Thursday, July 24, 2008
Newspaper headline of the week
This you-couldn't-make-it-up story about John Darwin, the man who faked his own death in a canoeing accident, has nothing to do with Englishmen in New Orleans. But I think the headline is a work of inspired genius.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Y'all have a good day now, ya hear?
I enjoy having a British accent, and I make few concessions to fitting in and sounding like a local. I relish the almost daily conversations with strangers wondering where I'm from (most think I'm Australian. Sometimes I'll say 'Have a guess', and occasionally people will say 'Oh', assuming Havagess is a fjord in Norway or something).
I'll always remember the housekeeper who knocked on my hotel door in Uniontown, Pennsylvania to ask whether I wanted my room cleaned. When I replied, her jaw dropped. 'Wow! I love your accent!' she said. 'It makes you sound so good looking'.
But sometimes needs must, and talking like an American is a matter of basic survival. If people ask me my last name and I say 'Goddard', they look blank and ask me to spell it. But if I say 'GAH-drd', they get it straight away.
When I was walking across the country in midsummer, I sometimes had to knock on people's doors and ask them to refill my water bottle for me. Cue the blank stare again. So I learned to say 'WAH-dr bodl', and after a while I stopped feeling silly adopting a fake American accent.
And there's a word I use, again with a degree of selfconsciousness. It's a shibboleth, a daily reminder that I'm in the deep south and not the east coast or the midwest or the west coast. As it approaches, a little alarm bell goes off in my brain and I have to prepare myself to say it.
Sometimes I lose my nerve and say 'You' even though I'm talking to, or about, more than one person. Sometimes I'll fudge it and say 'You all'. But occasionally I'll come up with a reasonable approximation to the correct pronunciation, 'Yahl'.
It's made me realise that there's a gap in British English that doesn't exist in large parts of the world.
Most European languages have plural forms of 'you'. The French say vous, the Germans Sie or Ihr, the Spanish vosotros or ustedes. Even the Irish have the convenient and ubiquitous 'youse'. But in Britain, where 'thou' and 'ye' have long since died out, we have to come up with some kind of clumsy circumlocution if we want to make it clear that we're talking in the plural.
Anyway, an unexpected 'Y'all' in a conversation can still send a metaphorical shiver of pleasure down my spine.
In the restaurant this evening the waitress said: 'I'll be back in a moment with y'all's drinks'. Afterwards, we staggered off, defeated by a mountain of spaghetti and meatballs, leaving a generous tip because we were embarrassed at the destruction wrought by two-year-old Rowan. But she'd seen it all before, and told us: 'Y'all come back.' Once again, she made me realise that the South is a foreign country within a foreign country.
By the way, Rowan is about to become my step-grandson. I could never have dreamed that a wonderful family of strangers half a world away in Little Rock, Arkansas would one day become relatives by marriage. Here they are: Scott, Dana, Rowan, and four-week-old Arden.
I'll always remember the housekeeper who knocked on my hotel door in Uniontown, Pennsylvania to ask whether I wanted my room cleaned. When I replied, her jaw dropped. 'Wow! I love your accent!' she said. 'It makes you sound so good looking'.
But sometimes needs must, and talking like an American is a matter of basic survival. If people ask me my last name and I say 'Goddard', they look blank and ask me to spell it. But if I say 'GAH-drd', they get it straight away.
When I was walking across the country in midsummer, I sometimes had to knock on people's doors and ask them to refill my water bottle for me. Cue the blank stare again. So I learned to say 'WAH-dr bodl', and after a while I stopped feeling silly adopting a fake American accent.
And there's a word I use, again with a degree of selfconsciousness. It's a shibboleth, a daily reminder that I'm in the deep south and not the east coast or the midwest or the west coast. As it approaches, a little alarm bell goes off in my brain and I have to prepare myself to say it.
Sometimes I lose my nerve and say 'You' even though I'm talking to, or about, more than one person. Sometimes I'll fudge it and say 'You all'. But occasionally I'll come up with a reasonable approximation to the correct pronunciation, 'Yahl'.
It's made me realise that there's a gap in British English that doesn't exist in large parts of the world.
Most European languages have plural forms of 'you'. The French say vous, the Germans Sie or Ihr, the Spanish vosotros or ustedes. Even the Irish have the convenient and ubiquitous 'youse'. But in Britain, where 'thou' and 'ye' have long since died out, we have to come up with some kind of clumsy circumlocution if we want to make it clear that we're talking in the plural.
Anyway, an unexpected 'Y'all' in a conversation can still send a metaphorical shiver of pleasure down my spine.
In the restaurant this evening the waitress said: 'I'll be back in a moment with y'all's drinks'. Afterwards, we staggered off, defeated by a mountain of spaghetti and meatballs, leaving a generous tip because we were embarrassed at the destruction wrought by two-year-old Rowan. But she'd seen it all before, and told us: 'Y'all come back.' Once again, she made me realise that the South is a foreign country within a foreign country.
By the way, Rowan is about to become my step-grandson. I could never have dreamed that a wonderful family of strangers half a world away in Little Rock, Arkansas would one day become relatives by marriage. Here they are: Scott, Dana, Rowan, and four-week-old Arden.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Home again
Hooray! I'm an Englishman in New Orleans again. People have been badgering me to keep up my blog, but 'An Englishman in London' doesn't have the same stranger-in-a-strange-land ring to it.
As we entered the country yesterday afternoon, there was an eerie sense of déjà vu. In July 2007, as I reported earlier, Pam and I arrived in Philadelphia and had a two-hour encounter with a rude immigration official who threatened to send me back to England.
This time we landed in Philly again, and again I was sent off to the same room for secondary screening, two words that strike despond into the heart of any visitor to the States.
But the experience could not have been more different. The official scanned my file silently for a couple of minutes, a smile on his face. Then he said: 'Wow, that's an amazing story. ' He briskly stamped my passport, said 'Welcome to the United States, and good luck with your marriage'.
Did I mention we're getting married on September 20? We want a small, simple beach wedding, and we've decided on Puerto Rico because I'm not allowed to leave the country until about December. There will be six adults and two children in attendance.
It's good to be back in Spain Street, but the best thing about it is the garden. When I left in November, I planted two little banana trees about four feet high, salvaged from the neighbours' garden before it was demolished.
Today, after eight months of blanketing rain and heat, the taller one stands at around fourteen feet. The garden we created out of nothing is a jungle, in the nicest sense of the word: it looks like it's been there for decades.
Tomorrow we're off to Little Rock, Arkansas, to meet Pam's new granddaughter Arden. Then we're going to Eureka Springs, also in Arkansas, for the annual reunion of my new family. I went last year, and it was a baptism of fire which I wouldn't have missed for anything. After that, we have to settle down and do some work to pay for all our travels.
As we entered the country yesterday afternoon, there was an eerie sense of déjà vu. In July 2007, as I reported earlier, Pam and I arrived in Philadelphia and had a two-hour encounter with a rude immigration official who threatened to send me back to England.
This time we landed in Philly again, and again I was sent off to the same room for secondary screening, two words that strike despond into the heart of any visitor to the States.
But the experience could not have been more different. The official scanned my file silently for a couple of minutes, a smile on his face. Then he said: 'Wow, that's an amazing story. ' He briskly stamped my passport, said 'Welcome to the United States, and good luck with your marriage'.
Did I mention we're getting married on September 20? We want a small, simple beach wedding, and we've decided on Puerto Rico because I'm not allowed to leave the country until about December. There will be six adults and two children in attendance.
It's good to be back in Spain Street, but the best thing about it is the garden. When I left in November, I planted two little banana trees about four feet high, salvaged from the neighbours' garden before it was demolished.
Today, after eight months of blanketing rain and heat, the taller one stands at around fourteen feet. The garden we created out of nothing is a jungle, in the nicest sense of the word: it looks like it's been there for decades.
Tomorrow we're off to Little Rock, Arkansas, to meet Pam's new granddaughter Arden. Then we're going to Eureka Springs, also in Arkansas, for the annual reunion of my new family. I went last year, and it was a baptism of fire which I wouldn't have missed for anything. After that, we have to settle down and do some work to pay for all our travels.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
London
Is anyone still reading this?
We're still exiled in London, and I'm wading through the mountains of paperwork it takes to get a fiancé's visa.
This afternoon I went to see my dentist, who owes me a favour after extracting so much from my mouth and my wallet over the past few months.
I had to get her to sign a passport photo for my police report, and prove to the Americans that I'm not an international criminal mastermind. I'm hoping they'll overlook my 28-year-old conviction for cycling without lights in Cambridge.
I was also bemused by the list of only twelve occupations deemed sufficiently respectable to sign passport photos, including teachers, lawyers, members of the armed forces, mayors (oh yeah, I know lots of those).
I've been enjoying our stay here - so much so that I quite like the idea of spending most of the time in New Orleans, but maybe coming back for a few months each year. The time since November has reminded me how much affection I still have for the city in which I've spent the majority of my life. For all its problems, it's getting better by the year - cleaner, better public transport, more prosperous.
I've also been appreciating the chance to spent significant amounts of time with friends and family, and my very friendly bunch of neighbours (well, some of them) here in Foxwood Road.
But I'm also looking forward to returning to New Orleans, and as soon as I do so (we're hoping maybe the end of March) I shall resume this blog.
We're still exiled in London, and I'm wading through the mountains of paperwork it takes to get a fiancé's visa.
This afternoon I went to see my dentist, who owes me a favour after extracting so much from my mouth and my wallet over the past few months.
I had to get her to sign a passport photo for my police report, and prove to the Americans that I'm not an international criminal mastermind. I'm hoping they'll overlook my 28-year-old conviction for cycling without lights in Cambridge.
I was also bemused by the list of only twelve occupations deemed sufficiently respectable to sign passport photos, including teachers, lawyers, members of the armed forces, mayors (oh yeah, I know lots of those).
I've been enjoying our stay here - so much so that I quite like the idea of spending most of the time in New Orleans, but maybe coming back for a few months each year. The time since November has reminded me how much affection I still have for the city in which I've spent the majority of my life. For all its problems, it's getting better by the year - cleaner, better public transport, more prosperous.
I've also been appreciating the chance to spent significant amounts of time with friends and family, and my very friendly bunch of neighbours (well, some of them) here in Foxwood Road.
But I'm also looking forward to returning to New Orleans, and as soon as I do so (we're hoping maybe the end of March) I shall resume this blog.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Time for da Mardi Gras, by Pam
I know that I haven't done well in keeping up with this blog so let me apologize for that. I've been reprimanded by Lee and Mike, our neighbors across the road, for not giving them something to distract them whilst working. We see them regularly so it's hard to believe that there would be something I could write about that they don't already know but here goes.
My time to leave for home is fast approaching, although it is only for 3 weeks that I'm sure will pass very quickly. It will be 2 months to the day between the flight here and the return yet I still found myself saying last night that I'm running out of days to get everything done to prepare for my flight home.
We have had a few adventures since my last post. Aside from visiting here in England to see friends, we went to Lanzarote for a week with Tim and Anne Locke. They live in Lewes, south of London and Phil has known Tim since they were at Cambridge together. The Lockes were a good pair for such a holiday retreat as they encouraged excursion to other parts of the island and what magnificent excursions they were! Phil has a place on Tenerife but hadn't ventured to any of the other 6 islands that make up the Canaries. We found it to be charming and diverse, with wonderful touches of art from Cesar Manrique scattered across this lovely little escape. If you ever get the chance to visit, I say take it!
Now I'd like to address some things that have been running thru my mind in thoughts about this edition of the blog. It has struck me that most people don't greet or even make eye contact when approaching someone on the sidewalk. Coming from a place where conversations are often conducted from across the street, and often with a neutral ground in between, it feels unnatural to not acknowledge a passer-by. I've started a campaign to end this by uttering some sort of greeting to at least one person on each excursion. If everyone that reads this blog does the same thing, it won't be as noble as the motivation for Phil's walk, it might just make life around us a little brighter.
There have been things that I have discovered about London which will forever remain with me, no matter how long I go between visits. One is the sound of songbirds outside of our bedroom window. I wish I could record this magnificent sound, but I'm not sure a recording would ever do it justice. I don't know what kind of birds they are but I will miss their beautiful warbling when I've gone.
Another nice thing has been the gift of flowers from guests coming for dinner or one of our parties. We've had fresh flowers in the house much more than I have had at home and although friends at home are prone to bring wine or beer when visiting, the flowers thing has been a huge hit with me.
I'll miss the buses, trains, trams, and the Tube (London's underground transport). It has been incredible to know that walking to the end of the road or up the hill into the village is all that is between me and the rest of the city... or entire country, for that matter.
Getting to know Phil's world, his family and friends, tromping around his Alma mater at Cambridge, even thru the cold, the rain, the overcast days, has been a fabulous gift. I never envisioned living in London for 2 months, seeing the sites I've seen... and there's more to come!
I'll try to share some photos and an update during Mardi Gras but I make no promises. You can be sure I'll have alot to report, and the adventure continues when Phil meets me in Munich when I return from the States for a European escapade in which we hope to visit Austria,Lichtenstein, Switzerland, and maybe Belgium and The Netherlands.
Laissez le bon temps roulez!!!!
My time to leave for home is fast approaching, although it is only for 3 weeks that I'm sure will pass very quickly. It will be 2 months to the day between the flight here and the return yet I still found myself saying last night that I'm running out of days to get everything done to prepare for my flight home.
We have had a few adventures since my last post. Aside from visiting here in England to see friends, we went to Lanzarote for a week with Tim and Anne Locke. They live in Lewes, south of London and Phil has known Tim since they were at Cambridge together. The Lockes were a good pair for such a holiday retreat as they encouraged excursion to other parts of the island and what magnificent excursions they were! Phil has a place on Tenerife but hadn't ventured to any of the other 6 islands that make up the Canaries. We found it to be charming and diverse, with wonderful touches of art from Cesar Manrique scattered across this lovely little escape. If you ever get the chance to visit, I say take it!
Now I'd like to address some things that have been running thru my mind in thoughts about this edition of the blog. It has struck me that most people don't greet or even make eye contact when approaching someone on the sidewalk. Coming from a place where conversations are often conducted from across the street, and often with a neutral ground in between, it feels unnatural to not acknowledge a passer-by. I've started a campaign to end this by uttering some sort of greeting to at least one person on each excursion. If everyone that reads this blog does the same thing, it won't be as noble as the motivation for Phil's walk, it might just make life around us a little brighter.
There have been things that I have discovered about London which will forever remain with me, no matter how long I go between visits. One is the sound of songbirds outside of our bedroom window. I wish I could record this magnificent sound, but I'm not sure a recording would ever do it justice. I don't know what kind of birds they are but I will miss their beautiful warbling when I've gone.
Another nice thing has been the gift of flowers from guests coming for dinner or one of our parties. We've had fresh flowers in the house much more than I have had at home and although friends at home are prone to bring wine or beer when visiting, the flowers thing has been a huge hit with me.
I'll miss the buses, trains, trams, and the Tube (London's underground transport). It has been incredible to know that walking to the end of the road or up the hill into the village is all that is between me and the rest of the city... or entire country, for that matter.
Getting to know Phil's world, his family and friends, tromping around his Alma mater at Cambridge, even thru the cold, the rain, the overcast days, has been a fabulous gift. I never envisioned living in London for 2 months, seeing the sites I've seen... and there's more to come!
I'll try to share some photos and an update during Mardi Gras but I make no promises. You can be sure I'll have alot to report, and the adventure continues when Phil meets me in Munich when I return from the States for a European escapade in which we hope to visit Austria,Lichtenstein, Switzerland, and maybe Belgium and The Netherlands.
Laissez le bon temps roulez!!!!
Monday, December 3, 2007
The Southern Belle chillin' in Jolly Ole England
Well, boys and girls, since Phil didn't know what to write, not being an Englishman in a foreign country any longer, I thought I'd give a little of a Yanks perspective on y'all's neck of the woods! One thing I have to say, right off the bat, is that your weather lives up to every crappy thing I've heard and then some! We were told that the weather had been lovely... until the day before we arrived. Figures! We were greeted by a warm house, for which I was extremely grateful, and bedding was easily found since we were knackered from a longer trip than we expected.
(For those of you back home, 'knackered' means really tired. Don't worry, I'm just tryin' to speak the language here so the natives will understand me.)
The house looked a little sad from having tenants and the garden out back was in horrendous condition due to COMPLETE neglect for 18 months. The house looks like people live here again but the garden is still a jungle. I'm waiting for nice weather, which I've heard may be sometime in April or so... Hope Phil doesn't mind tending it in the cold. I'm sure I have something pressing indoors that needs my undivided attention, at least until the sun comes out!
Speaking of undivided attention, I have continued with my purse, uh, lady's handbag, idea with a new twist. Still using the cigar boxes, but with wine labels that I've had for years and maps of London, the Underground, better known here as the Tube, photos of familiar London sites tweaked on Picasa ( a Photoshop-type program from Google, check it out, I love it) and probably do some other European cities, as well. I've decided that since they're one-of-a-kind works of art, they must be named. The Tube bag is named" Mind the Gap" (Londoners will get this one),"Califonia Dreamin'" is naturally California wines, "Parlez-vous vin francais?" French wines, "In Vino Veritas"for the Italian wines since Italian is still the closest language to Latin, and with those names you should kinda get the idea.
We haven't been sightseeing (Did I mention the weather?) but we have had family and friends over to visit. Phil's sister Jacqui and brother-in-law, Richard accompanied Master Alfie Jake Goddard on his European debut. Alfie was born in August and was a trooper to travel all this way to meet his adoring fans. In honor of my fellow American, I slapped together some good ole cornbread dressing, injected a turkey and made a sweet potato casserole for Thanksgiving dinner. I brought the Cajun injector (that would be like a big syringe) with me from the States and all I can say is thank the Lord for the internet! Did you know that you can make a halfway decent cornbread with DRIED POLENTA? There was even a recipe for injector liquid! Who knew it was only butter, lemon juice and chicken stock? Anyway, it was a great feast with loved ones so it was a nice way to begin the time here.
We also threw a party for the neighbors here on Foxwood Road. Between the food that I made, the back-up food that Phil bought in case we didn't have enough, 14 bottles of wine, several cans of beer, and the 16 or 17 people that we had in and out, Phil has decided that he likes having parties...so I'm going to show the Brits what we eat on New Years Day to start things off in the right direction, as well as help us revive from the previous night's festivities.
We share an evening with fanily tomorrow, then head for Lewes (that's pronouced Lewis) to visit a couple that Phil's known since his days at Cambridge, home Friday to go down to the pub with some of the neighbors, then Saturday morning, bright and early, we're headed to Leeds about 200 miles north of here. It's a couple of hours on the train, I think and it's supposed to be very pretty.
Do me a favor, would ya? Pray for a little sunshine over here? I'd greatly appriciate it and so would my dormant camera!
(For those of you back home, 'knackered' means really tired. Don't worry, I'm just tryin' to speak the language here so the natives will understand me.)
The house looked a little sad from having tenants and the garden out back was in horrendous condition due to COMPLETE neglect for 18 months. The house looks like people live here again but the garden is still a jungle. I'm waiting for nice weather, which I've heard may be sometime in April or so... Hope Phil doesn't mind tending it in the cold. I'm sure I have something pressing indoors that needs my undivided attention, at least until the sun comes out!
Speaking of undivided attention, I have continued with my purse, uh, lady's handbag, idea with a new twist. Still using the cigar boxes, but with wine labels that I've had for years and maps of London, the Underground, better known here as the Tube, photos of familiar London sites tweaked on Picasa ( a Photoshop-type program from Google, check it out, I love it) and probably do some other European cities, as well. I've decided that since they're one-of-a-kind works of art, they must be named. The Tube bag is named" Mind the Gap" (Londoners will get this one),"Califonia Dreamin'" is naturally California wines, "Parlez-vous vin francais?" French wines, "In Vino Veritas"for the Italian wines since Italian is still the closest language to Latin, and with those names you should kinda get the idea.
We haven't been sightseeing (Did I mention the weather?) but we have had family and friends over to visit. Phil's sister Jacqui and brother-in-law, Richard accompanied Master Alfie Jake Goddard on his European debut. Alfie was born in August and was a trooper to travel all this way to meet his adoring fans. In honor of my fellow American, I slapped together some good ole cornbread dressing, injected a turkey and made a sweet potato casserole for Thanksgiving dinner. I brought the Cajun injector (that would be like a big syringe) with me from the States and all I can say is thank the Lord for the internet! Did you know that you can make a halfway decent cornbread with DRIED POLENTA? There was even a recipe for injector liquid! Who knew it was only butter, lemon juice and chicken stock? Anyway, it was a great feast with loved ones so it was a nice way to begin the time here.
We also threw a party for the neighbors here on Foxwood Road. Between the food that I made, the back-up food that Phil bought in case we didn't have enough, 14 bottles of wine, several cans of beer, and the 16 or 17 people that we had in and out, Phil has decided that he likes having parties...so I'm going to show the Brits what we eat on New Years Day to start things off in the right direction, as well as help us revive from the previous night's festivities.
We share an evening with fanily tomorrow, then head for Lewes (that's pronouced Lewis) to visit a couple that Phil's known since his days at Cambridge, home Friday to go down to the pub with some of the neighbors, then Saturday morning, bright and early, we're headed to Leeds about 200 miles north of here. It's a couple of hours on the train, I think and it's supposed to be very pretty.
Do me a favor, would ya? Pray for a little sunshine over here? I'd greatly appriciate it and so would my dormant camera!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
