*Warning: this post may contain nuts (and other genitals).*
Every Sunday, downtown Campbell closes to cars and opens to entrepreneurs who masquerade as hippies, and sell organic bread, homegrown fruit and other overpriced earthy fluff.
We’ve been so often we’ve now mastered the routine. Here are the 16 steps you need to win at an American farmer’s market.
I’ve just got back from a couple of weeks in London. While I was there, I binged on Britain – I drank in every pub, ate in every tea room, lined up in every job centre.
It was my first trip back, and I was surprised by the things I’d missed. Here they are.
I got all the shit genes.
Eczema, eye squint, allergies, colour blindness…you name it. But I don’t count bad teeth amongst that. Bad teeth are as culturally significant to the British population as Aunt Bessie and Simon Cowell’s chest hair.
Americans have the right to bear arms, Brits have the right to dodgy teeth. But every so often, we rediscover our moral compass and go to the dentist.
Today was one of those days. And here’s how it went down.
Super Bowl is this Sunday and it’s a big freaking deal.
This year it’s being played at Levi’s Stadium, right here in the Bay Area, so Americans in our near vicinity are even more excitable than usual. In total, it’s expected that more than 120million people will tune in, just to catch a glimpse of Janet Jackson’s nipple.
But what is the Super Bowl, and why is the biggest prize in American Football named after a serving dish? Surely you want a trophy to have gravitas, not gravy…
Ava’s transformation is almost complete. All she needs is a backwards cap and a Ritalin prescription, and she’s a full-blown American child.
At home we speak British English to her – you know, the proper version of the language – but at school she’s mixing it with the natives. So, one day at a time, that lovely British accent of hers gets ground down, sprinkled with strange sounds, and mashed together into some kind of American language burger.
I met Alex 10 years ago.
When I realised I was punching above my weight, I proposed. We married, had kids, and argued over which traits they picked up from us (good looks and playfulness – Alex; bad eyesight and skin allergies – me).
This is our kettle. God it’s awful.
Just look at it.
With its stuck-up spout and pretentious double handle that’s too hot to lift without an oven glove.
It doesn’t even have a measure on the side to let you know how many cups it will make. It just arrogantly expects you to know by sight.
And it’s annoying. So annoying. When it’s done, it’s just dying to let you know with a high-pitched whistle. “Oooooh look at me everybody, I’ve boiled the water AND I’m shrieking”. Frickin’ show-off.
Today is exactly 6 months since we left the UK.
In that time, Alex has taken up running, Daisy has tantrummed in some of the biggest public spaces in Northern California, and Ava has turned into a walking, talking all-American kid. Me? The main change I’ve noticed is that I wear white socks more than I used to, without worrying about my street cred.
Here’s the 16 things we’ve learned since we got here… Continue reading 16 things we’ve learned about life in the US.
So, um, Christmas Day was a little different this year.
We took the kids out for a walk in Santa Cruz, stopping at the harbour to eat raisin bread. And then we spent the rest of the day at Twin Lakes beach. The beach. On Christmas Day. As you do.