Bits and Bobs

Mood: Bouncy
Theme Song: “Forgot About Dre” - Dr. Dre & Eminem (again, for no good reason other than I like the song)

Last night I walked into town to get my hair cut and on the way back I stopped in the pub across the street from me. It’s really small and cozy inside and was chock full of people drinking beer and watching football (soccer) on TV. And playing darts. I wanted to just grab a quick bite to eat but there weren’t any tables free and there were no stools at the bar - it was more of a walk-up kind of thing. The good thing is the bartender was female so we chatted a bit and I told her I’d come back on a night where it wasn’t so crowded. She told me I could sit with “that big fat guy over there - he comes in all the time and is basically harmless” but I didn’t take that as a ringing endorsement of a good time to be had - at least by me!

I walked down the street to a place called Pinocchio’s - a tiny hole in the wall Italian restaurant. The menu looked good so I thought I’d try it. There was a grand total of one other table occupied, and I was waited on by one of the owners himself - Massimo. There are three brothers who own it, and they are for real Italian. From Naples. I had bruschetta and Pasta All’ Matriciana. That’s the dish I had when I was in Rome and it was fantastic! I chatted with Massimo and broke out me really rusty Italian. He made me happy by asking me if I was a student (Canterbury is a university town and overrun with college age kids). He also kept calling me “Bella” which was really sweet and Italian of him. I will definitely be going back there - (1) because the food was awesome and fairly cheap and (2) because I dig Italians and maybe Massimo has some hot cousins who need a green card or something ;)

Just a jumble of things I’ve been meaning to write about, but aren’t in any way connected:

• Got my hair cut yesterday. It’s true that British hair dressers rule. Mine’s named Jack and he is straight. He also is a genius when it comes to my ‘fro. I went in looking like Sideshow Bob and came out looking… human. We’re going to play color in about 6 weeks, so that should be fun. 
• The roads here are so quaint. I live in Canterbury, but work in Ashford. When I come to work, I start out on Canterbury Road and it turns into Ashford Road. When I leave work, I start out on Ashford Road, which becomes Canterbury Road (obviously). It’s like this all over the UK. I noticed it first in Ireland - it comes from the old days when roads were defined by where you were going or coming from. It’s kind of cool because if I find myself on Folkestone Road, I know that taking it can lead me into the town of Folkestone!
• Had a near-death experience yesterday. I was driving down a single carriageway road - basically a smaller back road with two lanes and a dotted line in the middle - and I was stuck behind this idiot towing what looked like a piece of farm equipment. A few cars in front of me had gone around him by passing on the opposite side of the road. After ascertaining that the nearest oncoming car was wayyyy far away, I put on my signal and proceeded to try to pass. Wouldn’t you know it but that git suddenly sped up to like 70mph and wouldn’t let me pass! Before I knew it I found myself staring at oncoming traffic. I threw my brakes on and barely made it over back into my lane in time. I tell you what, I hope the guy in front of me couldn’t read lips - I cursed him up, down, sideways - basically six ways from Sunday. I finally got around him, but it was only when there was absolutely no oncoming traffic and I could safely get around his dumb self. But it was way, way scary.
• Instead of saying “pound” (as in “To delete this message, press the pound sign/key”), the Brits say “hash”. Press hash. Hilarious!
• I love the hard “h” they use - they say “haych”. When they’re spelling things - “You go to High Street - that’s haych i g haych”.
• I told someone that their check stub was on the desk and I got a puzzled look. Here they are called “pay stubs”
• The tabloid magazines are an absolute riot. They put our “Elvis is alive and I’m having his martian baby” stories to shame. I’m going to have to gather a few and scan them in or something.
• No one over here says “Pip, pip cheerio”. I’m really sad about that. I was told that comes from Mary Poppins in which Dick VanDyke did a horrid London Cockney accent. But I’m still going to say it because I like it.

There are loads of other things that are said here that just crack me up on a continous basis. Its really strange to be the one with the accent. Every time I open my mouth - and let’s face it, my mouth spends more time open than closed! - people turn to look at me. I get asked questions about all things American. Like, what do you call American A4 size paper? Ummm… 8.5x11? Letter size? Ok, well then what’s your A3? Legal size. And bigger than that? That would be Tabloid. And they go “ohhhhhhhh”.

I get asked continuously about taxes - but I’ve figured out that, at least for me, its pretty much even-steven. The difference is that they just take it all out at once here, and you don’t have a choice about supporting certain things. There’s no sales tax, state tax, city tax, school tax - well, rather there ARE, but they are included in the big lump sum they take out. I’ll have to do a full analysis at year end, though, to be sure.

I get paid once a month now and so this will be an exercise in budgeting, the likes of which I haven’t seen since college. I’m excited because a woman that works for my old company, but in the UK, is coming down to visit me this weekend. I will get to be shown around by a real-live Brit - who can explain the food, and the roads, and the telly and the music. Hopefully, anyway!

Other big plans for me include getting up at 2:30am on Monday morning to drive to London-Gatwick and fly to Munich to visit our German office for 2 days. I’m taking Easy Jet (scared!) and they only had two options - crack of dawn or smack-dab-in-the-middle-of-the-day. So I’m taking the Rooster Express at 06:20am. Eugh, eugh, eugh.

Oh! Funny story. I cracked everyone up yesterday. My cell phone rang and this heavily accented voice identified himself as so-and-so from HSBC (my bank) and then demanded some personal information. I asked why he was calling and was he trying to sell me something. He said no, but that he couldn’t tell me why he was calling until I told him my information. I told him that I wasn’t giving him my information until he could tell me why he was calling. This went back and forth for a bit until we reached an impasse and he finally gave in. He was calling to verify a standing debit order I had placed for my monthly rent payment. The amount on one piece of paper was different from the amount on another piece of paper and so they were trying to figure it all out. I was glad that the bank verified with me because it saved alot of headache - but as I explained to the guy calling, its really off-putting to get some foreigner calling you up and demanding personal information with no explanation. He apologised and assured me he did work for HSBC. I asked him where he was, what branch. His answer? “India”. So, being me, I asked him “How is it that if you work for a British bank, you’re calling me from India? What’s that all about? I mean if you want me to give you my secure information, shouldn’t you be at least calling from the UK? I didn’t sign up with Bank of India!” - and my co-workers just lost it. Totally cracked up. I wasn’t trying to be rude - I thought I had a valid point. However, I did win major brownie points because I guess I said out loud what lots of British people have been thinking for years.

I find that alot - I’ll say something out loud that a British person would never say. Ok, it could be argued that I say alot of stuff out loud that any normal person wouldn’t say. But its especially true over here. One of two things is bound to happen - I will tone it down and become more “British”… or I will get deported.

Really hoping for that first one.
Federman out.