The Cotswolds

Worcestershire sauce....go ahead say it out loud. If you ask an American how to pronounce this, I can guarantee you that they will get tongue tied, trip over the syllables and even if they don't; I can just about guarantee that they will pronounce it and some Brit somewhere will cringe over the "mispronunciation" of the county name, Worcestershire ("war-kester-shire").

I myself have given up attempting to say these things and now just spell them outright. Strolling across the hills of England are my newest adventures. Reading,  tends to be a bit flat and whilst The Cotswolds are no mountains, they are a nice change of scenery; a sprawling hillside approximately 90 miles long. Natural beauty.

Hiking

My first hike was to the Malvern Hills near Worcestershire collectively part of  'The Cotswolds'. One of the highest peaks in the area. After roaming across the other "side" of the hills from Gloucestershire, you can see just how tall the Malvern Hills are. It was here that my mate pointed out he wanted to climb the 'tall (Malvern) hill' some time in the near future, and I agreed....since I've already conquered that "high peak" a few weeks ago. :-P So carry on.... *cheeky*

Some 20 miles away from the Malvern hills, where me and my girlies had explored a few weeks prior, is Crickley park (where my most recent adventure occurred). The trails here consist of little warn paths (muddy in this case) with the random cow crossing by your way. No worries, they for the most part, are verra tame and will leave you be.

Shopping

Once at Cheltenham (Gloucester) you'll find quite the plethora of shops to spend oodles of money in. Here I regret to inform you that I popped into a Starbucks trying to tame my craving for an Egg Nog latte. (I try my best to avoid American things when in Europe).
** I stood in the longest queue. of. my. life. for. coffee.**

***queue = line

As it was, I needed a new rain coat (living in England such things are necessities) so off to the shops for one. I lucked out with a great deal on a great coat (my cousin Charity would be sooo proud) and just before heading for the hills, we stopped to "watch" this creative clock-work in the centre of the mall. Every hour the ball drops from the duck, lands in the cog-like bit, then rolls into the clock "brain" -out pops a little mechanical mouse head whilst the fish below blows bubbles at all the children watching (and all of us big kids as well). This all lasts about one minute and the crowd moves on. Splendid way to spend a weekend away, if you're looking to spend a nice relaxing time away from the city. Mother nature is calling you, put on your new cross trainers and explore!

Stonehenge

Ahhh,  the infamous Stonehenge. I finally made it! Would it be cheeky of me to say that it isn't much more than a pile of large boulders? Nifty how they are placed in a pattern though (the 'Aliens' were clever in their signs--how DID they move them anyway?). It's been around since 2400BC. That in itself is impressive.  Apparently there are even more of these rock patterns throughout the UK although this is the most famous of them all. The stones are now fenced-in but for a price of £6 ($10) you can pay to go around the gate and get close but not actually touch or walk through the stones. (They are still protected and fenced up to keep travellers from breaking pieces off and carting them home with them--or perhaps to keep you from falling in between them and travelling to other time periods). If you're in a real hurry and don't have time to stop at the car park and walk across the road to see Stonehenge; catch a glance of it from the A344. You can see the stones on top of the hill whilst driving up to it.

UPDATE: Ticket prices in 2019 are about $20 per person now *Insert my shocked face!

Hayling Island

"Sally sells seashells down by the seashore." Now say that ten times fast...

One of my newest adventures sent me off to the seashore hunting for seashells. After much whining and begging my friend gave in and drove us 65 miles to the south shore of England to a small island town known as Hayling Island. An hour and half later (and several rainstorms later...) we approached the coast. This was my first trip to an English coast and I wanted to take it all in come rain or shine. And rain it did (please no comments about english weather, mum).

Hayling Island consists of over three miles of beaches (and I think we walked most of them) to seek shells. One beach in particular is covered in seashells. From afar it looks like a giant sand dune but when close up you realise you are actually walking on a mound of shells. Brilliant!

Despite the weather and the fact that I wore white to the beach and got soaked, had a wonderful time and most importantly got all the seashells I could carry :) Highly recommend this place with its safe open spaces, fresh air, sheltered waters and small English town feel.  During the summer months the island also has an amusement park of sorts.

Traveller tip: Eat at the local carvery. Good food, relatively cheap!

Car boot sale!

What is a car boot sale you ask? Let me first begin by defining that what Americans call the "trunk " of the car, Brits  call a "boot". With that new knowledge, you can begin to formulate what I'm selling here...

Eastern (US) will call it a yard sale, (~like why Scooby?~ We're not selling off our yards- for the record; in England yards are known collectively as gardens. Okay now back to topic on hand--another side note: it could possibly be that Easterners have larger turfed yards than those living out west and garages are a popular thing to have in the cold and snowy west???).

Westerners (US) call it a garage sale, (whilst this makes more sense, because items for sale are covering tables that line the garage of the home owner; it still seems queer since you are not in fact selling off your garage). REeeeeeally far westerners a.k.a Hawai'ians call this a swap meet.  *shrugs shoulders *

Britons have car boot sales. (Again, they are not selling the trunks of their cars but rather items out of it. This would sound really dodgy if you were parked in a Wal-Mart car park in the US). Basically, you gather all your junk; toss it in the trunk/boot of your car, and drive unto a massive field where loads of other people have already set up in their own cars and vans. Now you display your wares, lie in wait for the innocent passer byers to pounce on and begin the haggling process of just how much you think your stuff is worth :) Car boot sales are usually held rain or shine (thus being in England- chances are you'll have more rain than shine. So pray that the field you're in doesn't get too boggy). Having illustrated this odd trash-to- treasure trade, I think it's best described as a "flea market" ...don't get me started on those...

Cricket

 Ahhhh, the infamous game of Cricket in England. I will try my best to explain the game as I am lucky enough to have a friend who loves this sport and taught this dense American how to play. Keeping in mind I'm used the rules of the American Baseball--I'll do the best I can to explain and compare the two brilliant games (Mum this is for you, I know you're reading and have always been slightly confused by 20 some guys running amok on the field).  ;-)

Cricket is a team sport played between two teams of 11 players. Each team has its own captain, multiple batsmen, multiple bowlers and other players acting as fielders. It is a bat-and-ball game played on a roughly elliptical grass field, in the centre of which is a flat strip, called a pitch. This is where the bowler (Baseball--pitcher) will bowl (pitch) the ball to the other team's striker (baseball--batter). Bowling is definitely I skill I have yet to master. At this point, I'm just trying not to look like an orangutan with my apish arms circulating about my head calling to all other monkeys. (Don't laugh, it takes pure concentration on my part to swing my arms 'round in different directions at the same time--it's like patting your head with one hand and using the other in a circular pattern to rub your tummy--go on then, try it...I know you're going to)...

Got that out of your system now? Okay, continue...your goal is to hit the wicket to gain an out. Wickets are placed on the field--one set behind the bowler and the other behind the striker. Each wicket has three stumps that stand side by side. At the top of the stumps are bails that connect the stumps. A wicket keeper (baseball = catcher) crouches behind the striker with the gloves and waits for the ball to be hit and is the only fielder that has gloves. (In baseball ALL players wear gloves....but then I canna blame them..I wouldn't want to field a 88 mph ball coming at me without protection).

The method of 'batting' is a wee bit different as well...firstly, the "bat" is shorter and flatter than the American Baseball bat and the swing is a cross between a baseball swing and posh golf swing. ;-)

Playing and Scoring

Hit the ball and both the batsmen run to try to reach the opposite popping crease. When both successfully touch, by body or bat, the ground behind the opposite crease, a run is scored. Depending on where the ball is they may try to score another run by running back to the starting popping crease. This must be done before the other team's fielders knocks the bails off the stumps with the cricket ball, which is an out.

 Score six runs by hitting the ball over the boundary without touching the ground. If the ball reaches the boundary and touches the ground in doing so, the batting team is granted four runs. These runs are automatic unless the runners have scored more.There are some extra runs as well. If the bowler oversteps the crease while bowling it is called a 'no ball'. It gives the batting side an extra run and at the same time the ball wont be counted and the only way a batsman can lose his/her wicket on a no ball by getting run out. If the bowler bowls the ball beyond the reach of the batsman in either sides or above his height, it is called a 'wide ball' and will give an extra run to the batting side and the ball won't be counted. End an inning when ten of the batsmen are out, or the score required to meet is reached. Or when the game has just done your head in with all the rules and regulations and you canna keep up anymore--(possibly that's just me). Seriously good fun!

Ya dig?

Today's adventure led to an ancient Roman ruin called Silchester. Ever feel like being an archeologist or playing Indiana Jones? Here's your chance.

The students from the University of Reading are out here all summer long working on their tans and getting free mud make overs whilst digging away at history.

Sleeping policemen

Aha! Now I get it! What American's call speed bumps the Brit's call sleeping policemen. *Slaps forehead*.

It has just occurred to me that one of my first American guests will be arriving in less than a month, so I must prepare (or rather prepare them  for some....differences).

This is one of the first signs I saw upon my return to England, I will admit that here in the street my maturity level dropped to Zero as I snapped this photo after having a good chuckle.

For the record Americans call sleeping policemen, Sleeping policemen and they are usually caught napping in their squad cars. :-P And actually I want to know how this term "sleeping policemen" came about. It's not as though bobbies went about throwing themselves on the ground in order to slow traffic right? So where does it come from???

Always time for tea

My adventures of learning how to live as the English woman I was born into and the American I grew into, perplexed me by just how different these two cultures can be. Take for example, a cup of tea. Easy enough, eh? Not so! Growing up in the States (and yes, Americans will call the USA, "the States", whilst the British will call it "America"--like it's the New world or land of opportunity or something crazy). PS. I'd like to point out at this time that American's have knicked a few things from the Britons whilst trying to claim their independence...for example...they wanted freedom to do what they wanted then why call the new world after the old one? England---> cross the pond---> New England. DOH! Oh, I give up. And don't even get me started on the Boston Tea Party...Right so back to tea....

The English way to make a cuppa tea: First, boil the kettle(even if it's just for one cup--also do not EVER let your British housemates catch you using the microwave to heat the water--they will be appalled--not that I'm speaking from experience or anything), add your milk to the mug, apply tea bag to boiling water, then sugar (if you take it). Remove tea bag (which if you're really posh should be Earl Grey tea or something similar). Stir with spoon and then promptly burn your tongue. Now that's a proper cup o' tea.

However, I grew up on American tea. Which implies you dump some water in a mug add a tea bag, sugar and pop it in the microwave for a minute or so, then remove it and add lemon--no milk. (the milk and lemon lesson I learned on my own--I was trying to have the best of both worlds---aye, the milk curdles--who knew?)

I'm still doing my best to learn what the difference is between my everyday tea and a "high" tea or cream tea. And also why I feel I have to hide my mug in the microwave and 'nuke' it when no one is looking (I mean come on, I'm just trying to save on the electricity bill and can't see putting on the kettle for one little mug). As curious as all this is, my mum gets up religiously every morning and has her tea the "English" way with milk after putting on the kettle and she's lived in the states now for years, so maybe there is hope for me yet.

International Pancakes

Ever wonder why there is a chain restaurant that serves breakfast all day (clearly it's a wonderful idea- but can be awful misleading)? Recently my English housemates wanted American pancakes. I scoffed at the idea... pancakes known around the world--surely they aren't only an "American" food. Then I began to ponder...IHOP. Those chain restaurants you find peppered through out the states, but rarely seen anywhere in Europe. So can they really call themselves the International House of Pancakes? Pancakes are not an international food. Sure in France they use the same ingredients...(less flour i think) and they call them crepes. These are generally eaten with jam spread and rolled up like a burrito (yum another "Mexican/American treat for a later date). So breakfast rules state if it's flat, it's a crepe and if it's fluffy, a pancake and when made with Canadian maple syrup; call it a flapjack. I'm not even going to go into details with traditions of adding blueberries and bananas to the batter for all out other sorts of flapjacks. And as my (very American) brother will tell you, no pancake is better than a chocolate chip pancake with whipped topping!

In case you were wondering just how to make "American" pancakes, I have included the recipe below: (to me though, we don't call them "American pancakes" we just call them pancakes (kind of like Brazilian nuts---in Brazil they just call them nuts..hehe)

American Pancake  aka. Betty Crocker recipe

1 egg
1 c. buttermilk
2 Tbsp salad oil or  shortening (aka Lard--all the Brits just scratched their heads puzzled) 
1Tbsp sugar ( here in the UK this gets complicated---find whatever they call the finest ground sugar bits)
1 c. (self rising) flour
1/4 tsp. baking soda (Lord help me if I know if it's called by any other name --sodium bicarbonate--possibly?)

Mix first 3 ingredients well, then add dry ingredients. Batter will thicken upon standing.  Pour batter into  heated skillet or frying pan that has been coated with butter or oil to 'fry' pancake. Flip once and waa lah, you have yourself a flapjack! (If added bananas, smush them into batter and mix before putting in pan--also add blueberries or chocolate chips into batter after mixing all above ingredients). Enjoy! Get creative!

bon appetite!

Basildon Park

Cruising 30 minutes west of Reading you will come to a National Trust landmark known as Basildon Park (this is pronounced "Baaaz-zil done" Park for those who want to hear it with an English accent :-P). On the park grounds you will find a rather stately home that was built somewhere near 1776-83 (for those Americans--that would be the year we gained our Independence from England). How is that for your history lesson for the day? HA! The grounds are green and lush and from the front view of the house you can see cows in the pastures. The house has marvelous wrap around staircases and is frequently used as a wedding venue. This park was part of the film set for Pride and Prejudice (the one featuring Keira Knightley)...

The house contains several bedrooms (I lost count after 6 or so) and even more bathrooms (how many bathrooms does one need???) and those bathrooms have big fluffy chairs in them with HUGE vanities...I felt like a princess in a fortress. :) :) :)

There were plenty of sitting rooms, drawing rooms and my favourite, the libraries ---with books filled to the ceiling!!! Now tell me I don't feel like the Beauty of the Beast's castle. (I didn't want to leave the library...practically dragged me out of it)! Oh and I can't forget to mention the pianos in the rooms. Magnificent!! (and yes, I did get to play one of them, however I'm not sure I did Beethoven any justice).

 

The bedrooms were exquisite each having stunning beds, I just wanted to take a running leap into them. :-)
The wardrobes in the rooms were so spacious, one having been filled with fur coats..I pondered climbing  into the back of it to discover Narnia. 

As we moved back down the spiraling staircases, we made our way to the kitchen which was redone in the 1950s style. I imagine growing up in this house would've been amazing to play hide-and-seek. I alone tried out a secret hiding spot in the giant kitchen cupboards! And let's not forget the divine dining room. Who's for tea?

Basildon Park is a great place for a country stroll or cream tea party. What ever the occasion, it's sure to be such fun!

Summer Olympics 2012

Wahoo the United Kingdom is gearing up to celebrate the 2012 Summer Olympics! With the Olympic Torch running from town to town, the games are just around the corner. The torch came to Reading today and my friends and I waited excitedly on the official route. Street vendors sold tacky Union Jack flags (yes, I bought one) whilst calling out "One poun, one poun", (inside joke) up and down the streets. I did not however, buy the Union Jack hats or fake gold medals (I believe that is pushing it a wee bit). We picked the perfect location to wait, right in front of us the torch was passed to the next relay runner.  C-O-O-L-! Later I got to meet one of the torch runners and she even let me hold the torch..... how exciting!!!

I've never been to the Olympics in the US, but hoping to see bits of it here in the UK. My friends and I made the local newspaper as well with our pretty selves posing for a picture in the Reading Chronicle (I hope I look OK in the photo the journalist took). He asked where we came from...and such an odd lot he picked because one of us is from Australia, the other from South Africa and me of course from the USofA. Looking forward to the Summer Olympics and some more adventures!

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

In my recent travels I've been to Turville. Where, you ask? Exactly. It's a tiny, little, out- of- the- way village my own (English) housemates never even heard of! (well, except one mate). We took a little country drive (and I mean little). The driving lane to this spot was narrower than Jennifer Gray's new nose.  Massive hedges grow on either side so even if you wanted to pull over to let another car by, you could not. The hedges must've been over seven feet tall on this particular part of the road into the village.  Basically it's like a green wall of ivy. But enough on the road ways in the English countryside. The entire reason for this trip was to find the pub near the old TV show setting for  The Vicar of Dibley and see the famous windmill from the film Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. As we were driving to the pub my friend (who is an actress) pointed out the filming vans we passed by, filming another movie of sorts. Apparently a lot of that goes on around those parts.

So we reach the Brakspear pub, very English-like and I love it immediately. Inside the pub there is a 'table' you must sit at if it is available. When you enter the pub, go to the right and into the first "room", walk to the table at the front window. This "table" was once a well full of water. The pub owners have welded a glass top to what once was a water well...if you look straight down through the glass, you'll still see water at the bottom of it. So neat! The center table 'leg' is the stone well wall and they've placed chairs around it with flowers on the glass table top. A must see if you're in the area. If you walk about the little village of Turville, you'll spot one of those antique red phone booths that every tourist climbs into to take a photo. Next, you can visit the parish church and see where The Vicar of Dibley was filmed.

http://www.thebullandbutcher.com/#

As you leave the pub turn to your left and look up the hill. Atop that green hill stands the infamous Cobstone Windmill from the lovely film Chitty Chitty Bang Bang where in the film, Dick Van Dyke creates his wondrous inventions. On a good day, one without rain; (which will be difficult to find because...well...it IS England after all...or Isle of Rain as I like to refer to it),  you can climb up the hill for a closer look at the wonderful windmill.

So if you're up for a day in the country, why not stop by the Brakspear pub for a pint --or in my case a half pint ;) and check out Buckinghamshire. Until my next adventure...Cheers!

To walk or ride? That is the question...

Choices, choices....I needed to go into town centre and couldn't decide if I should walk the 20 minutes or take the bus (since it was already at my stop). I picked the lazy way = bus. WRONG DECISION. Of course, I picked the verra front seat to admire the view. We made it half way to town during rush hour traffic only to have a car pull out into our bus lane. The bus driver quickly swerved up onto the curb just barely missed hitting a pedestrian walking innocently by. The car did graze the bus but the innocent bystander was unharmed. I,  lucky me, got to witness the entire scene...(dumb car!!!) and had to give the police a statement. The ambulance, who was sitting in the rush hour traffic, suddenly pulled over into the bus lane to make sure no one was hurt. I'm not really sure at this point if it's safer to walk or ride in the UK. Such excitement!

PS. Having thought about it, if I had been walking to town I'd probably been near to that sidewalk the bus driver drove up onto. So cheers for taking the bus after all.

Freedom of speech

Today in the news, the council has shut down a young girl's blog because she frequently posted pictures of the horrible and malnutritious school lunches served in the cafeteria. What happened to freedom of speech? I'll tell you what...you're permitted to speak if the government agrees with you, that's what. It wasn't her fault the school serves manky meals and it's not her fault the local newspaper decided to be cheeky, take her idea and run with it on a newspaper headline.

http://uk.lifestyle.yahoo.com/martha-payne-school-lunches-never-seconds-blog-banned.html

There is still hope for public opinion, the support of this young student from the peers around her caused the council to revoke it's demand for shutting down the blog.

In other food news, Me news, I've decided to try 'Turkish delight' after watching "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe". I am unhappy to report it was not 'delightful'. It tasted like Mr. Clean-lemon scented jelly covered in chocolate. Never again! Blech!

American Woman in London

I was asked multiple times today at work if I was Canadian. Do I look Canadian? Surely they don't think I sound Canadian. Never call a Canadian an American, they get soooooo insulted. I've been told that I have a verra soft accent. What's that mean, eh? It's not as if I go aboot adding 'eh' to the end of all my sentences now do I, eh? Och, aye! So the Norwegians think I'm Scottish and the English think I'm a bloody Canadian..what gives, eh? Then, when I do come back to the States, every one there thinks I've an English accent. Would y'all make up yer mind? ;-)

The Daily Grind

 I've found my daily commute to work (from Reading to Newbury) to be absolutely unfavorable. Riding the train in Europe is like riding the subway in New York City. YUCK! I just don't like doing it. **Sigh* I'd even prefer to ride the "L" (when in lived in Chicago) during a Cubs game!

In other news...the "little people" of Britain (this what they actually call themselves, not something I've created) are hopping mad because they've not cast them in roles for dwarfs in the new film, Snow White and the Huntsman. Let's be real here. No one actually wants to work with Kristen Stewart, right?

Where's the Beef?

Today's adventure brought me to the butcher shop. I have the desire to make lasagne (yes, even in this heat) for dinner tonight. Grandma B's recipe calls for one pound of ground meat, I use turkey (I don't eat red meat). First things first, I've learned that in Britain they don't call it 'ground' meat but rather 'minced'. As soon as I grasp that terminology, I go forth to the butcher shop. Thinking I'm all smart now and can speak butcher-talk, I waltz into the shop and ask for a pound of "minced" turkey meat, please. The butcher now looks at me like I have three heads and one of them is breathing fire...I've totally caught him off guard with this.

He doesn't say this, but I'm pretty darn sure he's thinking, "What next from the crazy Americans?"

Instead he politely replies, "I don't have any of that today. Ring ahead next time and I'll make sure we do it for you, aye?"

Dejected I leave the butcher shop to purchase chicken which I then use for the lasagne after dicing it up. Next, my flatmate enters the kitchen, sees me cooking the chicken and furrows her brow. She now asks, "What are you doing?!?!"

Let me explain what her concern was...I put the uncooked chicken in a skillet and boiled it in water (just like dear ol' mum does it :-P ). I find it healthier than my flat-mate's response to put chicken oil and fry it in the pan.

Again I'm sure she's thinking, "What next from the crazy American?"


Ahhhh but I dinna care, I'm going to eat it and if the Britons are feeling adventurous, they'll have some too. ;-)

Garfield and Friends

In the garden with the cats. Sounds like the start to a nursery rhyme. But it's not, it's just where I like to spend me free moments to gather some clarity, bask in the sun or read a good book. Slowly they start coming around, one by one, the cats that is. Today whilst getting ready to go out in the garden to read, Sox pokes his head in the conservatory door to ask if I will come outside to play. I know, I know, don't name them unless your going to keep them. Och aye! I'm not about to keep any of the wee devils but if they would like to visit from time to time, that'll be just fine by me. Animals inspire me. I love to sit and watch them. Sox has arrived this evening for a visit, (back to the name game-- I haven't been verra creative with their nicknames and Sox is just a grey tabby with...you guessed it four white paws. He also has a white patch of fur on his chest). I settle into a chair and give him a pat or two on the head as I read a book and he continues to rub himself around my ankles. He stops short, sits down and looks up at me with those fiercely green eyes of his as if to ask, "is that it? No more scratches behind the ear? No more pats on the head?"

 I go back to my book. Next thing I know, Sox is on the chair I'm resting my feet upon. Still no response from the Human reading the Book. So he moves to the table--at this level he can stare straight at me and demand more attention. So a few more pets, rubs under the chin and good kitty coos. Sox is bored with that, leaps from the table and lies beneath my feet. He spends quite some time there before wandering off through the garden thus ending his visit. And I with my nose in a book, wait for Garfield and Nermal to show up and have a lover's spat in the garden. Garfield, you guessed it- is a big fat orange tabby. Quite frankly, I don't know how he gets over the garden walls with all his fluffiness. He's what I call a "Grumpy Gus". He stands in the middle of the garden path letting no others through. And poor Nermal is a sleek gray tabby who likes to test Garfield limits. O, the kitty drama. Perhaps this is where the writer got his material for the American comic strip..who knows?

What still raises my curiosity, (careful I know curiosity killed the cat), is the amount of cats that just turn up hoping to for a pat or to be invited inside. (I will mention that England, like Hawai'i has no rabies on the island. No fear of that disease here. Which is nice with random cats all about). None are what I call feral but I'm not quite sure if many of them are "owned" (let's be realistic here....even 'owned' cats aren't "owned").  A friend and I were walking to the park and came upon a black cat. In the sun though, this cat had brown and black fur, verra cool coat by the way. Anyway, this kitty just walks right up to us and rubs our legs until we pet him and he has been satisfied that he has made some new friends and strolls off. Now in this same day walking home from the park, we come upon another black cat sitting atop a stone wall. This cat is black. He stands up when we walk by and looks for attention. We name him Frederick, give him a few pats on the head and go home. I just can't get over the randomness of lovely cats in England. My mum and dad had a cat that would come to visit them from time to time letting himself in through the window of their cottage, but that's a story for another time...

Money, money, monnnneeeey!

Language barriers, travelling differences and currency exchange rates...all things needing adjustment in a new culture. Many say that the UK language isn't different from the US (those of you haven't spent much time in the UK or spent time listening to Scots--still takes me a few times to recognise just what they are saying).

Today's lesson is a monetary one. If you are preparing for a trip to the UK and wanting to convert your American Dollars for Sterling Pounds, I suggest you do so BEFORE you've entered the country. Otherwise you will lose money on the exchange (let's be real, you're going to loose money regardless, just less of it if you do your banking at an American branch and not the airport). Right now the current exchange rate between the US and UK is $1 to the £1.61. Americans, we're getting the raw end of the deal. :(

When comparing the actual details of the money it is as follows:

~The US dollar is a bill (as seen above) v. the UK Pound is a coin (as seen above). [For the record I really dislike carrying coins...grrrrr].
~American $2 bill isn't very popular but the UK  £2 coin is. (Not pictured).
~There is no "quarter" in the UK instead there is a 20 pence (p) and a 5p coin (the 5p coin is the size of the US dime).
~Pennies are all the same (in addition, the UK does have a 2 pence).
~The UK 10p is about the size of a US quarter.

Early on I've learned to be careful when digging in my pocket for change, feeling for a coin is not going to cut it...you have to look at it as well or risk grabbing the wrong coin and feel silly at the queue (aka. the check out line).

When I find a grrrreat job, that pays lots; I'll show y'all what BIG MONEY looks like. :-P
Until then...

"Uni" Days

Being a teacher was never my calling. I lack the ability to...well... patience, I just don't have any. I've never been a patient person and have difficulty teaching some one to do something, getting frustrated when they don't understand or "get it".  I am well aware of my lacking ability to be a teacher however, being an exam proctor is something I am good at.

Here in the UK, college is known as "Uni" short for University. I compare my "college days" to their "uni days" and not much has changed. I still get mistaken for a grad student on campus here at Reading College (which cheers me up whilst I am feeling old among the young 20s buzzing around). I've been hired by the University as an invigilator which basically means I get to "babysit" college kids during their exams making sure they have their questions answered, get exam breaks but most of all, discourage cheating.

I spotted a few differences in my college days compared to students taking exams at Uni today, (not that I've graduated THAT long ago....) At Penn State University (PSU), our exams were a few hours long in buildings with the A/C cranked so high, I had goose pimples whilst trying to concentrate on my exam. The students at University of Reading (UoR) swelter, and I along with them on hot days in the old buildings for upwards of 3.5 hours/exam). We (PSU) were not permitted to leave the testing room during an examination. These students are permitted to take toilet breaks as long as an invigilator goes along to ensure no cheating in the loo. (How awkward it must be trying to pee knowing some one is out there listening to you, making sure your not wrinkling paper to a cheat sheet. And I have a hard enough time peeing in a public restroom...sheesh). But hey, at least they get to take pee breaks, Penn State never allowed us that luxury. :-/

Penn State also shut the doors during an exam. If you were late to the exam at PSU, you failed. Doors locked. You are S.O.L. kiddo. Here at UoR, they leave the doors open during the entire exam, which I find some what distracting and students are allowed to mosey in up to 30 minutes after the exam has begun. Backpacks are not permitted like when I was in school, nor the use of mobiles (cell phones). It's a whole different story now with mobile phones, you can just google.com your answers away! The kids will always find new ways to cheat. I do remember feeling like I had just entered Fort Knox when I took my GREs. We were shuffled into tiny cubicles with nothing more than a writing utensil. No bags, no mobiles, no calculators, no scrap papers or notes and we sat for hours whilst being watched through a double sided mirror at the test centre. We left the testing room with our pens and a key to the locker which contained our belongings. Can you imagine? And I thought these kids at UoR had it rough. But I do enjoy my job, getting to know the students and staff, and having the campus "feel" again. The Whiteknights campus is GI-normous and B-E-A-U-tiful complete with it's own lake (and swans, those buggers are EVERY WHERE). But alas, only a few more weeks of exams to go and then, summer here we come!

I spy

Did you ever want to be James Bond when you were a kid? And have a cool code name like  007? And have your martini's shaken not stirred? And how about their cool spy toys??? Well now Heathrow international airport is giving you a chance to feel like a secret agent. (Most of you might be more like Austin Powers; I get it).

Upon my return to the UK, I visited customs at the airport. (Okay, so visit is a strong word...not really a visit--because a visit can be optional). Customs is more mandatory-like. (Don't believe me? Try opting out once).

Those of us carrying European Union (EU) passports were sorted out the quickest. You now have the option to have your iris scanned at Customs in order to enter the country much faster through the airport at terminal 5. Not spy- like enough for you? Or just hate having your retina tested? The newest passports also contain a microchip full of your information (height, hair color, sex, etc.) on the back cover. Feeling like the cat or dog at the vet's office yet? Just like them, TSA uses a scanner over the 'chip to "see" what information it contains. No more stamps. They were soooo last year... And whilst we're on that subject (of scanning), did I mention that most all airports now ask you to step up into a cylindrical containment chamber allowing them to scan every inch of your body (using what's close to gamma ray technology) to insure you are "safe and secure".  I mean I'm not that much of a frequent flyer but exactly how many scans will it take before I "HULK" out?? Please don't make me angry, you won't like me when I'm angry...

Welcome to Slough

Slough, wonderful little town-of- nothing-to -do-in-it, Slough. Seriously, if you're on the train and headed to Slough, DON'T GET OFF stay the way to London. Aye well, I'm not being fair to Slough. They do have a Tesco 24 hours (which is an equivalent to Walmart super-center--and everyone knows I loathe Walmarts).  Onward, it has only taken me eight months, but I've finally figured out how to ride the train (properly, without getting lost) and I found that I can give directions from town to town as well from the train! Case in point, I'm on my way to my train when a woman stops me and asks me if I can tell her which train goes to Maidenhead (yes, that's an actual town--no snide remarks please). It so happens I'm going that direction, so I offer to show her to the train and get her a seat. We spoke for a wee bit, and she tells me she's visiting from Norway. Very cool. Apparently she is visiting her daughter in Maidenhead. During our little chat she asks me where I'm from. My typical response is, "Every where and no where." She tells me I have a very lovely accent, which I then thought she would say was American but catches me off guard with Scottish??!?!? Rrrrrrrally. I dinna ken. HAHA. Yes, she tells me a roll my R's. *crinkles nose*

So back to Reading then, eh? I stop at the local chemist (Pharmacy) in search of Neosporin or triple antibiotic ointment for 1st Aid. The chemist assistant (pharmacist assistant) and I have a few words and agreed to disagree that TAO doesn't exist on the shelf in the UK. He informs me that I need a bloody prescription "over here" (the UK)  for an antibiotic and goes on to tell me that "over there" (the US) they do things differently. Bet your knickers, they do! It's OTC in the bloody states! What is soooo difficult about this?? *sigh* I give up. I then ask, quite afraid of this answer, if I could purchase hydrogen peroxide. Oh why yes. This they sell to anyone, at 6% instead of the typical 2% in the USA. Go figure! (Quick aside here...when I was in college doing research they gave us 100% peroxide in the chemistry lab and I thought it harmless, dumping a large quantity on my hands finding it burns the skin and turns it ghastly white!) So the higher percent, the more "toxic" peroxide becomes. So my question now is, why can't I have Neosporin when I can have 6% hydrogen peroxide??? Alright I'm giving it up. Case closed. I must stop or I'll have to change my blog from "Adventures in the UK" to "Rantings and ravings of a crazy woman."

So let's discuss my experiences shopping. I go to a place in Reading I like to call "little America." Here you will find a shopping plaza with some famous motherhood maternity shop, ALDI's, TGIFriday's and (much to my delight) a wine warehouse! Yes! An entire warehouse filled with wine!! You betcha, I went in. Wine gets better with age and I get better with wine! So now I'm off to top up my glass. Cheers!

PS. 'top up' means to refill :-P

The Return

I find it rather strange to feel so at "home" so quickly upon my return to England. It's as though I've never left.
Travelling from London across the countryside I spy rolling hills of green pastures speckled with white dots. Across the horizon, the white dots of course once closer, reveal themselves as sheep. Ah, gotta love the sheep. (Mainly because they are everywhere). But it's lambing season and that's exciting too. We drove by as I watched the babies frolic behind their mamas. Ah, good ole' England, not much has changed. Of course there has been an outrage at the post recently. As the Royal mail has increased the cost of the stamp (you should try keeping up with the US of A post office fees...ouch)!

England is an expensive place to live, I bought groceries the other day (and take note) a tin of tuna was 1.29 GBP (or $2.08/can)!!

 The weather is as it is in the rest of the world = warm then cold, verra strange. Oddly, cool for May. Yesterday was cold and rainy (and yes mum I know, "it IS England...blah, blah, blah.." :-p) I'm still adjusting to the measuring units from degrees Celsius to Fahrenheit. For if you tell me it's 11 C outside that means nothing, I was never good at math to begin with and can't convert the temperature to save me life.

I am remembering to look right, then left before crossing the road and soon it will become second nature again. I must admit that I did have trouble in the States when I returned on holiday whilst crossing the street in the small town of Jim Thorpe. (I looked the wrong way first and stepped out into traffic--YIKES)! I remind myself that every day is a new adventure and everyday I get to live, is a day I get to live!