An Englishman in New York

Okay, Okay... I'm not in New York, but An Englishman in Oklahoma City doesnt work.

So, I just wanted to tell you how my trip has panned out, a random morning in my random life. A brief description of  the differences between the English way and the American way.

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="300" caption="Gerroff!"][/caption]

First, I woke up at 5am. I didnt intend to, but its hot here, much hotter than in the UK, which means I'm not used to it. So naturally when I try to sleep under the covers I end up sweating a couple pounds away in the night. I do the smart thing therefore, I sleep on top of the covers and keep nicely cool especially when the air conditioning kicks in.... .hmmmm. Anyhow, as I said I woke up at 5am... not because I wanted to, but because clearly my totally exposed bottom is too much of a temptation for the kitten that owns the flat. At 5am exactly, the miniature fluffball that I shall call 'Damian' decided to crawl up my body and paw-pad my bum. I dont know why its called paw-padding, the damned feline was using the sharp end of its claws!

So having screamed at the top of my voice, waking the entire house up, running to the bathroom to see if I was bleeding and washing myself down with cold water to get over the shock, I return to the bed and to sleep, which is now uncomfortably sweaty cos I'm terrified of being minced again. Naturally my fiance gives me as much sympathy as I will next time she sees a spider.

At 7:30am the skiddles decide that enough is enough and I must be put to my proper use. No more sleeping allowed, now I have become a climbing frame. They leap on top of me with the athletic ability of the russian gymnasium team, and just like a pack of lions ripping through a dead gaselle, they rip through the last of my dreams and bring me to a bumpy reality.

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="233" caption="Very Useful"][/caption]

I stumble into the bathroom for my morning ablutions. Now I have to tell you, bathrooms, and more specifically toilets... are different in the UK. If anyone is coming over here for a holiday, you must be prepared for this. The water lever in the toilet bowl is much much higher than in the UK. I shall say that again to re-emphasise it. The toilet water level is much much higher than in the UK.

Now (I am trying to be delicate here) in britain we may occasionally miss our target, and cause a little smearing on the lower bowl, but this is easily cleared up with a quick wipe of the loo brush. In the USA, it appears the higher water level avoids this problem completely. However, this causes three other unexpected problems.

First and least worrying is that with a low water level, any toilet paper disgarded generally covers any deposits left in the bowl, so when you turn to flush, you see nothing. You can look carefully into the depths of the bowl with the only thing on your mind being 'I wonder how many sheets they use in Africa?', but with a higher water level, there is more surface area, and if you arent very careful at looking sternly forward at all times, you may accidentally discover floaty things! Before you know it you have lunged for the flusher and vowed to yourself you will never again use a toilet on the USA, well that or you will never eat again. Perhaps thats why the models are so skinny. hmmmm. I am telling you, because if you arent expecting it....

[caption id="" align="alignleft" width="330" caption="Very Teethy"][/caption]

The second problem is considerably more significant. With a water level only an inch lower than your bottom, you really dont want to stray too far on your reach.... below! Especially in a supermarket toilet, which are unbelievably clean by the way. My beautiful fiance was convinced I had gotten lost when I finally emerged out of the loo. How could i tell her that I had been touched by the hand of pooh and had spent the next 2 hours scrubbing myself clean.

Finally there is the sound issue. With a higher water level a man... I cant go for the noise reducing, china hitting pee. Instead I have to aim for the much noisier water hitting pee. So the middle of the night pee is like betting it all on black. I have no idea whether my girl will wake up and if she does what will she think. Quite honestly, even though we are engaged, there's still only so much reality a girl can take. Worst still what if she is not impressed... what if she thinks a true man should be able to hold more in his bladder... okay, now that is bothering me.

Anyhow, after I get dressed we decide to pop out for breakfast. I wrote about breakfast before, a full english breakfast in a greasy spoon cafe, but instead of that humbling and risky adventure into botchulism and listeria we went to an 'all you can eat' breakfast place, where the kids took their plates and filled them sky high with a healthy old fashioned breakfast of gummybears, jelly beans and chocolate mousse. My fiance and I were far more reserved, having a giant omelet followed by mashed potatoes and half a cow.

This idea of the all you can eat, whatever you want style restaurants would be totally alien to the british public, as would only paying for your drinks once, and getting as many refills as you like. You dont even have to go anywhere to get it, The waitress brings the iced fizzypops, iced tea and coffee regularly ensuring you never run out. In fact the only thing you "run out" of in the USA appears to be time, because they seem to badger you to leave quickly once you have finished eating. This surprises me as in britain you can be the first person to arrive and last to leave and the staff wont bat an eyelid, having said that, the reason they wont bat an eyelid is probably because they are nowhere to be seen, either smoking out the back before sticking their fingers in the food in the kitchen.

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="245" caption="Hmmm. I wonder?"][/caption]

Having "filled up" to a level totally unnatural to me, we wobble out to the people carrier (for 4 people?) and go off to town. Hmmm, town... yes thats more of a idea than an actual thing. Dont get me wrong. You can buy anything you want here, they have sizes going up to 6xxl! You can buy a pair of pants that look like a flag, or a flag that looks like a pair of pants! The trouble is that with the exception of a couple of 'malls' everywhere else is what we call a warehouse outlet store. Imagine Cribs Causway, without the shopping centre part, then imagine that on every street. The smallest shops are still massive.

In comparison we drove to the latin area the other day, and suddenly the whole place thrived with life. Music coming from every small shop, spanish being shouted across streets, and an explosion of colour and culture swamping you with its intimate and personal touch. The smells of meats being slow cooked in chillies, or peanuts being toasted in upside-down dustbin lids, almost make you want to swing your samba hips and dance with a mexican passion. The culture shock hits you once again, as you find yourself trying foods from a street market stall that you would only risk at the state fayre.

Just a few miles later though we drive to another area where OKC hits you with surprisingly interesting streets filled with ambitious personalised houses that Prince Charles could only ever yearn for. The archetecture is all over the place but that doesnt seem to matter, as each and every owner seems to have put their own stamp on their buildings. English names like Dunroamin are dismissed for the far more extravagant Rivendell Ranch, Klingon's Castle or Hogwarts Hollow! What you have is houses that wish they were made a hundred years ago next to homes that look like they belong in science fiction novels. Its fascinating, and kind of fun.

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="280" caption="Wookies Hole?"][/caption]

All-in-all though the experience is surprising different, and I still feel culture shock coming here. From the incredibly flat landscape and the ridiculously straight roads, to the vibrant specks of culture, music, art and powerful bostonian archetecture, there is always something dramatic to look at. And I have yet to meet an american I didnt like a little.

They are a little naive about the rest of the world, and some are a little closed off too, but they greet you warmly, normally with a little food and a big smile. They let you talk even if they dont have a clue what you're saying, they often enjoy your opinion even if they think you are wrong. And they always make you feel welcome.

For me there is no doubt. I am definitely warming to this big old state, and even if im not ready to don a baseball cap, drive a truck and buy a rifle, I am just about ready face my own personal prejudices. And perhaps its time for me to make a little lemonade, and invite a few people round for a barbeque... do they even have briquettes here?

[caption id="attachment_281" align="aligncenter" width="400" caption="Chicken Leg anyone?"][/caption]

Too Late to be a Father

I havent talked too much about my fantastic trip to Oklahoma, probably because to me it was so personal, but I wanted to tell you about something that happened today. My fiance Angela has two children. One J is a nine year old rebellious boy, who is funny, energetic and hard to handle if you have a headache. The other J is 5, she is sweet, adorable and wonderfully manipulative.

They are two typical adorable smart kids. I was truly worried about them before I left for the US. Angela, I had spoken to for hours on end about everything and anything, laughing the nights away, but her children were another matter. I knew that the success of our relationship would depend on how I managed with her two precocious kids.

When I arrived and met my Angel in the airport, we were as we always knew we would be, in love. The next few hours however, whilst we chatted in a restaurant, were nervy. How would they take me, would they take one look and decide I would never be included into their family, or would they think of me instantly as a climbing frame, how would a guy with no children of his own deal with two kids for the first time.

The fact that they were at their grandma's, another daunting prospect, made the experience all the more terrifying. As i tentatively walked through the swing door, having never seen an american front room and unsure wheher to expect a gun rack and a moose head staring at me from the far wall, a tiny high pitched voice screamed "PETER!" and a scamp no taller than a push bike had leapt on me and in a frenzy of blonde locks i was forced backwards. Naturally i could do nothing except grab the hairy rogue pixie by the legs and dangle her upside down. This caused instant giggles and the other one clearly decided it was safe and I was entitled to a hug. A rare treat as it turned out.

I have never felt so elated or bowled over before by such undeserved emotion. Something I intend to justify in the coming years.

The reason I mention them today is because whilst on the phone earlier to my beloved as she collected the kids from daycare, i overheard the school teacher inform her that her son, the tear-away, the vagabond, the waife, the street-urchin, the funniest 9 year old i have ever met, had won Student of the Year. I filled with Joy and Pride for him, laughing and smiling like a cheshire cat as I danced around the kitchen.

It reminded me of scoring the winning goal in the playground football match, or getting the deciding question in the pub quiz. I wanted to pick him up and spin him round in the air. To watch him look down on my excited face in laughing wonderment. And it didnt matter that he was not my blood. It didnt matter that he would never think of me as father. Just like my father looked after my half brother as a son, I was happy to do the same to him. To love him and care for him and protect him and guide him as best as I could. To nurture his imagination and fill him with ideas that had given me so many tremendous dreams.

You know, i'm getting on a bit now. My crows feet are growing and revealing my secrets to the world. And It may be all too late now for me to be a father. I'm sure I had my opportunities, but I always thought there would be more time. I may have missed my chance to see the birth of my blood, of my creation, of my child. I may never experience what its like to see that beautiful crimson squished up face regard you with such sincerity and need, or that tiny hand with nails like flakes of cheese, and chunky palms like tiny sandbags reach up and grab my nose. I may never know what it is to be helplessly stunned by such a helpless baby. It may be too late for me to be a father, but maybe , just maybe it's not too late for me to be a dad.

My catch up

It has been some time and I have plenty of irrelevant things to say, so where to begin.

Firstly, I have bought myself a set of Bongos, now even though I cant play them to any extent, other that bashing them semi-rhythmically along to Rolling Stones numbers, I do intend to be a bongo afficianado by the end of next year, headlining at the Garden (obviously I mean my parents garden, not madison square)

Secondly, I caught a rather painful ear infection which left me nearly totally deaf. In fact my right ear still has some blocked fluid and so i still jump a mile when my flattie creeps up on me on that side.

I have been staying off myspace, not because I am being mean, but simply cos i have too much on my plate recently. For that I apologise. And I will endeavour to do better in the future.

Thats it for now, cos i am uninspired at the mo, but I promise to write more soon.

See ya's

Life with my flattie

So. One week gone, and here's my update...

Krispin, my flattie (find him on myfriends and abuse him as much as you want... no seriously, he likes it) is a pretty good laugh, although we have spent way too much time sitting on our easy chairs and watching DVD's rather than doing anything useful, like getting a pot so we can boil an egg.

The only thing is I cant help getting the feeling people might think, since we're two guys living together, with both of our names on every bill, that people might think, specially since I needed a mattress and he needed a bed, and the guy asked us how long we had been together, that people might think we're a little bit, since my friend PQ asked us when we were getting rings, that people might think we're a little bit, since his GF is miles away and I'm single, that people might think we're a little bit, since I'm on a fitness thing at the mo, and insist he goes swimming with me... Hang on, maybe I am a little bit.... Well i do like musicals!

Na!

My mum asked me if I was the other day. It scared me a little actually. When your mates take the mickey it's fair enough, but when your mum does!!!

Anyhow, the flat's fine, and looks great with no couch or table in it. My bedroom is a little wierd with no wardrobe, but you gotta love the space. We had a choice of a couch, a washing machine or a dirty great TV set. Needless to say our clothes will need a hammer by the end of the month.

And I have spent almost my entire time sitting on the balcony and watching the birds shit on my car, so thats nice!

All in all its been a really good laugh, except when he filmed me playing Guitar Hero, and put it on you tube.

Dont worry, I intend to seek my revenge... any ideas anyone?

Providence

My friend Chris and I looked at a flat today.

Now, i have to tell you, for the last two to three months, my ex and I have been hunting around for a house to move into. Nothing was right, it was either too small, cost too much, was too far away from school, everything was wrong. On the day she finished with me we were due to look at yet another place, that was bound to be expensive and was 5 minutes away from her parents house. I hated the idea, but I had said to myself, this is what she wants, so just do it. And then bam!

Today just 10 days later, I find a place she would have loved thats cheap and close enough, roomy and clean. Perfect, but instead of moving in with her, I'm moving in with Chris, well provided we get the paperwork done in time.

As I mentioned in some of my blogs, I always thought god was paying me back for some of the mistakes I have made. I always thought god didn't like me much. No reason why she should. It has not gone wihout notice that unusually I saw this place on a Sunday, and it has also not without notice that recently everyone I have met on here has been in some way religious.

Maybe, I have finally been forgiven? Some of my friends will probably think I'm being delusional, possibly i am, but what harm is there. If it gives me hope and gives me direction, I suggest it cant do much harm saying thank you.

Obviously it might all fall through, or Chris might turn out to be awful to live with, but at this moment, on this day I feel hopeful.

And that has got to be positive. Last week, I didnt know if I wanted to be alive, and this week even though I am still in great pain, I know that things will go on, and I'll be ok.

I cant say this enough though. Thank you guys so much for talking to me. You've been so supportive and honest. When you break up big, you start to question your decisions. You dont know if you are doing the right thing. What you want is a coach to tell you what to do, where to go and so on, and so far you guys have been terrific. When i'm indecisive, i ask you and you say yes or no. I need that right now, so a big thank you.

Today has been a good day. Of course, a day hasn't gone by without me breaking down a some point, but today I felt hopeful for the first time. And tomorrow i have stuff to do now. So maybe tomorrow will be ok as well.

Giving up the Weed

Today, I gave up smoking, well about 15 minutes ago actually.

And already I'm thinking what am I gonna do! And already I'm sweating! And already I'm thinking maybe i'll do it tomorrow instead!

But NO!!! Dag nab it!!!! I will not concede. I will not give in. I will not keep looking at the time! (20 mins)

This is typical, it's clearly not the nicotine that I crave, after all I just put my last smoke out. There's something else. Something more primal. Something as basic as being able to talk.

I think about what am I going to do when I'm driving, or when I'm reading or when I'm blogging, or when i'm watcing a movie, or when I'm sitting on the sofa after a great meal. God! What am I going to do tomorrow morning!!!!!

How am I going to be nice and considerate to my fiance or my parents.

How am I going to listen to how many small china vases my mum sold in her latest car-boot sale, or what my dad thinks of the sweetcorn he's trying to grow in the back garden. How am I going to put up with my girls hangover when all I can think of is 'I need a smoke!'

(25 mins)

If you have never smoked or been addicted to anything you may well look down in disdain at the likes of me with my petty problems. You may consider me weak and pathetic, childish even. In reply, I can say... you dont know... you just dont know.

Maybe it's a character flaw, maybe it's an emotional crutch, maybe its good advertising, but the craving to know where your next smoke is, is debilitating. You cant think straight, you become obsessed, you become a wreck and for a week or so I will be intollerable to live with.

Now i'm not stupid. I know what it's doing to me, and I know how expensive they are, and I know how it harms others, but every time I have tried to give up I JUST DONT CARE about any of that! I just want a smoke.

But not this time. This time I will be strong. I will exercise my demons on here (i hope) and find inner strength to beat my tenacious addiction.

So for all those who still smoke, wish me luck, and I promise not to say the words "It was dead easy" or "I cant stand the smell anymore" or " A-Hem!" or "You should really try".

For all those that dont... try giving up your telly, not for a day or a week, but forever!

And for all those that dont have a TV.....

Bog Off!

(30 mins)