Being a foreigner, trying to make yourself understood in what you thought was a language you spoke fluently, is a ridiculously humiliating experience. Tom and I no longer ask to “borrow a rubber”, (a rubber in America is VERY different to the UK), we never “queue up”, we ‘stand in line’, we no longer pay in a cheque, we deposit a check, and we no longer “give someone a ring” we simply call. Therefore, you could say that we are officially bilingual.
The longer we live away from England, the more patriotic we become. We are looking for a big British flag to hang outside our new house, mainly to irk the neighbours on President’s and Independence Day, but also to go along with our Union Jack Cushion and door mat. We are more obsessed with English chocolate,Sherlock and Dr Who than ever before.
I often reminisce about the gorgeous Yorkshire countryside (Tom thinks of the Midlands), and we forget about all the rain that makes it so lush and green. Our stomachs yearn for Mr Kipling, Greggs and Marks and Spencer. And we tend to forget the expensive cost of living. We miss our friends from school and church, but then remember that many of them don’t live in Ossett or Oxford anymore.
Saying that, we wouldn’t swap our journey for anything. Being nomads is in our blood; we have at least one family member on every continent. Some wonder why we ever wanted to leave home and live in another country- our answer is that we love travelling, and as a result we can affectionately call multiple places home. As the world gets smaller we find ourselves with better opportunities in faraway places. Who knows where the future will take us.
Happy travels. And long live the Queen!