Top Ten Reasons Why I'm Not British
As I sit here on the tarmac at Heathrow en route to Nice, I can’t help but wonder what my life would be like had I been born a Brit. There are a myriad of reasons why this would excite me — there are so many wonderful things about the United Kingdom and London in particular. However, that reality is probably too much to contemplate so I shall embrace the virtues of actuality.
Here now, the top ten reasons why I could never be British…
(Ignoring the fact that in no way does my ancestry touch the United Kingdom unless you count the Roman Empire.)
10) Right Hand Drive. I’m not sure how this is a good idea. I mean, it must be fine when you get used to it, but are there that many lefties in Britain that a gear shift lever feels proper in that hand? Although, I only buy sequential these days, so I shouldn’t complain.
9) No Tipping. Who the hell goes to a restaurant and pays what the check says? Hell, I even drop the coins in the jar at the bagel store that constantly gives me the wrong kind of cream cheese on my bagel.
8) Rain. Sorry. Can’t handle it. I can barely stand “April Showers” in New York. The only way I make it through April is because my birthday is on the 19th. (Hint Hint…)
7) British Standard 1363 “Type G” Plugs. I understand how the post-World War II copper shortage led to this design decision to put a giant fuse in the plug of a 220v electrical connection, but c’mon. It’s time for something a tad more elegant.
6) John Pearse. While I admire his style and have purchased my first clothing from him… he’s the “most flamboyant tailor in all of London”? Next trip, for contrast, I’d like to meet the most conservative tailor in all of London. I’ll wear my finest John Pearse to the meeting!
5) Reservations. People are REALLY serious about dining reservations. Twice on this trip I was turned away from a half-empty restaurant for having 1 additional person in a party. I can be quite friendly and that often times will wreak havoc with attendance counts.
4) Formula1. In the US, I’m a bit of a Formula1 “expert”. Over here, I’m functioning at about a “lobotomized turnip” level of knowledge. And don’t even get me started with football, rugby, or cricket… What the hell is a wicked googly? (Not even Google knows!)
3) Layered Clothing. I can barely manage to match top-to-bottom… now I need to layer sweaters, scarves, ties, outerwear and gloves? I can’t handle that kind of 3D chess.
2) Accents. Pardon me? Excuse me? Can you repeat that please? Colloquialisms aside, there’s got to be over a dozen variations on the English accent. While lovely almost all the time, it can be VERY complicated to understand. Except when swearing. And talking dirty.
1) Aston Martin. They’re quite lovely to look at, but between the machinations of my ex-wife’s desire to own a DB9 Volante (that I never bought her, thank you very much 60% depreciation in 30 months) and their own recent Ford “pedigree”, I can’t help but die a little every time I see an Aston Martin. I so want them to be superior, I truly do! I’ll stick to my Scuderia, thank you…
…with it’s sequential transmission, while tipping the garage attendant, driving on a sunny day, with no “type g” plugs in sight, wearing a white John Pearse shirt, on my way to ‘ino without a reservation, while talking Formula1 to a NSACAR fan, while not wearing a sweater of other layer, speaking Father Guido’s English…
HEY. You can diss our weather, but leave our plugs alone. You and your puny two-prongs don’t know what you’re missing.
2 months ago