Tag Archives: expat

Happy Caliversary.

July 1 was exactly one year to the day that we arrived in the US.

It’s hard to believe how fast the time’s gone, and how little we’ve achieved. I’m still waiting for an investor to pump millions of dollars into my blog, and my 5 year old doesn’t even own a gun yet.

Mind you, with the UK going bat shit mental since we’ve been away, we feel pretty lucky to be here.

And since we moved, we’ve been building up a collection of random things we’ve learned about America and the Bay Area. Here they are.

Continue reading Happy Caliversary.

Live and dangerous.

*Warning: this post may contain nuts (and other genitals).*

Continue reading Live and dangerous.

15 American things we’ve done.

We’ve reached the 8-month mark. Alex hasn’t left me for a Silicon Valley investor, and my kids are still speaking to me. At least I think they are. It’s hard to tell these days in that weird accent of theirs.

Anyway, here’s a rundown of some of the American stuff we’ve done.

Continue reading 15 American things we’ve done.

Say ahhh.

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.

Continue reading Say ahhh.

Battle for Britain.

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.

Continue reading Battle for Britain.

The kid is coming.

What’s stronger than a thousand men?
More violent than a Tarantino movie?
Windier than the curry mile?

Since we moved here, the myth of El Niño has spread faster than a Californian wildfire.

Continue reading The kid is coming.

Five ways to meet women.

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).

Continue reading Five ways to meet women.

What it boils down to.

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.

Continue reading What it boils down to.

16 things we’ve learned about life in the US.

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.

Thanks.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving.

A day when Americans get together to watch football, eat their body weight in turkey, and open a can of thanks on one another. They thank their hosts for a lovely meal, to which their hosts say thank you. Then the dinner guests thank them for their gracious hospitality. So the hosts find something to thank them for again. And so it continues until they either run out of things to be thankful for, or they run out of cranberry sauce. At which point shit gets real.

Continue reading Thanks.