location in the shire of Essex for a period of time that will be several months but which I'm not saying here because of what I'm fixin' to say now:

I got into a certain airport on a certain day that is near in time to today, and immigration grilled me like the proverbial cheese sandwich. Apparently they're a bit suspicious that I have no job and that I've been spending so much time here lately.

And as I said to my cab driver on the way home, I can't say that I blame them, but it's still rough to go through. I had my passport inspected, I had to call edds and ask her to send a photo of our marriage certificate, and I started to feel like I was doing something wrong!

Just to put that in perspective, I'm not taking benefits, not gonna use the NHS, not gonna take anybody's job since it's illegal for me to work here, and I'm just going to occupy about 5-11 and 14 stone worth of space, and spend money coming out of my own savings and some help from my Texas family, and I can't shake the feeling that the government now thinks I'm here for some nefarious purpose.

At one point, I was really scared they were going to turn me away, and I was going to have to figure out how to break that news to edds and then get back to Texas.

Anyway, I have to take a little comfort in the fact that they did eventually allow me through, so I suppose they do have a certain amount of discretion they can exercise.

Really glad to be back. Two weeks (give or take) away felt like far too long. And I've only committed one felony since arriving so those motherfuckers can lay off me!

HoratioTarr wrote:

Ben Reilly wrote:A few random tings:

* In America, kitchen roll, toilet roll, crisps, chips, a pavement, a hoover, tin foil, a jumper, pants, trousers, and the front room are, respectively: paper towels, toilet paper, chips, fries, a sidewalk, a vacuum, foil, a sweater, shorts, pants, and the living room.

* Americans would pronounce it: Totten Ham, Birmingham, Lie Chester, and Marlund. Brits pronounce it: Totnum, Birmingum, Lester, and Mary Land.

* I non-verbally told a guy off for driving too fast near a school as I was escorting two little girls home the other day (made the universally understood "what the fuck are you doing" gesture).

He slowed down, rolled down his window ... and apologized profusely. I'm pretty sure in America, he'd have given me all sorts of choice abuse.

* Some things about England seem really charmingly old-fashioned. We have a neighbor who still has a milkman delivering milk each morning and picking up the empty bottles.

Pronounce Marylebone.   No cheating.

Shan't.....I'm a Yorkshireman and wouldn't dare try. You come up with "On Ilkla Moor b'aht 'at".....every verse. No cheating.

Ben Reilly wrote:Just figured out this morning that a freephone number is what American people would call a toll-free number.

For hire or to let are just "for rent" in America.

Haha yeah those are good ones. I remember think let? Let you do what????

In return when I came back here, rent to own had become a big thing and it took a while to think ah yes that’s HP (hire purchase). And spackle (polyfilla). I really struggled with that and other DIY stuff.

I still crack everyone up here by saying massage with a hard A as the British do.

Fred Moletrousers wrote:

HoratioTarr wrote:

Pronounce Marylebone.   No cheating.

Shan't.....I'm a Yorkshireman and wouldn't dare try. You come up with "On Ilkla Moor b'aht 'at".....every verse. No cheating.

Or any Rabbie Burns poem. At some Burns Nights here, Mr. C and I have done a double act when reciting The Address, with me translating. Everyone was like ooooohhhhh that’s what it means. It was hilarious.

HoratioTarr wrote:

Ben Reilly wrote:A few random tings:

* In America, kitchen roll, toilet roll, crisps, chips, a pavement, a hoover, tin foil, a jumper, pants, trousers, and the front room are, respectively: paper towels, toilet paper, chips, fries, a sidewalk, a vacuum, foil, a sweater, shorts, pants, and the living room.

* Americans would pronounce it: Totten Ham, Birmingham, Lie Chester, and Marlund. Brits pronounce it: Totnum, Birmingum, Lester, and Mary Land.

* I non-verbally told a guy off for driving too fast near a school as I was escorting two little girls home the other day (made the universally understood "what the fuck are you doing" gesture).

He slowed down, rolled down his window ... and apologized profusely. I'm pretty sure in America, he'd have given me all sorts of choice abuse.

* Some things about England seem really charmingly old-fashioned. We have a neighbor who still has a milkman delivering milk each morning and picking up the empty bottles.

Pronounce Marylebone.   No cheating.

Hahahahahaha! MARE-a-la-bone.

Cass wrote:

Ben Reilly wrote:Just figured out this morning that a freephone number is what American people would call a toll-free number.

For hire or to let are just "for rent" in America.

Haha yeah those are good ones. I remember think let? Let you do what????

In return when I came back here, rent to own had become a big thing and it took a while to think ah yes that’s HP (hire purchase). And spackle (polyfilla). I really struggled with that and other DIY stuff.

I still crack everyone up here by saying massage with a hard A as the British do.

See, back in the day I would have thought Hewlett-Packard for HP, and these days, brown sauce.

Can't believe I haven't gotten around to this yet, but I wanted to write about my new view on the food you get in England.

I came here thinking I'd never taste a hot jalapeno pepper again, having heard the stereotype that English food is bland (and, oddly enough, that the English boil most of their food).

The truth couldn't be more different. Of course I've tried fish and chips, bangers and mash, etc., but there's so much more, and I really don't think there's anything I liked in Texas that I couldn't get here.

The big difference is that where Texans eat Mexican food a lot, the English have Indian food, but I've already found my favorite curry (chicken tikka massalla, sure I misspelled that) and apparently you only have to have one favorite Indian dish

In our small town's Tesco, I can find the exact same ingredients that go into the tacos, burritos, enchiladas, etc. that I grew up with. And I was quite amused, flattered and delighted to find a "Tex-Mex" section among the ready meals, though I haven't tried any yet.

Another big thing that surprised me, funny enough, is strawberries. I'd never had a sweet strawberry until I came here. We always had to put sugar on them back in Texas, and I never really cared for them. Here, I could eat them all day.

It's great you are enjoying the Brit food Ben, Maybe we used to have a limited taste and choice in the food we ate here, but not so nowadays....there is a really wide selection of everything you could wish for.

Speaking of Strawberries, supermarket Asda have just come top in a taste test for where to buy the best ready packed Strawberries...£2 a punnet, no added sugar required.

Pop half a one in a glass of prosecco to compliment it....that's what I am having after my tea tonight.

You'll have to come to Wales and try cockles, laverbread, leeks and bara brith .

Try a chip shop pickled onion Ben......It will blow your socks off. Proper pickles don't have any sugar or other sweetener in me...unlike those pathetic things you call pickles in the states.......

Victorismyhero wrote:Try a chip shop pickled onion Ben......It will blow your socks off. Proper pickles don't have any sugar or other sweetener in me...unlike those pathetic things you call pickles in the states.......

Lots of things are cheap and pathetic in the US. It's a capitalist country. Capitalism aims at profit, not quality.

Proper pickled onions are lovely.....unlike those huge jars of pickled eggs, which always remind me of something you would see in a science lab....gross.

Ben Reilly wrote:

HoratioTarr wrote:

Pronounce Marylebone.   No cheating.

Hahahahahaha! MARE-a-la-bone.

No.  Marlaben

Original Quill wrote:

Victorismyhero wrote:Try a chip shop pickled onion Ben......It will blow your socks off. Proper pickles don't have any sugar or other sweetener in me...unlike those pathetic things you call pickles in the states.......

Lots of things are cheap and pathetic in the US.  It's a capitalist country.  Capitalism aims at profit, not quality.

The UK is also a capitalist country, comrade.

Maddog wrote:

Original Quill wrote:

Victorismyhero wrote:Try a chip shop pickled onion Ben......It will blow your socks off. Proper pickles don't have any sugar or other sweetener in me...unlike those pathetic things you call pickles in the states.......

Lots of things are cheap and pathetic in the US.  It's a capitalist country.  Capitalism aims at profit, not quality.

The UK is also a capitalist country, comrade.  

The UK is far more socialist than the US, and far more left as well. Your typical right-winger here sounds like a mainstream Democrat in the states on most issues.

HoratioTarr wrote:

Ben Reilly wrote:

Hahahahahaha! MARE-a-la-bone.

No.  Marlaben  

you're both wrong

it's ,,,, marry-le-bone

Marry-le -bone is correct !

gelico wrote:

HoratioTarr wrote:

No.  Marlaben  

you're both wrong

it's ,,,,  marry-le-bone

lol, when you think about it Gelico, when you spell and sound it out correctly. It looks like a hybred english French word. With le meaning the. All you need is an r on the end of bone and it becomes "marry the boner"

gelico wrote:

HoratioTarr wrote:

Ben Reilly wrote:

Hahahahahaha! MARE-a-la-bone.

No.  Marlaben  

you're both wrong

it's ,,,,  marry-le-bone

Yes. Quite.

St.Mary's on the bourne (stream). The Tybourne or Tyburn

Maddog wrote:

Original Quill wrote:

Lots of things are cheap and pathetic in the US.  It's a capitalist country.  Capitalism aims at profit, not quality.

The UK is also a capitalist country, comrade.

 

Wrong again,  dipshit...

The UK is a "mixed capitalist economy", with a semi-democratic parliamentary system (their 'upper house' --  the House of Perverts and Paedo's --  is still an unelected rabble..)..

And with "socialised" healthcare and education systems  --  areas that the USA still hasn't come to grips with..

gelico wrote:

HoratioTarr wrote:

No.  Marlaben  

you're both wrong

it's ,,,,  marry-le-bone

That's how I pronounce it.

gelico wrote:

HoratioTarr wrote:

No.  Marlaben  

you're both wrong

it's ,,,,  marry-le-bone

I'm from London. We always pronounced it Marlaben.   Just as Shoreditch was not Shore Ditch, but one word.

Phonetics For 'Marylebone'
mar-li-bun or mar-li-bohn (US) mah-li-bun or mah-li-b'n (British English)

nicko wrote:Marry-le -bone is correct !

It's not if you're a Londoner.

https://pronounce.london/word/marylebone/

lol, I am also from London and nobody I know pronounces the way Horatio claims

Which means ther is many variations of how to prounounce it. I dont buy the poor excuses made in the link which fails to understand how words diverge and change through time. All that is being claimed is cockney has the true meaning of how to pronounce this, but er no. Cockneys have their own dialect on words, which is far removed from the English language on words and how they are pronounced. As we are speaking about the queens english here, not cockney

So you stand corrected here Horatio. As gelico and nicko are right, being as cockney is simple a slang form of how to say the name. Not how it should be said

Any one born within sound of Bow bells , it is said , is a Cockney. My Uncle was born two doors away, He always said , and I quote " them fucking Bells are a Nightmare" !

Wow, haven't written in this in a long time! And it's not even a proper diary entry, just a funny story about eddie.

I've been sitting here, waiting for her to send me a link through Facebook Messenger, and she realized she hadn't sent it.

"Oh, I've still got it here in my finger!" she exclaimed.

I started laughing because I knew what she meant but, typical of eddie, it was such a weird-ass way of putting it.

For those who don't get it -- she had copied the link and was ready to paste it on her iPad. She thinks of this, apparently, as getting the link in her finger. She knows better, of course, but she said when she first got the iPad, she used to feel like she had to use the same finger she'd copied the link with to paste it.

Aw .... such a lovable little retard

ahem....Ben......the term "retard" is considered un-PC

Victorismyhero wrote:ahem....Ben......the term "retard" is considered un-PC

I know some people find it offensive, but I figure if they're smart enough to be offended by it then they're not retarded, and if they're not retarded they don't really have the right to be offended

Ben Reilly wrote:

Victorismyhero wrote:ahem....Ben......the term "retard" is considered un-PC

I know some people find it offensive, but I figure if they're smart enough to be offended by it then they're not retarded, and if they're not retarded they don't really have the right to be offended

Hahahahahahaha genius!

ah but..."the luvvies" revel in being offended on someone else's behalf so......

Victorismyhero wrote:ah but..."the luvvies" revel in being offended on someone else's behalf so......

Who you callin' a luvvy???

anyone under 50 and left of ghengis khan

Actually, Ben and I don’t do PC. It’s a tad boring. And seeing as we both know we are always joking....who the bloody hell cares?

Ben Reilly wrote:Wow, haven't written in this in a long time! And it's not even a proper diary entry, just a funny story about eddie.

I've been sitting here, waiting for her to send me a link through Facebook Messenger, and she realized she hadn't sent it.

"Oh, I've still got it here in my finger!" she exclaimed.

I started laughing because I knew what she meant but, typical of eddie, it was such a weird-ass way of putting it.

For those who don't get it -- she had copied the link and was ready to paste it on her iPad. She thinks of this, apparently, as getting the link in her finger. She knows better, of course, but she said when she first got the iPad, she used to feel like she had to use the same finger she'd copied the link with to paste it.

Aw .... such a lovable little retard

well, you do don't you?

Ben Reilly wrote:

Victorismyhero wrote:ahem....Ben......the term "retard" is considered un-PC

I know some people find it offensive, but I figure if they're smart enough to be offended by it then they're not retarded, and if they're not retarded they don't really have the right to be offended

hehehehe perfect

my son called me a retard t'other day.

i have a habit of losing track of the word i want to say and trying to fill in the gap as best i can.

he said, ''you're hopeless mum, such a retard. honestly if you came into the pub where i work and tried to order a coke with a slice of lemon and some ice you would probably end up saying - brown fizzy and a bit of yellow bitter bit and some freezy blocks''

I'm a Housewife, I Get It, London, and Language Nerdery

Eventful past two days for me here in my hopefully-soon-to-be home. And I mean hopefully, because after the time I've spent here on this island, among its people, I feel more and more like one of you, more and more at home, and more and more concerned about what's going on here.

So yeah, this is something that housewives will surely understand, but I find myself getting more excited about visiting friends or having them over, or going places, than I used to. It's because I spend a lot of time in the house, taking care of my stepdaughter, helping keep the house running, etc. I never realized how much fun it can be to simply drink with friends or go somewhere before I had this other stuff on my plate. And frankly, I can't wait to get back to work.

But anyway, yesterday we took the stepdaughter, Jeff (not her real name) to the Natural History and Science museums in London, and that was a blast. The only parts of London I've seen properly are Covent Garden and the shittier area where our immigration lawyer works, and it's a thrill to see this city, so over-stuffed with history and culture. The only thing that went wrong was, I decided to wear flip-flops, in a show of solidarity with Jeff, who loves hers.

I really enjoyed the museums, especially the dinosaurs (when I started school at four, dinosaurs had me telling my parents and grandparents that I wanted to be a paleontologist when I grew up). But it was new as well, because when we got to a section where it explained how babies are made, I found myself instinctively moving my body into position where innocent little Jeff couldn't see the display, mainly to save me and Edds some awkward conversations but also because we don't think she needs to know more than the broad strokes at this point.

I really liked this one section of one of the museums where they showed old household appliances, because I am a completely irredeemable boffin who just gets man-wet at stuff like that.

We had a picnic lunch on the grounds of one of the museums where Edds pointed out that she and Jeff were probably in the minority, which reminded me of the thrill I had in my early 20s, going to New York City and realizing I was in the middle of one of those cities that everybody talks about, full of foreign tourists, a city to get excited about visiting even if you live an hour's journey away.

The tube station was inexplicably closed when we were done, which had Edds thoroughly confused, so we wandered around a bit before we figured out the way to Knightsbridge and got back on the train.

When the train finally cleared enough for us to sit together, we began the daily dinner discussion, and I have to say that Edds comes up with so many alternative versions of plans, I can easily get lost, so when she and Jeff peeled off and headed toward the chip shop, I took it in stride, as I knew my mission was to go to Tesco's.

The last thing I heard Edds say to Jeff was to walk faster, and Jeff responding "I can’t walk any faster without harassing my legs!” which was great and which reminded me of how eerily similar this little girl with who I share no genes is to me -- we're both people who can come out with something that sounds hilarious or profound, but deep down we're really just barbarians who'd happily spend our days rolling around in our own filth without outside intervention.

Today rolls around and I find myself at Tesco's, as I'm wont to do, and I hear a woman speaking in a very distinct American accent, so mustering the smoothest of my social skills, I say to her, "You sound American!" And she tells me that she was actually born here in this charming Essex town and has been living here the past 14 years, but that she spent the rest of her life living in San Francisco, Quill's hometown.

Which got me to talking to my favorite Tesco's cashier, Adam, with whom I've talked about everything from the dearth of leadership in contemporary British politics to euthenasia, about accents. He reckons that whatever accent you have at age 15 is the one you're stuck with, unless you deliberately change the way you speak, and I reckon I wouldn't say things like "he reckons" unless English English was influencing the way I speak, which I know it has been. Sometimes I even mix Texan and English, which weirds me out a bit, but I guess it's just natural. I now say things like hoovering and bins and pavement and pudding, and it's just because I'm surrounded by people who talk like that. I laugh, thinking that some of them might assume that Texans talk that way.

So this is me -- moving on from one home to another, knowing I'd be equally comfortable in either, but positive that if I don't get to move here, it will be the worst thing that's ever happened to me.

But I'm a sunny person at heart. I know things generally manage to work themselves out. I brush thoughts like that aside and soon find myself preoccupied with excitement about what my future holds -- legal status that lets me function fully as the husband to my precious wife.

Now that I've tasted my dream, I won't settle for anything else.

Oh, and the flip-flops mistake led me to very sore legs today. I kept walking around saying "Me duelen las piernas," because I like to speak Spanish just to show off sometimes.

Ben Reilly wrote:I'm a Housewife, I Get It, London, and Language Nerdery

Eventful past two days for me here in my hopefully-soon-to-be home. And I mean hopefully, because after the time I've spent here on this island, among its people, I feel more and more like one of you, more and more at home, and more and more concerned about what's going on here.

So yeah, this is something that housewives will surely understand, but I find myself getting more excited about visiting friends or having them over, or going places, than I used to. It's because I spend a lot of time in the house, taking care of my stepdaughter, helping keep the house running, etc. I never realized how much fun it can be to simply drink with friends or go somewhere before I had this other stuff on my plate. And frankly, I can't wait to get back to work.

But anyway, yesterday we took the stepdaughter, Jeff (not her real name) to the Natural History and Science museums in London, and that was a blast. The only parts of London I've seen properly are Covent Garden and the shittier area where our immigration lawyer works, and it's a thrill to see this city, so over-stuffed with history and culture. The only thing that went wrong was, I decided to wear flip-flops, in a show of solidarity with Jeff, who loves hers.

I really enjoyed the museums, especially the dinosaurs (when I started school at four, dinosaurs had me telling my parents and grandparents that I wanted to be a paleontologist when I grew up). But it was new as well, because when we got to a section where it explained how babies are made, I found myself instinctively moving my body into position where innocent little Jeff couldn't see the display, mainly to save me and Edds some awkward conversations but also because we don't think she needs to know more than the broad strokes at this point.

I really liked this one section of one of the museums where they showed old household appliances, because I am a completely irredeemable boffin who just gets man-wet at stuff like that.

We had a picnic lunch on the grounds of one of the museums where Edds pointed out that she and Jeff were probably in the minority, which reminded me of the thrill I had in my early 20s, going to New York City and realizing I was in the middle of one of those cities that everybody talks about, full of foreign tourists, a city to get excited about visiting even if you live an hour's journey away.

The tube station was inexplicably closed when we were done, which had Edds thoroughly confused, so we wandered around a bit before we figured out the way to Knightsbridge and got back on the train.

When the train finally cleared enough for us to sit together, we began the daily dinner discussion, and I have to say that Edds comes up with so many alternative versions of plans, I can easily get lost, so when she and Jeff peeled off and headed toward the chip shop, I took it in stride, as I knew my mission was to go to Tesco's.

The last thing I heard Edds say to Jeff was to walk faster, and Jeff responding "I can’t walk any faster without harassing my legs!” which was great and which reminded me of how eerily similar this little girl with who I share no genes is to me -- we're both people who can come out with something that sounds hilarious or profound, but deep down we're really just barbarians who'd happily spend our days rolling around in our own filth without outside intervention.

Today rolls around and I find myself at Tesco's, as I'm wont to do, and I hear a woman speaking in a very distinct American accent, so mustering the smoothest of my social skills, I say to her, "You sound American!" And she tells me that she was actually born here in this charming Essex town and has been living here the past 14 years, but that she spent the rest of her life living in San Francisco, Quill's hometown.

Which got me to talking to my favorite Tesco's cashier, Adam, with whom I've talked about everything from the dearth of leadership in contemporary British politics to euthenasia, about accents. He reckons that whatever accent you have at age 15 is the one you're stuck with, unless you deliberately change the way you speak, and I reckon I wouldn't say things like "he reckons" unless English English was influencing the way I speak, which I know it has been. Sometimes I even mix Texan and English, which weirds me out a bit, but I guess it's just natural. I now say things like hoovering and bins and pavement and pudding, and it's just because I'm surrounded by people who talk like that. I laugh, thinking that some of them might assume that Texans talk that way.

So this is me -- moving on from one home to another, knowing I'd be equally comfortable in either, but positive that if I don't get to move here, it will be the worst thing that's ever happened to me.

But I'm a sunny person at heart. I know things generally manage to work themselves out. I brush thoughts like that aside and soon find myself preoccupied with excitement about what my future holds -- legal status that lets me function fully as the husband to my precious wife.

Now that I've tasted my dream, I won't settle for anything else.

Jeff may just be the most hilarious stand in name ever

Glad you love tourist London - I feel exactly the same whenever I go! I feel as much a tourist as anyone else and could honestly drown in the history and culture. The museums are among the best in the world and make London a treasure both outdoors and indoors.

Also, congrats on improving your English by saying the proper words for things - big steps!

Ben Reilly wrote:I'm a Housewife, I Get It, London, and Language Nerdery

Eventful past two days for me here in my hopefully-soon-to-be home. And I mean hopefully, because after the time I've spent here on this island, among its people, I feel more and more like one of you, more and more at home, and more and more concerned about what's going on here.

So yeah, this is something that housewives will surely understand, but I find myself getting more excited about visiting friends or having them over, or going places, than I used to. It's because I spend a lot of time in the house, taking care of my stepdaughter, helping keep the house running, etc. I never realized how much fun it can be to simply drink with friends or go somewhere before I had this other stuff on my plate. And frankly, I can't wait to get back to work.

But anyway, yesterday we took the stepdaughter, Jeff (not her real name) to the Natural History and Science museums in London, and that was a blast. The only parts of London I've seen properly are Covent Garden and the shittier area where our immigration lawyer works, and it's a thrill to see this city, so over-stuffed with history and culture. The only thing that went wrong was, I decided to wear flip-flops, in a show of solidarity with Jeff, who loves hers.

I really enjoyed the museums, especially the dinosaurs (when I started school at four, dinosaurs had me telling my parents and grandparents that I wanted to be a paleontologist when I grew up). But it was new as well, because when we got to a section where it explained how babies are made, I found myself instinctively moving my body into position where innocent little Jeff couldn't see the display, mainly to save me and Edds some awkward conversations but also because we don't think she needs to know more than the broad strokes at this point.

I really liked this one section of one of the museums where they showed old household appliances, because I am a completely irredeemable boffin who just gets man-wet at stuff like that.

We had a picnic lunch on the grounds of one of the museums where Edds pointed out that she and Jeff were probably in the minority, which reminded me of the thrill I had in my early 20s, going to New York City and realizing I was in the middle of one of those cities that everybody talks about, full of foreign tourists, a city to get excited about visiting even if you live an hour's journey away.

The tube station was inexplicably closed when we were done, which had Edds thoroughly confused, so we wandered around a bit before we figured out the way to Knightsbridge and got back on the train.

When the train finally cleared enough for us to sit together, we began the daily dinner discussion, and I have to say that Edds comes up with so many alternative versions of plans, I can easily get lost, so when she and Jeff peeled off and headed toward the chip shop, I took it in stride, as I knew my mission was to go to Tesco's.

The last thing I heard Edds say to Jeff was to walk faster, and Jeff responding "I can’t walk any faster without harassing my legs!” which was great and which reminded me of how eerily similar this little girl with who I share no genes is to me -- we're both people who can come out with something that sounds hilarious or profound, but deep down we're really just barbarians who'd happily spend our days rolling around in our own filth without outside intervention.

Today rolls around and I find myself at Tesco's, as I'm wont to do, and I hear a woman speaking in a very distinct American accent, so mustering the smoothest of my social skills, I say to her, "You sound American!" And she tells me that she was actually born here in this charming Essex town and has been living here the past 14 years, but that she spent the rest of her life living in San Francisco, Quill's hometown.

Which got me to talking to my favorite Tesco's cashier, Adam, with whom I've talked about everything from the dearth of leadership in contemporary British politics to euthenasia, about accents. He reckons that whatever accent you have at age 15 is the one you're stuck with, unless you deliberately change the way you speak, and I reckon I wouldn't say things like "he reckons" unless English English was influencing the way I speak, which I know it has been. Sometimes I even mix Texan and English, which weirds me out a bit, but I guess it's just natural. I now say things like hoovering and bins and pavement and pudding, and it's just because I'm surrounded by people who talk like that. I laugh, thinking that some of them might assume that Texans talk that way.

So this is me -- moving on from one home to another, knowing I'd be equally comfortable in either, but positive that if I don't get to move here, it will be the worst thing that's ever happened to me.

But I'm a sunny person at heart. I know things generally manage to work themselves out. I brush thoughts like that aside and soon find myself preoccupied with excitement about what my future holds -- legal status that lets me function fully as the husband to my precious wife.

Now that I've tasted my dream, I won't settle for anything else.

hahahaha ''jeff''

Glad y'all like that, I actually do sometimes call her that as a nickname (long story).

Ben Reilly wrote:Glad y'all like that, I actually do sometimes call her that as a nickname (long story).

And she answers to it. Weird kid.

eddie wrote:

Ben Reilly wrote:Glad y'all like that, I actually do sometimes call her that as a nickname (long story).

And she answers to it. Weird kid.

I think she likes it! One time after I called her by Jeff, she said, "You haven't called me Jeff in ages!"

I'm not surprised she's a weird kid....

like mother like daughter.......(in a nice way of course)

there's nowt wrong with being weird....

Victorismyhero wrote:I'm not surprised she's a weird kid....

like mother like daughter.......(in a nice way of course)

there's nowt wrong with being weird....

Hell no, the world needs more weirdos. Especially since they keep trying to make everyone into a cog in the machine!

Victorismyhero wrote:I'm not surprised she's a weird kid....

like mother like daughter.......(in a nice way of course)

there's nowt wrong with being weird....

OY! Who asked you....weirdo!

More American, with English translations:

* dish-washing liquid; dish detergent = washing-up liquid

* front/back yard = garden

* can = bin

* trash/garbage/U.S. health care policy = rubbish

* eggplant = aubergine

* zucchini = courgette

* arugula = rocket

* rutabaga = swede

* mail = post

* sweater = jumper

* pants = trousers

* underwear = pants

* panties = knickers

* candy = sweets

* cigarette = fag

* British = Scottish, (Northern) Irish, and sometimes Welsh, but rarely "English" which somehow has racist connotations

* dollar store = pound shop

* thrift store = charity shop

* barber shop = barber's

* butcher shop = butcher's

* doctor's office = doctor's

* around = round

* vacation = holiday

* elementary school = primary school

* Kindergarten = reception

* run for office = stand for election

* day care = nursery

* study = read, revise

So my stay, nearly six months, is nearly at an end -- I only have a few days left. I'm going to miss eddie so much, and my stepdaughter, and probably my stepson as well, though we don't get to spend as much time together.

I'm going to miss my friends here, both the close ones and the people I only well enough to chat with on school runs and when we bump into each other on the high street, or at Tesco.

I'm going to miss the house that has become my home, and taking care of it. I'm going to worry so much about eddie trying to do everything on her own, while I'm away. I said this to her a few minutes ago -- I've gone from feeling that I wanted to be here so bad, to now feeling so strongly that I need to be here.

I'm angry, to be frank. I'm angry at anybody who could see me here and say that I'm not welcome, because to the people here, in our little town, I am welcome. They want me here. They're cheering for me and for eddie to have me here to stay.

I'm a bit mind-fucked as well. I have to go back to Texas and try to find a new way to live, at least for a while. I don't want to. When I visit Texas in the future, I want it to be to catch up with my mom and my siblings, and to enjoy a little taste of Texas, just for the fun of it.

I've grown so much from this. I've become a competent parent and a better husband. I've had my horizons broadened, my perspective changed. I've learned that home can be any place where the people you love and care about are close by.

I'm asked all the time by English people, "Do you like our country?" I always find myself flabbergasted -- of course I like it! I love it! This country is where the rest of my story will be set, mostly, if everything works out.

I find myself needing to bring back some things that will remind me of my new home, as though I'm going somewhere strange to me, even though it's Texas that I'm returning to. I want to be able to have things we can't get in Texas, like brown sauce and blackcurrant candy.

I'll miss the Royal Mail trucks, and the black cabs, and the phone booths, and especially the accents.

It's only for a few months, but it feels like being uprooted, despite the fact that I'm going back to Texas.

And I think it's because Texas has become my past. I'll always love it, but I'm past it now. England is my present, for a few more days, and my future, if I can do anything about it.

I've found myself thinking of a famous poem, "Harlem" by Langston Hughes, lately, which I will end this entry with:

What happens to a dream deferred?

     Does it dry up
     like a raisin in the sun?
     Or fester like a sore—
     And then run?
     Does it stink like rotten meat?
     Or crust and sugar over—
     like a syrupy sweet?

     Maybe it just sags
     like a heavy load.

     Or does it explode?

Ben Reilly wrote:So my stay, nearly six months, is nearly at an end -- I only have a few days left. I'm going to miss eddie so much, and my stepdaughter, and probably my stepson as well, though we don't get to spend as much time together.

I'm going to miss my friends here, both the close ones and the people I only well enough to chat with on school runs and when we bump into each other on the high street, or at Tesco.

I'm going to miss the house that has become my home, and taking care of it. I'm going to worry so much about eddie trying to do everything on her own, while I'm away. I said this to her a few minutes ago -- I've gone from feeling that I wanted to be here so bad, to now feeling so strongly that I need to be here.

I'm angry, to be frank. I'm angry at anybody who could see me here and say that I'm not welcome, because to the people here, in our little town, I am welcome. They want me here. They're cheering for me and for eddie to have me here to stay.

I'm a bit mind-fucked as well. I have to go back to Texas and try to find a new way to live, at least for a while. I don't want to. When I visit Texas in the future, I want it to be to catch up with my mom and my siblings, and to enjoy a little taste of Texas, just for the fun of it.

I've grown so much from this. I've become a competent parent and a better husband. I've had my horizons broadened, my perspective changed. I've learned that home can be any place where the people you love and care about are close by.

I'm asked all the time by English people, "Do you like our country?" I always find myself flabbergasted -- of course I like it! I love it! This country is where the rest of my story will be set, mostly, if everything works out.

I find myself needing to bring back some things that will remind me of my new home, as though I'm going somewhere strange to me, even though it's Texas that I'm returning to. I want to be able to have things we can't get in Texas, like brown sauce and blackcurrant candy.

I'll miss the Royal Mail trucks, and the black cabs, and the phone booths, and especially the accents.

It's only for a few months, but it feels like being uprooted, despite the fact that I'm going back to Texas.

And I think it's because Texas has become my past. I'll always love it, but I'm past it now. England is my present, for a few more days, and my future, if I can do anything about it.

I've found myself thinking of a famous poem, "Harlem" by Langston Hughes, lately, which I will end this entry with:

What happens to a dream deferred?

     Does it dry up
     like a raisin in the sun?
     Or fester like a sore—
     And then run?
     Does it stink like rotten meat?
     Or crust and sugar over—
     like a syrupy sweet?

     Maybe it just sags
     like a heavy load.

     Or does it explode?

It does seem a bit unfair. I sorta told part of your story to a couple that I ride with as she just got her green card, and was so happy to show it to me.

No more worrying about a change in her legal status based on the whims of you know who.

Now she can leave the country and not worry, even though she is married to a US citizen.

aw, Ben. That was so sweet

I really hope you guys get sorted for good

xxx

Wow, so ... day 3 back in Texas, and it's really weird. And it feels like I've been away for weeks already.

I wake up in the middle of the night feeling around in the bed for edds, only to have reality crash around my ears and make me want to throw up, or cry, or both.

I wake up at about 2 a.m. here, 8 a.m. England time, thinking I need to jump up and help get our little girl ready and off to school, and help get eddie off to work, and then I realize I have nothing to do and no way to help anybody. And that feels pretty helpless.

It's weird to essentially be back in my old life after living the life I want for six months. I sleepwalked through Saturday, the day I traveled back, occasionally having panicky feelings that I was doing something terrible to the people I love most, and myself.

Getting the chance to talk with my mother and siblings, and to pet the dog I left with them, is nice, of course -- but then comes a guilty feeling, a bit like the first time you laugh after a loved one dies. Like you have no right to feel good.

I constantly worry about eddie trying to do everything on her own. At the same time, I have to try to pull myself out of this funk and get my ass into a job again, after not having worked since late last year, so that I can at least help out my family in England and in Texas with some money.

When I first saw eddie's face on my computer screen after being able to see her in person for nearly 9 months of this year, I wanted to cry -- it felt like going back to the days of two-week visits with months apart in between. Because it sort of is.

December feels like it will never get here, the way these past few days have dragged by. And there's not a damn thing to do about it.

Sorry for the depressing update ... I guess that's all I have to say.