I love eavesdropping on the British. I find the varied accents, the peculiar colloquialisms and the quick-witted, dry humor delightful. In the late 90s, I lived in Southeast England for a short time and visited at least every other year for 25 years before moving back to the UK permanently last August. Over the years, I have mentally collected a large number of Britishisms, if for no other reason than to make myself understood over here. When in Rome and all that.

When I first moved here in 1998, I was little prepared for the differences between American and British English. I had to learn new vocabulary like toilets (restrooms), rubbish (trash), petrol (gas), and post (mail). And new spellings like tyre, colour, and centre. I was so shocked by how many differences I discovered that I decided to write a book on the subject called So You Think You Know English. It covered a lot of the same topics that I cover here on this substack 26 years later. I tried in vain to get it published, but at least my friends and family seemed to enjoy it.

Even as Americanisms continue to migrate across the pond via various media platforms, I actually feel protective of British English and its quirkiness. I have a similar feeling when I discover that another American fast food chain is making inroads in the UK. Heresy! I protest. Then hypocrite that I am, eat at said chain if I happen to be in the vicinity. Moving swiftly on, to continue this celebration of our differences, here are a handful of fun Britishisms to make you forget today’s news headlines. As always, keep in mind that British English, like the culture, is not monolithic. Naw, there are a few wee regional variations as well, she says in a poor attempt at a Scottish lilt.

Coffin Dodger

“When you get to be an ol’ coffin dodger like me. . .” my neighbour “Alfred” began in his deep, coarse Cockney accent. I smiled and nervously laughed my way through the rest of our conversation, desperately wishing I had a Star Trek Universal Translator on hand. George Bernard Shaw once said, “England and America are two countries divided by a common language.” Indeed. Thankfully it has gotten a bit easier to understand my dear neighbour over the months; although I still require a native speaker (a.k.a. Phil) to explain the slang at times.

Though traditionally someone born within the sound of Bow Bells (of St. Mary le Bow church), the more common description of a Cockney is a working class London East Ender with a distinctive English dialect. This dialect includes Cockney Rhyming Slang which uses words and phrases as code for the words they rhyme with. For instance, apples and pears are ‘stairs.’ Trouble and strife, ‘wife.’ Dog (and bone), ‘phone.’ Have a butcher’s? That one isn’t quite as obvious. Often the rhyming part has actually been left off. Butcher’s comes from butcher’s hook and means ‘have a look.’

However, this slang is not relegated solely to East London communities; it also shows up in ordinary British speech. For instance, if someone says so-and-so has been telling porkies, most of the British population understands this to mean ‘lies’ (pork pies). They might say they haven’t seen a friend in donkeys (ears), ‘years,’ and haven’t heard a dicky-bird, ‘word’ from said person. They also might tell you to use your loaf (of bread), ‘head.’ For my British readers, is there Cockney Rhyming Slang that you use regularly? Let me know in the comments.

Awright?

This is likely a regional variation, but a classic greeting in Southeast England is awright? meaning “Are you alright?” The stock answer then is, “Yeah, not bad.” At my very first job in the UK, my manager would always greet me this way when I came in the door. Likely to his amusement, I would reply with a literal rundown of how I was feeling both emotionally and physically and anything else that was generally happening to influence these conditions. After a while, I began to get a bit annoyed. Why is he always asking me how I’m feeling? In reality, he was just saying “hello” and expected no more than a “Yeah, not bad” from me.

Other greetings in my area include hiya for hello. Hey is not standard unless paired with a guys, and will make you stand out a bit as a foreigner. You might sometimes hear ‘ello without the h. And although it might sound quite formal to American ears, it is quite normal and polite to greet someone with “Good morning,” “Good afternoon,” or “Good evening.” This is common when addressing someone in business or another profession either in person, by phone or by email. Fun fact, I’ve noticed that older generations will sometimes answer the phone by reciting their phone number. If you’re a fan of the British tv series All Creatures Great and Small, you may have noticed that the characters answer the phone with, “Darrowby 2297.” As the show takes place in the 1930s-40s, this was also a common way of answering the phone, using the name of the telephone exchange and the phone number.

Bye. . . bye!

Conversely, when taking one’s leave, there are a few stock farewells. If using a universal good bye or just bye, particularly on a phone call, it is common for there to be a slight pause before another slightly higher pitched bye. This seems to be particularly true if the other person is a woman. If they are particularly bubbley, you might even get a third or fourth bye. So the end of the call would sound something like, “Okay, bye then. Bye, bye, bye!” with a rise in pitch for each subsequent bye. Also common would be the familiar See you later (leh-tah) or the traditional and very British ta-ra (tah-rah) or cheerio. Most informally would be a simple cheers or cheers, mate. Cheers being that great catch-all word that can also mean “thanks.”

Also when saying good bye in person after a sit down and a chin wag (chat), it is common for the person leaving first to slap both hands on the top of the thighs and announce, “Right then! I must be off.” The actual leave taking will probably take at least another 10 minutes or so as the conversation continues to linger during the ever so gradual movement toward the door. As a matter of etiquette, it is also worth noting that if you are the host, it is usually expected that you see your guests off. So, you would follow them out at least to the front step and possibly even stand and wave to them as they drive off if it is someone you do not see often.

Was Sat

I was a Spanish major in uni (university). Studying a language made me more attuned to the rules of grammar both in my own native English as well as other languages. However, although there might be a grammatically correct way of speaking English, regional dialects produce some curious sentence structures. Being from the Southeastern region of the United States, you end up with grammatically incorrect but regionally understood phrases such as “he done gone to the game.” Here done gone is used as the past tense for the infinitive to go in place of went.

Well, it turns out that although Americans often think of the British as speaking proper English (whatever that means), the truth is that they have a few grammatical skeletons in the closet as well. I’m not sure how this little gem snuck past me for years, but I’ve only just discovered the British phrases was sat or been sat. Let’s use it in a sentence. “I was sat there feeling like a complete idiot.” Here sat is used in place of the present participle sitting or the past participle seated. It never occurred to me that one could be sat somewhere.

Strange that Is

Not to be confused with a Yoda-esque style of speaking, you will sometimes hear an adjective or adjective phrase used before the subject and verb, such as, “He’s a strange one he is.” This construction sometimes also begins with a subject and verb but ends with a subject and verb for emphasis, “I’m over the moon I am.” I don’t hear this manner of speaking often, but when I do I feel like I’ve stepped back in time for a moment. Actually, if I’m honest, it reminds me of a stereotypical working class British character from a classic film.

“Why can’t the English teach their children how to speak?” to quote the lyric sung by the character Henry Higgins in the musical My Fair Lady. Actually, I would say that to the British: please preserve your way of speaking. Film, television and social media will continue to contribute to certain vocabulary and phrases being adopted on both sides of the pond. However, linguists reassure us that the greatest influence on how we speak is our community, the people we speak to and interact with on a daily basis. That is why the British will never sound American and the Americans will never sound British (although I secretly want to).

We wound our way through the dim early morning darkness and drizzle, over the chalk hills of the South Downs. The haunting mist blanketed the breathtaking landscape before me like a scene from a 19th century gothic romance novel. At least, it would have been breathtaking if I could take my eyes from the road for a mere half second. The only thing taking my breath at that hour was squeezing our car down a narrow village lane, dodging parked cars on my left and oncoming traffic on my right. This is a perfectly normal driving scenario in the UK. I did manage enough of a glance at my surroundings occasionally to gasp, “Oh, what a pretty church!” or “Look at that gorgeous cottage!” before putting my head down, nose to the grind stone, and onto the hard work of driving in the UK.

That was a scene from earlier this year, when I decided to really put my skills to the test and drive my son to Heathrow airport. Since then, I have gained a lot more confidence on UK roads. I passed my theory test back in February, the test of UK road rules and regulations that included the dreaded hazard perception test. This portion of the test requires you to watch 14 video clips and tap the screen within a 5 second window when you see a hazard start to develop. Up to 5 points are awarded per clip depending on how soon you click within that window, with clicking too early or too late resulting in zero points. It sounds easy enough but you really do need to know what you’re looking for. Thankfully my pass cleared me to book my practical driving test, which at the time of this writing is a mere 2 days away. And I am as nervous as when I passed my first driving test at the age of 16 in the US. And that, friends, was a cake walk in comparison.

Is that the Best You Can Do?

In the 1998 film The Truman Show, the protagonist Truman is trying to sail away from Seahaven, the film set of his fake life. To stop him, the show’s creator Christof manufactures a terrible storm to stop him, and in response, Truman shouts, “Is that the best you can do? You’re going to have to kill me!” Now you may be wondering what in the world that has to do with driving in the UK. Maybe I’m being a bit melodramatic, but that scene frequently pops into my head when I’m driving over here. It’s as though some director is commanding, “Give me rain. . . now fog. . . kids on bicycles. . . elderly pedestrians. . . increase the fog. . . now the ambulance. . .”

I remember the days when driving was an easy breezy dream. When the worst I had to deal with was the Tennessee drivers who were too distracted to work out who goes next at a 4-way stop. That’s not to say that I didn’t have to pay attention. There were enough idiots on those roads to keep me on my toes. Yet far far fewer hazards—at least in the American suburbs where I grew up. Combine more hazards in the UK with its narrow roads never designed for the number of cars now traversing and parking on them, and it’s no wonder the average fail rate of the UK practical driving test is 51 %. The UK test is hard for a reason. When you get a pass on a UK driving test, you have earned it with blood, sweat, and tears.

Blood, Sweat, and Tears

Learner drivers in the UK thankfully have many months to prepare for their driving test. Although things have recently improved due to changes in how tests are booked, it is still difficult to get a test date sooner than 6 months out. This is partly due to the number of those needing a test and a shortage of examiners. In the intervening months, learners can practice on a provisional licence with anyone over 21 who has held a full driving licence for at least 3 years. Most book a professional driving instructor to ensure that they are well prepared for this fiend of a test. I personally had a couple of sessions with one just to be sure I was really ready for my test. I was mostly relieved to hear that I am, but that hasn’t stopped me from feeling more anxious as the day approaches.

Since my test will be in a neighboring town rather than my own, I downloaded an app that gives me a number of likely test routes to practise (practice) in that area. I usually take my husband with me so he can point out things that I may have missed. So, what sort of things will they be testing me on? The test itself takes 35 minutes during which I will follow directions from a satnav (GPS). The examiner notes down mistakes that are either driving faults (minors) which are small errors, serious faults which are potentially dangerous, or dangerous faults which speaks for itself. I am allowed up to 15 minors but a serious or dangerous fault is an automatic fail (shiver).

The routes usually include a combination of residential, urban and rural roads. The speeds on these roads differ greatly and can change frequently, so it is imperative to keep your eye out for speed limit signs. Exceeding the speed limit even by a few mph can be a serious fault. Also, if you see a change in speed limit up ahead, you must change your speed by the time you reach that sign. During the drive, I will be asked to perform one of 3 exercises: parallel park, park in a parking bay (space) either driving forward or reversing, or pulling up on the right side of the road and reversing for 2 car lengths. If I fail to properly look all around the car both during the exercise and before driving off again, that would also be an automatic fail. Failure to be positioned correctly at a roundabout can be a serious fault. That’s fine but what if I get a double roundabout? Believe me, you do not want to mess with a double roundabout. You can see why I’m sweating a bit about this, or maybe that’s just the lack of aircon.

Mirror, Signal, Manoeuver

Another essential feature of the UK driving test is the proper procedure of indicating your intentions on the road. The mantra mirror, signal, manoeuver (maneuver in Am. English) or MSM has long been taught as the proper order of events. To this is often added PSL or Position, Speed, Look. But lets focus on MSM for now. What this practically means on your driving test is that the examiner will be actively observing whether you first checked your mirrors and then signaled (if needed) before doing any of the following manoevers: setting off, accelerating, slowing down or braking, turning left or right, or changing direction in any way. This means that before turning left, you check your rearview mirror and left side mirror before signalling left. You do the opposite for turning right. You check your rearview mirror when slowing down, speeding up, or braking. If you do those things out of order or fail to do them, it’s a fault.

All these mirror checks have made me realize how little I actually used my mirrors when driving in the US. Sure I would use them when reversing or before changing lanes, but rarely at other times. I have been forced to change my driving habits over here, and the good news is that I’m likely a safer driver for it. The bad news is that these very high standards are making me very nervous about my upcoming test, so say a prayer for me. Although a fail would not be the end of the world, I can only drive on my US license for another month. After that, I would be relegated to true Learner Driver status and forced to drive with L tags on my car and be accompanied by an adult over 21 until I finally do pass the test. And put a bag over my head. I’m hoping to save myself the humiliation.

We were strolling down the promenade one Saturday, the low tide revealing an undulating patchwork of flint pebbles, muted colored shells and swathes of beige sand, all beautiful in a rather rugged way. I zipped up my black 3/4 length rain jacket just a bit more to protect my neck from the chill of the wind. The late spring temperature hovered around 16 C (60ish F) that afternoon with a wind chill of about 14 C (57 F). The sun was out, the sky was clear, and that meant just one thing to the British public: time to hit the beach.

Pale, ruddy faced children in their swimmies (swimsuits) made sand castles with their buckets and spades. The smell of charcoal wafted from a grill somewhere on the green, and shirtless lads and bikini clad girls congregated around the volleyball court. I gaped in disbelief and shivered. Will I ever get used to this? I wondered as I passed a considerable queue waiting to purchase a Mr. Whippy, the brand name used for any soft serve ice cream one typically finds at the beach. They used to be called 99s back when they only cost 99p. Blame inflation and the fact that £2.50s just doesn’t have the same ring, so Mr. Whippy it is. Often served with an optional Cadbury Flake, a chocolate stick protruding from the top.

Although I may not be ready to sunbathe in 60 degree weather just yet, there are a handful of British habits that I have picked up since moving here almost 10 months ago that may be signs I am gradually acclimating to the culture.

Braving the Weather

When you make plans in the UK, you rarely factor in the weather. Rain or shine, most events will not be cancelled due to the weather. If we plan to go on a walk with friends, unless the weather is supposed to be extreme, the walk will likely go on rain or shine. As Phil likes to say, a good word to sum up this British ethos is despite. Despite the rain, they go out for walks. Despite the cold, they play tennis. Despite the clouds, they go to the beach. Despite the bracing wind, they have a picnic.

I may well be on my way to adopting this ethos. I have regularly walked to the shops or to doctor’s appointments on wet and windy days or taken long walks in the biting cold. There is an old British adage (although other cultures take credit for variations on it) famously used in 1973 by Alfred Wainwright in his book Coast to Coast, “There’s no such thing as bad weather, only unsuitable clothing.” A rain jacket is a staple in the UK. A brolly (umbrella), too, if it’s more than a drizzle. And despite (there’s that word again) what you might see in the movies, moderate to heavy downpours are not the norm in the UK. A steady drizzle is much more typical.

Walking and Public Transport

I spent the majority of my life in the suburbs of one East Tennessee city where walking outside of a certain context such as a residential neighborhood or on a path through a local park was viewed with suspicion. The few awkward times in my life when I had to walk along a main road, often with no pavements (sidewalks), I could feel the condemnation of my fellow citizens. I sensed what they were thinking because I’d often thought the same thing when I saw a poor lone soul out walking the highways and byways. Are they homeless? Did their car break down? Do they need a ride?

In the UK, walking everywhere, even along a busy dual carriageway (divided highway), though not a motorway (freeway) is completely normal. Thankfully the infrastructure is there to support it with sidewalks, cross walks, and crossing islands in every city and suburb. In America, I lived less than a mile from a grocery store but think I only walked there once due to the fact that the sidewalk ended well short of the crossroads where the store was located, requiring a long detour to complete the journey. Now I live about one mile from a grocery store in the UK and think nothing of walking the mile into town to go. Although we do drive to the larger supermarkets to do a bigger weekly food shop, at least once a week we will walk into town to post a letter, get a haircut or maybe grab a few things from the smaller grocery store. Then we lug home a good deal more than we intended to get, I might add.

We are also blessed to have a train station in town as well as busses should we require them. Busses are also free for seniors of retirement age in the UK which I think is a wonderful thing. Sadly, I can only remember taking a local bus in my American home town just once many moons ago when I was temporarily without a car. I was discouraged from making this a regular occurrence by a couple of factors. One was the lack of sidewalks and therefore precarious route to the nearest bus stop. The second was that the timetable to get me from point A to point B was tediously slow. There is another reason many Americans will not take public transportation, whether they will admit it or not. Taking the bus is like admitting that you are (in hushed tones) poor. Yes, where I’m from, people also refuse to take the bus out of sheer snobbery.

Not so in the UK. In fact, sometimes it is much cheaper to drive the car than take a train or bus. You really just have to run the numbers. Occasionally it is worth taking public transport because it is the more convenient option. Driving in our neck of the UK woods can often be slow and stressful, and parking tricky. Sometimes it is just easier to sit back and let someone else do the driving for you. Plus there is something wonderfully romantic about train travel, at least to this wide eyed East Tennessee girl. My grandmother told me stories about taking the train from her small rural town into the city to shop. That all stopped once somebody somewhere decided the automobile was the future. Meanwhile in the UK, the railways have managed to hang on, and I hope they always will.

Hanging Laundry

We do not have a tumble dryer. Now I am not happy about this fact, but there is precious little space in our house to put a dryer. Plus making the space would require the renovation and therefore money that we are not yet willing to part with. Many Britons happily live without a dryer for similar reasons or perhaps because they have never really felt the need for one. When you live in a place where energy usage is at a premium, you learn to cut back a bit on consumption.

It is also quite normal for these households to hang their laundry outside in the back garden (back yard). I grew up in the 70s and 80s and can remember having a clothes line as a kid, so there is something a little nostalgic about hanging clothes outside on the line. One small problem, however, is that we do not have a back garden, or front garden, or any garden at all. We have a small patio area which is not quite big enough to hang loads of laundry. So, we hang our clothes indoors and employ a dehumidifier to help reduce the drying time. This is fairly key when you live in a place with 76 - 89% humidity on average. My hair is poofier than Bozo the Clown’s. Does anyone remember Bozo? The Grand Prize Game? I’m seriously dating myself.

Opening Windows

In America it seems there are two narrow openings, no pun intended, when you can open your windows and let the fresh air in. One is called April; the other is called November. I exaggerate only slightly, and your mileage may vary depending on what part of the country you live in. In the Southeastern US, this mostly holds true. Summer seems to come earlier and earlier and stay later and later. We may have a moment of “False Fall” when the temperature drops briefly in October, and we pull out our knitwear and pack away the tank tops. Then Mother Nature has the last laugh and throws another “unseasonably warm” curveball, and one must decide whether to shed the layers or suffer for pumpkin spice sake because it’s Fall, gosh darn it! Or Autumn as the British prefer.

Meanwhile in the UK, windows (and doors) are often open. Even on cold days, I often crack some windows first thing in the morning to let in fresh air. Fresh air is very important to British people. Don’t quibble about whether that air is actually fresh, houses need to breathe. Americans may ask, what about the insects? Well, great news! There aren’t any. Okay, there aren’t many. At least, not enough that you would notice. It’s summer here in the UK, so our windows and doors stay open all day. Most British homes and businesses do not have A/C. We have noticed a few extra flies in the house, but they seem to find their way out almost as quickly as they arrive.

Polly, Put the Kettle On

“. . . we’ll all have tea,” the old children’s song goes. Electric kettles are an absolute staple here in the UK where 59% are tea drinkers. Although coffee drinking has grown significantly over the past few decades, Britons still seem to love a cuppa. The kettle is flipped on first thing in the morning, at breakfast, mid-morning, post lunch, late afternoon, pre-bedtime. There is always an occasion for a cuppa. Apparently there are spikes in electricity usage during ad breaks or half times of major football matches from the UK collectively putting the kettle on.

Electric kettles are not new to us. Our family had them in America where we silently looked down our noses at the undoubtedly cuter but much slower stove top versions our friends and family used. However, I feel like I reach for the kettle more than I ever used to in the US. Maybe it’s the relatively cooler climate or cultural brainwashing or maybe both. There’s just something cozy and quintessintally British about putting the kettle on. As my goal is to one day become a British citizen (whilst retaining my American citizenship), I feel the more I can do to integrate into the culture the better.

Pink Floyd’s 1979 classic Another Brick in the Wall has spun in my head more than once since my son started school in the UK last September. Its scathing rebuke of the British education system’s soulless treatment of children through the decades both tickled and haunted my pre-adolescent ears. The chorus of children sounded like monotonous robots, a detail that lended itself to the critique that individuality of any sort was not only to be discouraged but actively squelched by stern-faced teachers and cane-wielding headmasters (principals). It became an anthem for Gen Xers around the world for whom school was viewed as a necessary evil.

Although I am certain there have been positive changes in the UK since the song came out, our 6 month experience in one mainstream British school has certainly left us wondering if these lyrics might still be relevant. In fact, a couple of months ago, we made the difficult decision to pull our son D out of school to home educate (the preferred term for homeschooling in the UK). Without delving deeper into our personal experiences at this point, let me just say to all who have had to advocate for their struggling child in an unsympathetic school setting, my heart goes out to you.

Given that the main purpose of this substack is to dive into the differences between UK and US life, I thought it might be more helpful and entertaining to focus on some of our more general school culture shocks. I will again emphasize that we live in southeast England; therefore experiences in the other three UK countries may vary. They also may not reflect all schools in England, whether state (public in Americanese), independent/private, or public (historically exclusive private schools like Eton or Harrow).

Best Foot Forward

We arrived at the end of August last year, and with school starting at the beginning of September, we hit the ground running. The first order of business was to purchase the very formal school uniform. As my husband sometimes jokes, D had not even seen a tie until he had to wear one to his British state school. Add white dress shirt (don’t forget the top button), school-branded blazer, formal trousers (not pants which are underpants), trouser socks, dress shoes and the uniform was complete. Milling about the school grounds, British school kids looked like a hoard of small(ish) businessmen. And that is partly the idea: to create an environment of self-respect and discipline, as well as blurring class distinctions of wealth often displayed in clothing.

Continuing with our tick (check) list of back to school items, there were things that I expected to see: pencil case, pencils, pens, calculator, ruler, and rubbers (erasers). Try asking the store clerk for those with a straight face. What I did not see surprised me. No thick reams of notebook paper, no ring binders, no spiral bound notebooks, and no pocket folders. When we went to buy something folder-like to transport homework in, there was not a pocket folder to be seen. Where did students store their schoolwork? Where did they write class notes?

And that brings me to the final school supply item that befuddled me: plastic book covers. These rather rigid plastic protective covers were not for textbooks but rather paperback notebooks that students received for each subject. Most notebooks contained A4 sized (standard 8.27 x 11.29 inch), lined paper for taking notes or gluing in worksheets. The maths (yes, maths with an S) one contained only graphing paper. These plastic covers were not optional. Disciplinary action was threatened if these covers were not duly purchased and fitted by a due date. And strangely enough, my local stationary (office supply) store did not stock them.

Timetable

The daily class schedule (pronounced “shedule”) is referred to as a timetable. In America, the most typical schedule for middle school (years 7 to 9 in the UK) is 6-8 one hour class periods. Very often these are 4 core classes (English, Science, Math and History) with 2-4 related arts mixed in. When I saw D’s British timetable, my jaw dropped. I counted 13 subjects per week on his timetable, and each day was completely different. In his first school term, he had English, Maths, History, Science, Geography, French, PE, Art, Drama, Food Tech, Orchestra, Music, and Computer Science. PE was just once per week and included sports like football (soccer), rugby, net ball, and running until one passes out.

D’s school day started at 8:40 am with registration (attendance) in his tutor group (homeroom) which was taken by the form tutor (homeroom teacher) before and after lunch. Following registration, there were two 50 minute periods followed by a 20 minute break, periods 3 and 4, followed by a 40 minute lunch. Some Americans reading this just keeled over dead from shock. In some British schools they get a full hour. Clubs also meet during lunch, so the extra time covers that as well. I can remember my kids in American public school getting a mere 20 minutes for lunch, which was barely enough time to wolf down a potato wedge and a carton of milk. Next were periods 5 and 6 with the day ending at 3pm. After school were more clubs from 3:00-4:00 pm, including the euphemistically named homework club (study hall).

Whilst on the subject, I’ve never been a fan of homework. I believe that for both children and adults, there should be a clear delineation between work and home. The one thing I will say in praise of our British school’s method of assigning homework was how organized and limited it all was. Homework was set (assigned) according to subject about a week in advance of the due date. All homework was expected to take about 30 minutes per subject per week for a year 8 student. The amount of homework expected increases incrementally per year (grade). The staggering of assignments and due dates meant that you didn’t end up with a 5 page paper on the Scarlet Letter, an exam on the Norman Conquest, a clay model of the parts of a cell, and a science fair project all landing on the same day.

Detention. . . detention!

(to the tune of Tradition from Fiddler on the Roof)

“In my day, boys had to wear caps. If you forgot your cap, you’d get the cane.” We’d just arrived in the UK, and I was casually chatting about British schools with the 60-something year old driver we’d hired to take us to our new home. I frowned; harsh treatment indeed. I reassured myself that corporal punishment in British schools was a thing of the past. Of all the things I worried about with D starting school, the discipline procedures were not top of the list. It featured far below him getting teased for his American accent by a gang of mini-businessmen doing Michael Caine impersonations. As it turned out, one of the most startling things that I encountered in our UK school experience were the penalties for breaking the rules.

When an American student breaks the rules, penalties range from getting a warning to a lower letter grade to an email or phone call to the parent. Detentions are reserved for the very worst offenses like cutting class or vaping in the bathroom. In our British school, they seemed to have skipped straight over warnings and demerits and gone straight to after school (sometimes in-school) detentions. Forgot your homework: get a detention. Left your calculator at home: get a detention. Didn’t do up the top button of your uniform: get a detention. Detention!

Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition

To quote Monty Python. Nothing prepared me for our British school’s obsession with attendance. I knew when we moved to the UK that D would probably be hit with every common cold and viral illness that blew through. With D’s first illness, I promptly emailed the school as instructed and expected nothing more. I got a bit of a shock that afternoon, however, when the head of year 8 phoned to enquire about his absence. I restated what I had already said in my email. Miss (a common address given to female British schoolteachers) was very concerned and insisted D be brought in as soon as possible. A little over-the-top, I thought as I hung up, but maybe she’s just concerned because he’s new.

A few weeks later, another virus hit. Another phone call. Same message with more urgency. I felt my anger rising and raised my voice slightly in annoyance. I know my child, I said in defense, he is actually unwell. She persisted, “You know he cannot be out for things like a little cold. You need to send him in anyway.” What is this? I struggled to understand why they were hounding me about something I’d already clearly explained in an email. In a word: Ofsted. The school regulatory body inspects and releases report cards on schools based on various criteria including attendance. Our highly rated school had a reputation to protect. I vowed from that point that if D was out again, I would not answer the phone.

The Year Round Calendar

Summer is just getting underway for my American friends with high school graduation photos popping up on social media. It does make me sigh and daydream about those glory days, the smell of chlorine mingling with freshly mown grass and honeysuckle. The long summer of possibilities stretched out before me. Nevertheless, one of the downsides of those endless summers are the tedious stretches of learning before getting a break during the school year.

The British school calendar is actually a very sensible one for kids, parents, and teachers. It is divided into three terms: autumn, spring and summer. Term holidays are typically one week at mid-term and two weeks at the end of term with a 6 week break between mid-July and September (8 weeks for Northern Ireland). This essentially means that kids are never in school for more than about 6-7 weeks before a break. I know a few American teachers and parents who could get on board with that. Maybe with an 8 week summer break at least.

There is so much more I could say about British and American school differences. I haven’t even touched on GCSEs and A Level exams taken at the end of years 11 and 13 respectively. These two sets of exams are fundamental in setting the course for students’ future education and vocational pathways. It is also crucial to shaping how learning takes place in British classrooms as a whole. So, look out for a Brickish Pt. 2 in the near future. Ta-ra!

On a whim, our Saturday afternoon walk along the seafront had turned into a ramble. When the pavement (sidewalk) ended, Phil and I found ourselves alternatively wading in the smooth, flint pebbles on the beach or slightly inland in the squishy mud of green spaces populated by an assortment of dogs and their humans. About an hour and a half into the journey, we had a look at the map to determine whether we wanted to try to make it to the large town another hour away or a closer destination half an hour away that offered a promising cafe for our efforts. I hadn’t packed a rucksack (backpack) with water and snacks like I normally would, so we decided to head for the popular cafe and were feeling parched and quite peckish (hungry) when we arrived.

We placed an order of chicken soup, sour dough bread, and a couple of tap waters and found a seat. Now the tap water part is important because many places will offer fancy bottled water as well, so tap water is not necessarily the default water. If you get bottled, expect the next question to be: still or sparkling? While waiting on our food, we were brought two glasses of water in very small tumblers. I took tiny sips from my glass, hoping a server would offer a refill or perhaps a carafe for the table. No such thing was offered. In hindsight, we could have asked for one except that the place was slammed, and we didn’t fancy waiting in the long queue (line) to ask the woman on the till (register). I am still shocked that offering a carafe would not have been standard, given the tiny glasses. I have since learned to request one up front when ordering water.

Maybe it’s because I come from the US or the South or both, but where I am from, eating out is a very different experience. Now, I know some of you will say that part of that excellent customer service in an American restaurant has a lot to do with tipping culture. The wait staff have to sing for their supper, so to speak. That aside, I feel like there are just certain things that American restaurants excel at, and one of those things is making sure their customers are well watered and well fed. I’m not talking about the sickly, dripping sweet tea kind of service in the US that the British accuse of being fake (sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t). I’m just talking about some touches that make for a more pleasant dining experience overall.

There is No Free Lunch

I was working in the UK in the late 1900s at a facility with a canteen that offered standard British fare: pie and chips (savory pie and fries), bangers and mash (sausages and mashed potatoes), and toad-in-the-hole (sausages in Yorkshire pudding batter). Yorkshire pudding, by the way, is a bready, savory side dish similar to an American popover, made from a batter of eggs, flour, and milk, usually served with a roast dinner. Its hollowed top serves as a handy reservoir for your gravy. (Reverie alert!) Ahem. As I was saying, I was in the canteen paying for lunch one day, when I suddenly remembered I needed tomato ketchup. That tomato part is important to distinguish it from, I don’t know, mushroom ketchup? I grabbed a few packets and started to walk away when the canteen lady accosted me.

“You’re going to have to pay for them, love. They’re 5p each.” I was flabbergasted! Pay for ketchup? What kind of planet was I living on?

Thankfully, that may have been the only time in my remembrance that I have had to pay for ketchup. You will not be charged extra for it with your chips at McDonald’s, pronounced Mac Donalds, don’t worry. However, they may not give you fist-fulls of it like you might get in the US. The takeaway is that in the UK, there is no free lunch. The refill on your soda, not free. The bread before your meal, not free. Olives, not free. Buttermilk biscuits with butter and jam? Well, if that was a thing here, it would also not be free. I have had a few exceptions to this rule, the tortilla crisps (chips) and salsa at a Mexican place was free, for instance. However, in general if you get something from a restaurant in the UK, you are going to have to pay for it, love.

Out of Proportion

American portion sizes can verge on the ridiculous. They are a dietician’s worst nightmare. Some of us grew up with the expectation that we should “clean” our plates because there were starving children in Africa. If you make a “happy plate” in a US restaurant, you are probably eating enough for at least two, three, maybe four people. For this reason, some people will split an entree with a friend or plan to save half for later. Since living in the UK the first time around, I have noticed a creep towards larger portion sizes in some British restaurants. However, overall I would say that portions are ample without being unhealthy (my 20-year-old son might disagree with me about the ‘ample’ part though).

Because portion sizes are typically a bit smaller in British restaurants (depending on whether you are dining at your local pub or a three star Michelin establishment), you may not be offered a doggy bag as standard when you have food left on your plate. I discovered this at my local Pizza Express recently when my server obliviously took the small portion of lasagna I was saving for tomorrow’s lunch, and I had to flag him down to request a box. In the US, if there is still food on your plate, the server will almost always ask if you would like a box.

Come to think of it, there is this handy little gesture of British etiquette that a work colleague introduced me to almost 30 years ago that lets your server know that you are finished with your meal. A group of us had gone out for lunch, and at the end of our meal, the colleague grabbed hold of my knife and fork and slid them together so that they were side by side on my plate. A few of the others chuckled, and the woman defended herself with a, “Well, it’s just good manners, innit?” Maybe if I had left my knife and fork on the opposite sides of my plate, Pizza Express guy would not have presumed I did not want the rest of my lasagna.

Attention, please!

I am accustomed to an American protocol for wait staff that simply doesn’t exist in the UK. I am not saying this is necessarily good or bad, but there are certainly times when I miss it. After being seated, British and American servers will typically greet you and take drink orders. The American server will often take this a step further with something like:

“Can I get you guys, started with any appetizers today like a blooming onion or some fried green tomatoes?” or at the end of the meal:

“Did you leave any room today for our deep fried chocolate pumpkin cheesecake?” Well since you’ve asked. . .

In the US, you are not just being served food, you are being sold food (and drink, don’t forget the drink. It’s the real money maker). A good server is also a good salesperson, and yes, they know their tip “should” reflect that. They upsell by drawing your attention to the starters, offering you another alcoholic beverage (no free refills on that), and asking if you would like dessert. I would say this happens much less often in the UK. I would describe the British approach as a more hands-off approach, and some people appreciate that they are not being constantly bothered by their server. One downside for the restaurant itself might be missing out on a few quid (pounds) by not making the offer. There have been times when I have received the check before I had a chance to order pudding (dessert). Scandalous! In this American’s opinion, the extra attention goes a long way in creating a more pleasant dining experience overall.

Boiling a Frog

You’ve probably heard the analogy at some point that in order to boil a frog, you put the unfortunate amphibian in a pot of tepid water and gradually increase the temperature so that the frog does not realize it is in danger. As an animal lover, the whole concept makes me uncomfortable but I get the idea. Let’s apply this to food in both the UK and the US. No, I’m not talking about eating frogs here. I’m talking about added salt and sugar. Food manufacturers have long known that adding an excess of these two ingredients (not to mention added fat as well) to foods tickles our taste buds and increases the desire to eat more of that food. The amount they add has gradually gone up over time, so that most of us aren’t aware of how much we are eating; thus the boiling frog analogy.

In the US, Americans eat around 1.5 teaspoons of salt per day, exceeding the 1 tsp recommended limit. We eat a whopping 17 teaspoons of sugar per day, compared to the recommended 6 teaspoons (women) and 9 teaspoons (men). The British apparently consume a similar amount; however, anecdotally, I find British foods, even the processed foods, to be a bit less salty and sweet than their American counterparts. Sometimes the difference is subtle but still there. This can occasionally have negative consequences to the overall flavor, like when my husband’s risotto at a well regarded local cafe turned out to be utterly flavorless. Or the time I tried a very attractive red velvet cupcake from a cupcake bakery only to find the icing to be little more than lightly sweetened cream cheese. And yet there were rave reviews. Was I a victim of my sugar-altered American tastebuds again or did these people not realize how much better cupcakes could taste?

On the other hand, this lack of sugar and salt can be a benefit in other ways. When I’ve ordered mocktails or flavored coffees in the UK, I’ve been pleasantly surprised that the drink was not as sweet as I thought it would be. Sometimes not adding the extra bit of salt and sugar allows other flavors in the drink or dish to really shine. I would say overall, however, that my American palate is still having to adjust to this subtle (but sometimes not so subtle) shift. I wonder if I will notice that my tastes have changed when I next visit the US. A future post perhaps? Reverse Culture Shock: Visiting the US After __ Months of Living in the UK. Until then, dear friends, keep calm and carry on and mind your sugar and salt.

The year was 1997. It was my first visit to the UK to meet my boyfriend, now-husband, Philip for the first time (a story for another day) and my first British Christmas. Or Crimbo you might hear it called. The British love to give nicknames to absolutely everything, something I find simultaneously endearing and annoying. Phil’s mum Linda had prepared and organized everything beautifully. Before dinner there were aperitifs and nibbles (appetizers). There were Christmas movies on the BBC, and advert (commercial) free no less.

Dinner was delightful: turkey, stuffing (nothing different so far), roasted potatoes, gravy, assorted vegetables, Auntie Barbara’s famous red cabbage, and bread sauce. Come again? Bread sauce is similar to a white sauce made from milk mixed with fragrant spices (nutmeg, bayleaf, cloves, peppercorns), onion, and thickened with breadcrumbs and poured generously over your turkey slices. There were pigs-in-blankets which are bacon wrapped sausages, not little weenies baked in Pillsbury dough as we know them in the US. In a similar vein, other British delicacies are devils on horseback or prunes wrapped in bacon and its counterpart angels on horseback, oysters wrapped in bacon. All this we joyously washed down with glasses of wine and sparkling wine.

For pudding (dessert), there was Christmas cake, a white iced alcohol enriched fruit cake. I was also introduced to Christmas Pudding, something of Christmas carol lore: a traditionally steamed or boiled, spiced cake full of dried fruit, often soaked in brandy or another spirit. Christmas pudding is often made weeks or months in advance, and flambéed with brandy just before serving, giving it entertainment value even if one is not necessarily a fruit cake lover. Thankfully, I quite enjoy a good Christmas Pud. The dish was served warm with a choice of brandy butter, custard, cream or ice cream. Continuing with the spiced fruit theme, there were mince pies, palm-sized sweet pies made from mince meat: a mixture of fruit, spices and suet. For those with more delicate palates, there was an assortment of biscuits and chocolates as well. I was obliged to try a little of everything.

“Shall we do the crackers?” Linda asked. There was general approval while I scanned the table for what I imagined must be some sort of cheese course involving said mysterious crackers. Finally I was handed one of the cylindrical table decorations and instructed on how to cross my arms, grip the tabs on the ends and pull with all my might to elicit a satisfying POP as paper crowns, jokes and allegedly useful trinkets, such as small mirrors and letter openers, were released to our childlike glee. I, on the other hand, was still searching for the crackers.

After dinner and presumably presents (hey, it was 28 years ago), at 3:00pm we all gathered ‘round the tele to watch respectfully as the Queen gave her yearly public address. I remember feeling moved by Her Majesty’s ability to draw in and unite her diverse subjects while remaining faithful to her Christian beliefs. There was something very unifying in her calm, straightforward demeanor. Even if you were not a lover of the monarchy, I had to think there was something very soothing in these yearly addresses.

The Man in Red

As an American, I find there are more similarities than differences when it comes to celebrating Christmas in both the UK and US, language variations notwithstanding. We both enjoy Christmas trees, real and artificial, decorated with lights, baubles (spherical Christmas ornaments), ribbon, garland, and other small decorations. The tree may be topped traditionally with stars or angels. Christmas crackers are a common novelty gift that can now be found in most US department stores, though not so much in 1997. Stockings are popular in both countries with both hanging them on a mantle if one exists or somewhere in the lounge (living room); however, the British will sometimes put them at the end of the bed for Father Christmas (Santa) to fill.

The British Father Christmas and American Santa Claus can also seem poles apart (bad pun intended). One important distinction, according to the British, is that Father Christmas lives in Lapland, Finland which is a little more accessible than the North Pole. You can actually visit him in his Santa Claus Village in Rovaniemi. If you do not want to travel that far to meet Santa, many a school Christmas fair or town Christmas market will have Santa’s grotto (Santa’s workshop/village in the US) set up for hopeful children. British children, like American ones, also write letters to Father Christmas which they can address as follows and post in a Royal Mail post box:

Santa/Father Christmas, Santa’s Grotto, Reindeerland, XM4 5HQ, United Kingdom

I’ve also just discovered that there is a tradition in some UK families of burning these letters as a way of sending their wishes to Santa. I wonder if he gathers the letters the way Mary Poppins does?

Light the Way

It may not surprise you to learn that Christmas lights in the UK are much more understated than the US from a residential perspective but there are always exceptions. This one house in our neighborhood drew quite a bit of a stir on local social media not only because of its splendid light display but because the residents invited people to stop by and have pictures made in front of it.

If you still need your Christmas light fix, most town centres put up Christmas lights, and shops have enchanting window displays. You can also find walk-through light exhibits, but you will usually have to book them. While there you can buy cups of hot chocolate or mulled wine (warm red wine mixed with a combination of spices like cinnamon, cloves and star anise) for added coziness.

Here We Come a Caroling

There is nothing like Christmas music to warm the soul during the season, and if you ever find yourself in the UK at Christmas, please do attend a traditional carol service at a cathedral or other historic church as there is nothing quite like it. I want to pinch myself whenever I have the privilege to sit and listen to a polished choir in these beautiful, ancient structures. I can almost imagine the heavenly angels filling the skies and lifting their voices in the shepherds’ fields to welcome the newborn Messiah.

At my first British carol service, I saw some familiar ones listed on the program that included Oh Little Town of Bethlehem, Away in a Manger, and It Came Upon a Midnight Clear. Oh good, I know these, I thought to myself. But how wrong I was! The tunes to those three were completely different. I was taken aback. These were not my beloved carols. What was this sacrilege? Over the decades, however, I would learn to appreciate the British versions of these carols. Also some of the unfamiliar ones have now become familiar favorites: Once in Royal David’s City, In the Bleak Mid-winter, Gabriel’s Message, and Sussex Carol to name a few.

It’s Behind You!

Our family would always be sure to take our children to a pantomime or panto for short if we were planning to come to the UK for Christmas, as we deemed it an essential part of their cultural heritage. Pantos are lively musical theatre shows during the Christmas season which are silly, modern takes on children’s classic fairytales such as Peter Pan, Cinderella, Aladdin, et al. Music, jokes (some thankfully going over children’s heads), slapstick humor, and audience participation are key components of these shows. The audience cheers for the hero, boos and hisses the villain, helps the clueless character by saying, “It’s/He’s/She’s behind you!” or argues with a character who says something like, “Oh no he’s not!” by shouting, “Oh yes he is!” or some variation on that theme.

Since that first one in 1997, Christmas in the UK has always held a special place in my heart. Now I am very much looking forward to spending Christmas as a returning resident to the UK. Although I will be missing my family and friends in Tennessee, I am thrilled to be gathering with the British side of the family, something we were only able to do a few times while living in the US. Wherever you find yourself this Christmas, my hope for you all is that during the bleak mid-winter, as the carol says, you will find Christ’s coming to be a beacon of hope for your soul. And as the British say, “Happy Christmas!”

I thought I'd write something a little more light-hearted this week. Short and sweet. What makes the UK so beautiful? Whether admiring a colorful flint stone wall, a moss-draped headstone in a graveyard, or the soft warmth of a honey-colored Bath Stone cottage in the West Country, the United Kingdom is a veritable feast for the eyes. The historic architecture and natural building materials intermingled with lush landscapes provide a richness of textures and colour that is as captivating as any work of art hanging in a gallery.

When I stare out the front windows of my house, I see a mosaic of these materials thanks in part to living in a conservation area, a place protected by a local government to preserve its historic or architectural character. The oldest of these natural materials in my neck of the woods are the flint “pebbles” that are commonly found on the nearby beaches. Pebbles, by the way, are not the tiny stones you may have in mind (see images below). Today, they are legally protected and cannot be removed in order to prevent erosion and preserve the coasts. In the past, they were widely used to build houses, walls and other structures, especially along the Sussex coast. Today, the style may still be used, but the stones are used mostly as facade rather than structure.

These Stones Speak

Stone, brick, timber; they seem so romantic to us perhaps because they are as old as the earth itself. We imagine the stories of the peoples who lived in and worked among these constructions, seemingly more intimate with the rhythms of the natural world than we are today. Their uneven, sometimes wonky patterns are what give these structures character and charm. Perhaps we see something truly beautiful in these imperfections because we are surrounded in modernity by smooth, soulless surfaces that have no connection to creation at all. Everything can seem rather, processed.

Thankfully, the British have done a rather splendid job of preserving their heritage and natural surroundings. Even if you live in a scruffy, graffiti-strewn town, you are likely just a short drive (or walk) from formidable castles, stately homes, gardens, historic sites, nature reserves, and a countryside so verdant it seems like a fairy-land. Very romantical, as Anne Shirley, the Anne of Green Gables character, might say. That is one of the many reasons I longed for so many years to return to live in the UK, a dream that happily became a reality just three months ago. And I must say, I feel a deep sense of wonder and gratitude that I have the privilege of living amongst these “ruins.”

It took us two months to get internet. We discovered a leak in our downstairs shower. An upstairs window leaks. Our painting attempt was a failure due to thin, horrible paint. My son's first month of school was a painful adjustment. We don't have a clothes dryer and have to hang everything. It's so humid here nothing dries, so we had to buy a dehumidifier. It starts getting dark around 4:30 pm this time of year. The weather can be wild, wet, and windy down here on the coast. And, gasp, our local Sainsbury's doesn't carry canned pumpkin (insert Psycho shower scene music here).

“I miss my cushy life,” I confessed to a friend on the phone somewhat guiltily. In that moment of despair, I just wanted to board a plane and go home, sleep in my old bed, fix food in my old kitchen, sit on my screened porch and watch the cardinals, and enjoy all of the comfortable things I took for granted before we got this hair-brained idea to move to the UK. In the US, we had a nice house in a pleasant neighborhood. We had updated the kitchen and bathrooms, replaced windows, painted the exterior, and insulated every square inch of the place. It wasn’t our dream house, but we had made it a cozy home. We had lived in a beautiful region occupied by mountains, rivers, and lakes. We had close family, friends, a good church, and friendly neighbors. Now being faced with multiple unforeseen challenges in our new residence, I was beginning to question why we had moved. Had this really been God’s will? If this was what we were supposed to do, why was everything so dang hard?

I know it sounds like I'm just complaining. Oh boo hoo, she has to live in the UK, the land of lush green hills, afternoon tea, beautiful gardens, and ancient castles. While I understand the sentiment, the truth is that as I adjust to my new life, I need to give myself permission to grieve the loss of the old one. While overseas moves can be fun and exciting, there is a dark side few people want to admit. First you have the stress of the move itself, followed by adjusting to the idiosyncrasies of your new abode. There’s the homesickness that can set in once the shine of the new place wears off. And of course, there's the culture shock of adjusting to different ways of speaking, behaving, even thinking! At least we didn't have to learn another language. Oh, wait.

One minute I am celebrating my ability to walk into town to a cozy cafe for coffee and cake; the next I am bemoaning the fact that I can't get barbeque anymore. One minute I am singing the praises of having access to train travel; the next I am frustrated to realize that I still need a car to access certain areas. One minute I am elated that I don't have to worry about a mountain of healthcare bills; the next I am fighting back tears of frustration over a communication issue with my child's doctor's surgery (office). Coming soon: The NHS. My experience with the British healthcare system.

The Bible recounts the history of the ancient Israelites who were led by God out of enslavement in Egypt and into the Promised Land which He swore to their forefathers Abraham, Isaac and Jacob to give them. During their time en route to the Promised Land, they often accused their leader Moses, who spoke and acted on God's authority, of leading them into the wilderness to die. God had performed mighty miracles in the wilderness in front of Israel’s eyes, and still they questioned his goodness and faithfulness. They missed their “cushy” lives in Egypt and seemed to forget the way they had been treated there. Not that East Tennessee is Egypt, although it can get miserably hot, but I digress.

We can learn a great deal from Israel’s story. Things can be challenging and still be right. They can even be painful and still be good. Before we decided to move to the UK, my husband and I took time to pray and ask the Lord to reveal His will. After this period, we felt confident in moving forward with our decision. It is natural to question things when they aren't going as smoothly as we envision, when we realize (gulp) that this is not the Promised Land. It is a good land, and it is breathtakingly beautiful in places, but it isn't perfect. Even when Israel entered the Promised Land, they still had to contend with giants. There is no perfect country this side of eternity.

But don't worry, I'm not packing up my things like a homesick camper who couldn't hack it. Neither have I sweepingly concluded that the UK is a worse place to live than the US. It excels in many things; it fails in others. It is not paradise, but there are moments of beauty to be enjoyed at intervals along this grand journey. It also helps to remind myself that as a Christian, I am merely a pilgrim passing through this life on my way to my true eternal home. This is not the Promised Land, but it is a rather pleasant one.

“You can do this. You can do this.” I had done this before. Granted, many years before. It would all come back to me, right? Like riding a bicycle. Except, this wasn't at all like riding a bicycle. I adjusted my seat, checked the mirrors, and found the gearshift with my left hand. “Think left,” I whispered aloud as I wound my way out of the Aldi car park.

It was dark out which mercifully meant the roads weren't quite as busy. Still the faded road markings, a dirty windscreen (windshield), and the blinding lights from oncoming traffic were disorienting. We approached a small flashing red light. Was that a cyclist? What on earth was a cyclist doing on a dual carriageway (highway) at night? I gripped the steering wheel and tried to slow my breathing.

I had hesitated when Phil asked if I wanted to drive home from the supermarket in our new (used) car with the laughable but accurately descriptive name, the Scoda Roomster. After a few seconds of my life flashing before my eyes, I concluded that there was no time like the present and reluctantly took the key. I would have to get behind the wheel sooner or later and face my fears. Fears that had kept me from driving in the UK since living here 25 years ago. Reasonable fears given the multiple hazards frequently encountered when driving here, far beyond driving on the left side of the road, on the right side of the car.

Phil instructed that at the next roundabout, I should go straight on. I reminded myself that meant staying in the left hand lane and downshifted to a lower gear as I approached the junction. After checking for cars to my right, I entered the roundabout, keeping left, and then dutifully signaled left before exiting the roundabout. Thud! I clipped the kerb and heard Phil audibly wince. I straightened out. “Mind the kerb,” he admonished tersly. Think left, but not that far left, I reminded myself.

Nearly home now, but the danger wasn't over. I still had to run the gauntlet of narrow backstreets lined with parked cars on both sides, only leaving room for one car down the middle at a time. The vague rules seemed to be: if another car approaches from the opposite direction, determine who should pass first based on who arrived first, who has the nearest space to duck into, and who is the cheekiest so-and-so (who will push their way through regardless). After this elaborate game of chicken, I managed to get us home, feeling slightly rattled but triumphant. I had not crashed the car, and I had not killed anyone. Result!

Learning to Drive (again)

As a UK resident, I am allowed to drive on my US driver’s license for one full year, and then I must obtain a UK driving licence (with two c's). The UK has no equivalency agreement with the US for exchanging driver's licenses like it does with some other countries, partly because in America the testing standards can vary state by state and may not meet UK standards. This means that the test given to me by the state of Tennessee at age 16 that only required four right turns around the block and backing into a parking space simply does not cut it over here. Imagine that.

I am kicking myself for not getting my UK licence 25 years ago when I had the opportunity (and the mental focus). Although I did drive on my US license for a year whilst living here, anxiety kept me from pursuing a UK licence. British driving tests are notoriously difficult, and most people (British or expats) will require lessons with an actual instructor to pass it. I am determined to get it this time around, but first I will need to apply for a provisional driving licence which says I meet the requirements to begin learning to drive. Then I will need to book and pass a theory test which is much like a permit test in the US. I feel like I'm 15 again.

To help prepare for my theory test, I am using an app on my phone called Driving Theory Test 4 in 1 Kit that includes practice test questions, hazard video clips where you must identify hazards by tapping the screen, road sign identification, and a copy of The Highway Code to revise (study). The Highway Code is the UK government's book of rules and regulations for all road users. The app has a handy guarantee that if you follow their revision (test prep) criteria, you will pass the theory test first time or they will refund the test fee.

The next step will be the actual road test. As mentioned previously, to prepare I will need to have at least a few lessons with an instructor to ensure I am doing everything by the book. In addition, I will have to pass a road test that is particular to manual transmission cars. A manual transmission road test will allow me to drive either a manual or automatic car whereas an automatic test would only allow me to drive an automatic car. Furthermore, we decided to buy a manual car after discovering that used manual cars are currently cheaper and more widely available than automatics in the UK. Thankfully I have plenty of experience driving a stickshift as we say in the US. My first car was a manual and we also owned a vintage manual BMW until about seven years ago. However, I do feel a bit rusty, no pun intended, and just hope I don't fail the test for nervously shifting into the wrong gear. Pray for me.

Stay tuned for more thrilling adventures of the automotive kind as I update you on my formidable quest to obtain a British driving licence.

No matter on which side of the Atlantic you live, the previous few years have not been ideal for home buyers. Whether dealing with dwindling inventory or an eye-popping escalation in house prices in certain areas, both the United States and the United Kingdom have had their fair share of real estate woes. However, there are several differences in the house buying process between the two nations which I only discovered once we began our quest to move back to the UK. Before I get into them, let me first state that our experience is generally representative of England, UK and may not be representative of the other UK countries (Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland). With that in mind, I present to you five ways that the process of US and UK home buying can be very different.

1. Who's side are you on?

When we found a house online in the UK that met our criteria, we rang up the estate agent who had listed the property and made an appointment directly with them to see it. We ended up contacting nine different estate agents to arrange viewings for about 18 properties over a mere 2 1/2 days. We also visited three schools in that time period. That is a logistical feat that only someone with the mad organizational skills as my husband could accomplish. Let's just say there was a spreadsheet involved.

In the US, a house is also sold by a real estate agent or realtor but usually the buyer chooses their own realtor (known as a buyer's agent) who arranges showings and negotiates offers with the seller's realtor. It was only after making an offer on our current house that I realized this key missing element: buyer's agents are not commonly used in the UK. We made an offer on the house via the seller's estate agent, and within a few hours had the happy news that our offer had been accepted. That evening we raised a glass in celebration and breathed a sigh of relief.

However, our jubilation was short lived. The next day, we had a phone call from the estate agent. The seller had received another higher offer which would not be disclosed. Would we be prepared to make another higher offer? Taken aback by this turn, we blindly countered with another offer, desperately hoping it was enough to avoid being gazumped, the word in UK parlance for when a seller accepts a higher offer from another buyer. Our counter offer was accepted but frustratingly, this same scenario played out again a couple of days later. This time we were told the amount offered and were asked to offer a bit more. We had no buyer's representative and no legal recourse. We knew our choice was to offer extra or walk away. We begrudgingly chose to pay up and were given the somewhat cold comfort that the seller would accept ours as the final offer. Thankfully this held true.

2. Can I have it in writing?

Unfortunately, having an offer accepted in England is all talk. Your initial agreement with the seller is verbal only. The estate agent will issue a Memorandum of Sale that confirms the basic terms of the sale; however, this is not a legally binding document. There is no signed purchase agreement or initial deposit (earnest money) to help secure your accepted offer with the seller like there is in the US.

In England, the legally binding part or exchange of contracts happens multiple steps (and usually months) down the road, during which time a buyer or seller can pull out for any reason. You can imagine the anxiety and huge disappointment this can cause. While it is also possible for an American buyer or seller to cancel a purchase agreement, especially if certain stipulations in the agreement have not been met, it is much more difficult to do so. Having a contract in place early on in the game helps to prevent another potential problem that is more common in the UK: the chain.

3. Never break the chain.

I hope at least one of you now has the Fleetwood Mac song going through your head. The reality of the UK chain is much less enjoyable. When house hunting on UK property sites, I discovered that some of the properties were advertised as Chain Free, an obviously important selling point for Brits. According to halifax.co.uk, ‘A property chain is when a group of property buyers and sellers are linked together because their purchase or sale depends on others.’ All parties in a UK chain must exchange contracts on the same day. If one party has an issue before this happens and needs to bail for any reason, then the whole chain breaks down. The longer the chain, the more likely this is to occur.

Although chains can exist in the US, there is less chance of them breaking because of the legally binding contract signed earlier in the process. Chains themselves are less likely to form in the US because all parties do not have to close (complete the sale) at the same time. Also it is not uncommon for a US home buyer to move into a short-term rental when waiting on their new property, something that may be more difficult for a UK home buyer due to expense and low availability. The house we bought in the UK was not chain free but thankfully the chain was short because we had already sold our house in the US, we were cash buyers, and our seller was buying a chain free property herself.

3. Legal Representation

Never fear, you will not be left to navigate these choppy waters of UK house buying alone. Once you have had an offer accepted, you will instruct a solicitor or conveyancer. Essentially, you hire a legal representative who conducts property searches (land registry, environmental, title, etc.) and draws up a final contract for both parties to sign.

Meanwhile, the seller also instructs a solicitor to liaise with the buyer's solicitor in preparation for the final exchange of contracts. The seller's solicitor gives the seller a contract pack which includes various forms that must be completed and returned to their solicitor who reviews and then sends to the buyer's solicitor who reviews and raises queries concerning issues for the seller's solicitor and who also sends on to the buyer to review and raise their own queries to then send back to their solicitor to send to the seller's solicitor and so on and so forth. Phew! The speed of the process is dependent upon everyone doing their jobs in a timely manner, which brings me to our next difference: timescale.

4. How long is a piece of string?

If you ask about the timescale of buying a property in the UK, you will often hear the unhelpful but somewhat accurate response, “How long is a piece of string?” In other words, it all depends! In our case, at first things seemed to move very quickly, the final offer was accepted, we instructed a solicitor, and got the ball rolling with the financial side of things. However, the weeks following this initial flurry of activity were painfully slow. Phil likened it to baking a cake by putting some flour in a bowl, waiting a week, adding some eggs, waiting another week, adding sugar, and so on.

There are many variables at play in the speed of this process, such as: the existence and length of a chain, whether any issues come up in the searches, how quickly the seller responds to queries, or how busy the solicitors themselves are with other clients. Sometimes timescales take longer, rarely shorter, but usually buying a home in England takes somewhere between 8-16 weeks from accepted offer to completion. Ours took about 20 weeks. In the US, once you are under contract (with a purchase agreement), you can usually close on a property in less than two months.

5. Exchange vs Completion vs Closing

In the UK, once all the ducks are in a row, the solicitors send out contracts to all parties for signing. As mentioned previously, this is the exchange of contracts. Once this takes place, all parties agree on a completion date when the purchase is complete, the seller vacates the property, and the buyer picks up the keys. Between exchange and completion, money changes hands. In the US the buyer and seller agree to a date of closing on a property. This is a meeting, usually at a title company, with the buyer, the seller, both realtors and the closing agent in a formal process to finalize the transfer of home ownership. Many documents are signed, the buyer receives the keys, and the money changes hands that day.

Having been through both processes in the US and the UK, I can without hesitation say that I much prefer the American way of doing things. The argument on the UK side is that theirs is a very thorough process that ensures the buyer is less likely to have nasty surprises after they've bought a property. The process also ensures that everyone involved in a property chain has somewhere to live and does not end up in the unhappy position of paying loans on two properties because their house hasn't yet sold. Nevertheless, the US process seems to be much quicker and more predictable on the whole than the UK one. In our case, I'm just thankful that after months of hand-wringing, our house purchase in the UK was successful. And nobody broke the chain.

It was 25 years ago. My husband and I embraced tightly and stared one last time from the lounge windows of our top floor flat, the English Channel shimmering just a few hundred metres away, beyond the spacious green of the sea front. Tears flowed freely. We were saying good bye to what had been our first home as newlyweds, my first home in a foreign country, and my first time living away from family and friends in Tennessee.

It had at times been a struggle. Phil had traveled for work and toured with a band frequently for 2 weeks at a time throughout the nearly two years of our fledgling marriage, leaving me to navigate the beautiful yet alien world I'd landed in. Between general homesickness and culture shock, it was no surprise that my 25 year old self would seize upon the opportunity to return to the States when my husband suggested that he might be ready for a change of scenery and career.

However, after moving back to America, we missed the UK and our little seaside town more than we thought we would. Over the years, we would beat our breasts over selling the flat with its sweeping view of the sea. As we walked in circles around our pleasant yet predictable American subdivision, we would miss being able to walk to places: into town, the grocery store, the library, the post office, the sea. . . We missed “free” healthcare as we stared with shock and horror at yet another exorbitant medical bill from taking our child to the ER. East Tennessee is a beautiful region, yet we missed the achingly sublime beauty of historic buildings, gardens, cottages and countryside. Not to mention public transportation, something that was woefully inadequate in our neck of the woods.

Phil and I talked regularly about moving back to the UK some day. Maybe once the youngest has graduated, we thought. In time though, we found ourselves looking more and more intently at moving back. We had been gingerly exploring the housing market in different parts of London, sending each other possible options we'd discovered on Rightmove. And then came the day that changed everything.

I was nearly shaking with excitement as I texted Phil. “Look what I found!”

“Do you want to buy it?” came his prompt reply.

“Yes??”

I couldn't believe my eyes. On a whim, I had decided to see what might be available in our old seaside town and was astonished to see on the very last page of the listings that our old flat was up for sale at an unbelievably low price. It seemed too good to be true. Phil made some phone calls. After several weeks of digging, we discovered with sadness that there were, of course, issues that made the property a potential money pit. Not the least of which was that it was sitting on a flood plain. Also, the exterior of the building had not been well maintained. We were gutted.

Nevertheless, this venture into the possibility of moving back had wetted our appetite. We began to discuss and pray about whether we should move anyway. After several weeks, we made our final decision to move our family to the UK. Although there were plenty of desirable places we could have chosen to move to, our hearts remained set on our little seaside town for its affordability, walkability and, not least, proximity to the sea.

The house hunt was on. At the end of March 2025, we looked at 15 properties and three schools over 2 1/2 days. A few days later we had an offer accepted on a charming house in a quiet end of town. Five months later, we officially moved to the UK. Easy peasy. Well, maybe not quite but that, my friends, is a story for another day.

Please stay tuned for more of our family adventures, to quote the poet William Blake, “In Englands green and pleasant land.”

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A Dream Come True

For 25 years while living in the United States, my husband and I had talked endlessly about returning to live in his native England, UK. This summer, we finally decided to make our dream a reality. With two of our three children (the eldest continues to live independently in the States), we sold our house, our furniture, our cars, and all other non-essential belongings and packed up everything else onto a pallet to ship to our new home in the UK. So far it has been a dreadfully exciting as well as inevitably challenging adventure. So please enter through the garden gate with me where I’ll share the stories, experiences, culture shocks and linguistic hurdles of our new British way of life.

1. El Propósito (The Purpose of this Substack)

I sincerely hope through my writing to invoke a sense of wonder and inspiration to fellow Anglophiles whether they love to travel to the UK, live in the UK, are considering a move to the UK or simply desire to devour all things British. I also hope that it will provide an outlet for expressing both my delight and curiosity at the beauty and culture shocks I will discover whilst living here. Lastly, I hope my writing will serve as an educational opportunity for those who want a glimpse at the cultural and linguistic nuances of British life in general and of southeast England in particular.

2. Calling all Anglophiles

And artists. And poets. And linguists. And anthropologists. And day dreamers. Tumble down this rabbit hole, this wonderland, this beautiful topsy-turvy land where car trunks are boots and Boots are chemists and chemists are pharmacies where you spend a few quid unless you're skint.

3. What's next?

I will release content once a week on Fridays. However, today's release is a double feature. Please continue to my next post where I share a little of the back story of how we ended up here.

Kind regards,

Roz