Native Daughter

It’s so freaking cold. It’s JUNE and it’s COLD. Wrap your brains around that one, Poppets.

This place is fantastic. I haven’t ventured out of my “borough” yet, mostly because I’m still perfecting how to look like I know what I’m doing. I haven’t overcome the shock every time I look in a car and think, “No one’s driving!!!” Crossing the street is a constant risk because I keep looking the wrong way. It’s all about not looking like an idiot, you know. Bonus, though, I’ll get free health care if I am run over.

And then there’s the money. I panic every time I get to a register because everyone is so quick here...I have to have the money ready or else I get “the sigh” from the person standing behind me. There are no bills for increments of one AND they have that deceptive 2 pound coin. I have to do my math in twos whilst still trying to double the cost for the dollar. I’m getting there, but it’ll be a while before I can look like a native. Besides, I have to get over my disappointment every time the cashier isn’t as pleased as I am when I make the right change.

I don’t know if this is a London thing, but everyone keeps staring at me. No, wishful thinkers, it’s not that they think I’m “hot” (Feather) because it’s everyone - men, women, teenagers, old ladies.... And it’s not just the simple “catching of the eye” as I pass, because people often do a double-take and turn around for another look. One guy in the passenger seat of a car turned and pointed at me today. Of course, I thought he was driving so I pointed back in case he was about to crash. Great fun.

Perhaps I look like someone famous. If anyone comes up to me for an autograph I plan to smile enigmatically and scribble something unintelligible. Of course, they might be staring because I look like a twat in my moth-eaten sweater and purple sunglasses or because I have a booger hanging from my nose. But I choose to believe that they think I’m so exotic that I must be famous. It’s my dream, dammit. I’ll believe what I want.

My plans for Friday with Louise have fallen through, only because the cleaning crew threw out the napkin with her number on it, but I can’t say I’m disappointed. I’m still knackered (so British, me) and I really wasn’t looking forward to the trudge to the next borough. Maybe once I get my sea legs I’ll be up for socializing, but right now all I want to do is get more than 5 hours sleep. I have to be up by 9 to get my free food and coffee, and I can’t fall asleep before 3AM. Watching those horrible game shows on late-night BBC probably isn’t helping, either. I spend the day walking around in a haze behind puffy eyes - thus, the purple sunglasses.

I’m glad I’m staying for so long. I’m getting to know the local shopkeepers (and the local pubtenders) which makes me feel oh, so English. This is a great area - we need to have one of these back home. Oh, right...we do. It’s called New York.

You know, I'm starting to wonder why those people left 200 years ago. I know there was some kind if misunderstanding or something, but I mean, really...some people are so picky.

Have a great day, you Yanks. I’m going to try and get some sleep.

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Number of corner shops with fresh fruits and veg on my block - 6

Best deal - 5-pack of pita, 25p

Nastiest cereal at breakfast - Alpen

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