Happy Wednesday! Before I hand over to Michele Gorman to talk about leg hair (it keeps you warm, you know), a small announcement: my story 'Miracle at the Museum of Broken Hearts' is out now in
Madness under the Mistletoe, which you can buy for $2.99 from
Amazon and other ebook vendors now. Yay!
Right, now over to Michele. Michele is the author of
Single in the City, a book I flew through and greatly enjoyed. It's recently launched in the US, and I highly recommend it for a fun and fresh read.
Take it away!
National identity is a bit like leg hair in
wintertime. We’ve got no reason to notice it unless it’s about to go on
display.
When I moved to London nearly 15 years ago, I had no choice
but to show my legs, metaphorically speaking. Being a newly landed American
here, everyone noticed.
This surprised me at first. After all, we
speak the same language, watch British films and read British books. We follow
the same fashion trends and like the same food. Don’t we?
Well, no. The differences were stark. They
were immediate. And they tripped me up at every turn.
It wasn’t only my accent or word choice. I
failed even at non-verbal tasks. Thanks to the British compulsion to walk on
the left I risked knocking foreheads with everyone I tried passing in the street.
We’d meet, shuffle right, look embarrassed (me) or angry (them), meet, shuffle
right, repeat, till one of us hit the building or fell off the kerb. There was
no doubt that I wasn’t a Londoner.
And when I did open my mouth, well, the
simplest of conversations were fraught with misunderstanding. Not only did I
speak in American at a decibel level that startled listeners, I often had
entire conversations in which neither participant had any idea what the other
was talking about. I once spent 20 minutes trying to understand why my friend suggested
wearing a vest under a blouse, while she tried to understand why I’d wear it on
top … Vest in American is a waistcoat in English. Vest in English is a string
top/camisole in American. These nuances got me every time, sometimes with with
humiliating consequences. Are you starting to see a theme here? Want to know my
most humiliating moment? Oh all right then. Soon after I arrived I volunteered
for a charity walk at work, which included goody bags full of useful stuff. I
pulled out one item, announcing gleefully (and at full volume), "Wow, I
really need a fanny pack!" That got the attention of the 100 or so traders
in my office. British friends, you'll be sniggering already. American friends,
"fanny" means, er, lady parts. I’d just broadcast my need for a good,
ehem, packing. Incidentally, the traders’ responses needed no interpretation.
These were daily reminders that I was
different to the inhabitants of the city I’d chosen to call home. Which caused
me to think a lot about my identity. Was I an American living in the UK? Well yes,
certainly at first. I identified with America. Britain was alien. But as years
passed and I decided to make London
my home for the future, I started to think of myself as British too. In 2006 I
became a dual citizen, swearing oath to Queen and country yet still welling up
at hearing The Star Spangled Banner.
Now I can (almost) speak both languages and
walk without risk of concussion. I understand cricket as well as football, which
is to say, not very well. I rail at the politicians in both countries and have
introduced pumpkin pie to my baffled friends. I guess that makes me a Britamerican.
Michele Gorman’s debut novel, Single in the
City, follows the misadventures of 26 year old American Hannah, who lands upon England’s
gentle shores with no job, no friends and no idea how she’s supposed to build
the life she’s dreaming of. Armed with little more than her enthusiasm, she
charges headlong into London,
baffling the locals in her pursuit of a new life, new love and sense of
herself. You can buy the novel on Amazon and Barnes and Noble. Michele is on Facebook and Twitter, too.
Thank you, Michele. That fanny pack thing makes me laugh every time! Have a great week, everyone. I've been slaving away on edits and I hope to stick my head above the parapet soon.
