I Think I Like It Here

Although it’s not terribly mindful of me, in recent weeks, while walking home from work, I have been thinking about the things that I will miss most when/if we leave the UK.  In the vernacular of our home, ‘when/if’ has been shortened to ‘whuf,’ so in this post and future ones, you should know that any talk of a potential move-back will be prefaced by this construction (i.e. “Whuf we move back to the States.”  It’s fun to say.  You’ll see.)

Though I know you are desperate to know more, I won’t elaborate on the possibility or timing of our move-back, except to say that it is largely subject to the whim and fancy of Dan’s employer.  At the moment, the company, which I shall call Fred, is quite busy revolutionizing the world of investing in Europe, Asia and Oceania.  Viva la revolución and all that, but we do hope that one day we might not need to live so close to its epicenter.  At that time, we will answer the siren call– mythological or emergency vehicle context, take your pick– of Isaac’s grandparents, other family members and friends, who would all vastly prefer that there not be an ocean between us.  As much as we enjoy it here, these people are terribly important to us.  Personally, I also miss Potbelly’s chocolate banana smoothies somethin’ fierce.  Dan, for his part, dreams of heaping plates of nachos.

Anyway, last week it occurred to me that it might be fun if, every so often, I post about some charm or another of life in the UK.  After all, if my days of dwelling on this small, crowded island are indeed numbered, then I had better record a few things for posterity’s sake.

Then last week I had one of those awful experiences with customer service that one occasionally experiences in this country.  I was trying to return a pair of shoes to a shop which I shall call Harry’s.  The clerk actually had the nerve to thwart me no less than three times, each time insisting that I had not followed the standard procedure that governs the system on which the quid pro quo is based that generally specifies how items are properly returned.  ’Tis a darn good thing that my friend Simon taught me the appropriate comeback to use in this country against someone who creates an annoyance of this magnitude:

Anyway, this awful experience made me realize that I just couldn’t be so earnest about it all.  The most beloved pastime on these shores– next to tea drinking, talking about the weather and watching the insufferable cricket–  is what the Brits like to call Taking the Piss.  Why break with tradition?  Therefore, I’ve decided that each time I post on this topic, I will describe two *lovely* things about life in London.

But first, a disclaimer or three:

1)  Though it may horrify my British readers, for the purposes of this list, “Lovely things about life in London” is also “Lovely things about life in the UK.”  I have lived nowhere else in the UK besides London, so, to me, to live in London is to live in the UK.  While some things I will describe pertain specifically to London, others will be generalizable to living just about anywhere in this country.  Yes, I know that many things are different in Aberdeen, Blackpool and Swansea, but please try to go with it.

2) Dan has, and will continue to, contribute to this list.  For this you should be grateful, because he is funnier than I.

3) In the great tradition of British humour, some items on this list are included in sincerity, others in jest.  You be the judge.

Lovely Thing About Life in London #1:  The Electric Kettle
It bubbles and gurgles with gusto.  It brings water to the boiling point in under a minute.  It is energy-saving, or at least purports to be.  Many models are transparent, making it possible to witness the tempestuous tango of hydrogen and oxygen molecules as they splatter and splash and sizzle about.  It produces a gorgeous cuppa, every time.

If you love hot drinks (who doesn’t?), the electric kettle is a wondrous thing.  Forget firing up your burner, boil times that exceed the length of t.v. adverts, or suffering that incessant whistle that goes from serene to full-on hysterical in under 30 seconds.  And forget about having to turn the burner off when your water has boiled, because the electric kettle shuts off all. by. itself.  For real-sies!

The electric kettle is ubiquitous in this land and beautiful in its ubiquity.  I challenge you to find more than a handful of British homes that don’t have one.  Incidentally, a former client of mine was actually in this curious minority.  Once, when I was at her house and she was fixing a drink for me, she confided that she actually preferred the old-fashioned kettle; the kind with the interminable wait and the maniacal whistle.  I never asked her why, but I wish I had.  She’s a Yank, though, so maybe it’s just a case of old habits dying hard.

I haven’t suffered that problem.  I’m quite a tea drinker and always have been.  But since moving to England my tea drinking has become ritualistic, thanks in large part to the electric kettle.  If you java-addicted Americans can believe it, most mornings I forego coffee in favor of a gorgeous, steaming hot cup of milky builder’s tea.  Tea deserves a post unto itself, of course, and will get its proper due.  Meanwhile, here’s to the electric kettle, about which I am cuc-koo.

The Electric Kettle

Lovely Thing About Life in London #2:  The Cricket
While we’re on national past times, may I just ask, WHAT IS UP WITH THE BLOODY CRICKET?!?  Rugby, Wimbledon, the Premier League, even Netball– I can get down with all of those.  But as far as I can tell, the cricket (which must not be uttered without the prefix the) is a horrible, insufferable bore played by skinny men wearing leisure suits.  And yet, like a Hoover on speed, it efficiently sucks massive chunks of the national attention span for weeks at a time.

Please do not misunderstand me:  I have tried to like it.  Really I have.  I know that I could significantly up my stock in social situations– especially those involving Dan’s work mates– if I could find anything intelligent or kindly to say about the sport.  Sadly, however, I would prefer a route canal to a five-day test match between England and one of Britain’s former colonies.  You Americans out there, if you think baseball is boring, you should thank your lucky stars for Cracker Jacks and the Seventh Inning Stretch.  Trust me, you want no part of the cricket.

As much as I like to bemoan Dan’s addiction to the English Premier League, the next time that Sunderland suits up against the Bolton Wanderers, I will bite my tongue and smile.  It may not match the excitement of Bears v. Redskins or Man U v. Chelsea, but I’ll thank my lucky wickets that it ain’t the cricket.

Image courtesy of http://www.x-cel.biz/images/uploaded/cartoon_Cricket.gif