Stevens in the States

Thursday - Am having pizza with a friend, she asks for a side portion of Ranch Dressing. The restaurant doesn't have any. She is clearly quite annoyed by this faux pas.

Friday - Am eating out with some friends, one guy wants A1 Sauce on his burger. They only have homemade A1 Sauce. This annoys the guy somewhat, until he realises it tastes the same as the stuff you buy in the shops.

Saturday - Am enjoying chunky chips, and think I'm dipping them into mayonnaise, until I'm told it's actually Ranch Salad.

The conclusion? Americans are quite fussy over their sauces, and I clearly can't tell one from another.

There's a sandwich shop not far from work, and I sometimes pop there to get some lunch. Generally, the place is empty, save for the Chinese family who run it, and possibly a depressed looking customer occasionally.

I wander in, and there's a rather large guy at the counter, unwrapping this very long, solid object, taking extreme care over it, while the shop owner and his wife stared with amazement.

Clearly it was a shot-gun, and I had walked in on some dodgy deal, or a very polite armed robbery. So when the guy turned round to face me, with this object in hand, it could have been the end of my time on the planet.

Except that it wasn't a gun. It was actually a native American flute, which the man proceeded to play, to the delight of the Chinese staff who applauded greatly. I joined in with the applause. And I didn't get shot.

He then proceeded to tell us what it was made of (kimber wood), how many he owns (30), and where he got it from (LA). During this time, my sandwich had been made, I'd paid for it, and I left the store.

I've no idea if he actually bought anything, or why he was there at all. Just another day in Texas.

I got back today, and it's 40 degrees here (that's 100F). And it's set to get hotter. In fact, opening a door to the outside world is a similar sensation to opening the door to a hot oven - suddenly you get hit by that wave of heat that attacks from inside. Or, in this case, outside.

My house has air-conditioning. In fact, every house here has air conditioning. I've got a big air-con unit downstairs, and some smaller ones in the bedrooms upstairs.

Unfortunately, the bathroom hasn't got one, which probably makes economic sense as I'm not in there as much as the other rooms. But this does mean that the bathroom is boiling hot, and it's a bit like doing one's lavetorial business in a sauna. Sweaty. Mmm.

It really is too hot to poo.

Back in the USA - lots of observations about the UK, through my now-American eyes. They shall follow soon.

So here I am. Back in the UK, and noticing all the things I never noticed in my first 27 years of it.

Air Conditioning

Apart from on the tube, I'd never really felt much need for air conditioning here. Sure, it was always nice when hotels or company cars had it, but it wasn't the be-all-and-end-all of life. Now, however, I'm really noticing the lack of it. From the train from the airport, the hotel I was in on Friday when meeting friends, my friend's car this morning, I'm really noticing the lack of cool air.

Now admittedly, it's the hottest time of the year here, but I miss air-con. I tried to get a bit of a kip this afternoon, and couldn't because I was just so warm. Now I know how Americans must feel when they come here.

Good newspapers

I bought the Independent at Gatwick airport and had forgotten how good a good newspaper can be. (For the record, I normally buy the Guardian, but the Indie is smalled and thus easier to read when also dragging suitcases around.) The whole paper was fascinating, from the front-page story about the right to protest, which then took up the next 3 pages, through to the international news, the pull-outs, and so on. I found a whole handful of articles that had I been at home in Dallas, I would have cut out and stuck on the kitchen cupboards.

I have missed the exploration of subjects and interests that are new to me. It's probably as much lifestyle as anything else, but I used to read a newspaper most days on the underground. For safety reasons, I don't do that while driving to work on I35! I also used to get a lot from the BBC (it's hard to avoid when working there) so I must make a point of watching more KERA and BBC America's news simulcasts.

Ad-hoc nights out

This is what London is great for. A phone call or two and suddenly a whole unplanned evening of fun is going on.

On Friday afternoon I was in London for a couple of meetings. Then, one phone call led to another, and before I knew it, I was sitting in a pub garden by Hyde Park (The Swan if you're interested) with some good friends, bumping into other radio people, and generally having a blast. It was a great, great time. And totally unplanned.

London's pub scene is really good for that. There is a pub everywhere - literally everywhere - meaning you can meet anywhere. Though it got to 11 o'clock, and last orders was called - I'd forgotten about that! Although pubs can now open beyond 11pm, not many do, meaning the structure of the evening is different to Dallas. I think Dallas wins there - the whole 11pm closing thing is a bit of a farce. After all, if you're sitting outside the Old Monk, enjoying a pint, you don't want to have to leave at 11pm!

(Another note for Americans - London's tube system shuts down at just past midnight, so leaving the pub at 11:30pm means you'll not miss the last train, which can be useful! And we generally start drinking straight after work as it'd take too long to go home and come back again.

Money

My close US friends know how much I hate $1 bills (notes), though I do like the ability in the USA to pay everywhere by plastic. My debit card is my best friend. So to discover pubs that won't take plastic is a nightmare, especially when you've just ordered four drinks.

And, vending machines don't take notes here. That's a shame. Hurrah to America on that one!



This afternoon I went to a small fayre here in Ely. It was very British, with the local Majorettes dancing, and your chance to win £5 (Yes, £5, ladies) if you got the highest score of the day in the table games.

You could look at a fire engine, hook a toy duck, and pop into the beer tent. The Americans would have loved it - very quaint - I, however, just felt like I'd gone back 20 years.



I'm sure there's more to share, but I can't think of it right now.

(Written on the plane)

37,000 feet in the air, across the ocean that divides the two sides of my world. I can already feel the transition taking place.

Behind me, my new world – Texas, USA, filled with a mix of consumer-driven cultures and a friendliness I’ve never experienced before. Ahead of me, the reserved, suspicious, formal nature of the UK, that also feels so homely and essential to whom I am.

There’s something very reassuring about being supplied with a meal that includes Cadburys chocolate, and being offered a cup of tea after it. There’s also something very familiar about the way the gent next to me (Scottish, let’s not mention the world cup) is as happy to sit in silence for the eight hours as I am. We put our headphones on and remain separate.

Six months is a long time. That’s when I was last in the UK. Of course, I’ve spoken to friends and family, and entertained those who have been able to visit. I watch BBC America, I listen to The Archers, I observe the professional happenings back home, I even write a monthly column for a UK radio newsletter, and appear each day on UK radio talking about world showbiz events.

Yet I feel strangely different. And I think it’s an acceptance that I quite like the new life, or at least elements of it. I am continually stunned by the outgoing nature of the Texans, and I think that is making me more outgoing. Every morning when I wake up and it’s stunningly warm, every evening when you can have a pint outside at midnight and the air is still lovely, every time I end up in conversation with a shop worker, or a stranger in the gas station, or a friend of a friend’s friend.

Yeah, I like all that.

However, I can’t wait to be home. And defining home isn’t as simple as it was. It was originally Chester, then Sunderland, and through other places until it was London. But travelling back now, I don’t think any of those are home any more. I don’t have a home in England right now.

Yet all of England feels so homely, there’s such a pull to be there.

Over the next two weeks, I shall be staying with friends and family in London, Cambridge, Cardiff, Chester, Northampton and no doubt other places. I think it’s the people I’ll be staying with, and the familiarity of the country that makes it home.

Time will tell. And I for one, can’t wait to discover.

Perhaps the next couple of weeks will help define who I am, and where I should be.

Or maybe they’ll just confuse things further.

But I know, I can’t wait to be home.