Culture Shock: A Brief Guide to British Sayings and Shopping

Summer holidays have officially arrived and I could not be happier. I love my job but the breaks are very much needed!

I kicked off the holidays yesterday by heading into London to spend the day in Camden with a group of friends. It was a beautiful day full with chocolate bacon, some random craft beer, and lots of laughs. In a couple days, my amazing man and I are flying back to Canada for a couple weeks. I'm really looking forward to seeing my family (including my soon to be born nephew!) and friends. As much as I've made my home in the UK and feel quite settled here, Canada will always be "home" for me and it is definitely in my heart.

In honour of my trip, I thought I'd write a quick guide for other canucks on what to expect when coming to the UK, but that no one thinks to tell you. These are the things that when I moved here, I desperately wished I knew about the language and where to buy things.

Sayings:

There are the usual ones that most people know about (ie: football for soccer) but a ton of others that took some getting used to:

You alright/alright/ok?- A pretty standard greeting, but not one I was used to! When I moved here, I wondered for about a month why everyone kept asking if I was alright. I was worried that I looked sick or upset, as that question back in Canada usually means someone doesn't look happy or well and you are worried.

Pavement- This is said instead of sidewalk... it took me ages to figure out what they called sidewalks as I knew they didn't use that word, but pavement to me is any sort of paved surface so why it's used for a sidewalk, or walking path, I don't know!

Love (or other terms of endearment)- It's fairly common as a female to be called love or dear by random men, such as bus drivers. It's  bit unnerving at first, being referred to in such a familiar way, but it's usually done in a friendly way and quite harmless.

Shattered- Knackered is a word that I had heard before I moved here and is pretty well known to mean tired or exhausted but shattered (meaning the same) was new to me.

Fringe- Bangs (think hair)

Chuffed- This just means really pleased about something (chuffed to bits)

Gutted- Really upset or disappointed.

Pants- Now clearly we use pants in Canada but in Britain it means something else! Instead of meaning trousers (which is the term used here for pants), pants refer to underwear. I'll never forget the day that I forgot this and told a student to roll down his pants after he had rolled them up to his knees to make shorts (which is against uniform). This cheeky chappy then stood up and said, "Ok Miss!" and started undoing his trousers. I was horrified and instantly realised my mistake to which he stopped and grinned. I'm much more careful about using the word pants now.

There are a ton more (some not so nice!) but these are just a few that I had to learn.

Shopping:

After I had been in England for a week I moved into a house in Clapham Junction. I moved my stuff in the morning and then set out to buy sheets, blankets, towels and other things that I would need. As I had only been able to bring a big suitcase and carry on, I knew that I would have to buy these things but up to this point I had lived in a hostel that had provided them. I had no idea where to start. I had figured out where to buy groceries, but sheets and towels? No clue. In my North American mind, I thought that I'd head to the nearest mall as there was bound to be department stores and such that I could find what I needed in. I looked it up and the easiest one to get to was the Westfield Shopping Centre in Sheppard's Bush. So I got on the train and headed out. I got there and walked into the first entrance I saw. Unfortunately, it was the posh side of the centre and all I saw was shops full of designer bags, Tiffany's and all sorts of places that would definitely not carry reasonably priced sheets and towels. Overwhelmed and regretting my decision to move here, I continued on walking and found some more normal shops. I was still very lost and confused and eventually asked someone where I could just buy some sheets. I ended up getting some but left Westfield completely culture shocked. Clearly it is important to have some basic knowledge of where to buy things when moving to another country!

Homestuff- If you're looking to buy stuff for your home (like towels or sheets or kitchen things), you can get some really cheap, but decent quality, stuff at Tesco and even ASDA. Argos will also have things that can be really good too. In my town, we have a lot of discount shops that will carry things for really good prices. If you have a bit more cash, John Lewis, BHS, or Marks and Spencer will have some nice things.

Clothes- Again, John Lewis, BHS or M&S all carry nice things, but if you are on a budget, Tesco usually has some really nice clothes and of good quality. Both Tesco and ASDA also carry a huge range of sizes, so don't worry if you aren't a size two (also be prepared to be a larger size in clothes here and a smaller size of shoes, as the sizes are different!). Other shops that are good are: Dorothy Perkins, New Look, Next and Top Shop. There are clearly lots of other places but these are the ones that stand out to me.


Anyways... that's all for now! If you have anything to add about British sayings or anything else, feel free to add in the comments.

-E :)

Indecisive Me: A short story

"Okay," thought Eddie as she stepped into the cool, air conditioned shop. It was that time again.

Time to get the grocery shopping done.

She sighed as she glanced down at her list and made her way over to the bread aisle. She never understood why, but the decision of which loaf to buy plagued her. It was a source of anxiety every time Eddie did the shopping.

Every. Single. Time.

It was a big decision you see... she could buy the sliced kind. The kind that would easily slip into the toaster, allowing her to slather the toast with delicious, melty peanut butter that dripped down and caused her such delight. Or she could buy the homemade kind with seeds on the top. The yummy seeds that helped give such needed protein but also had a tendency to fall off and cover her flat in seeds, and randomly popping up weeks later.

Then again, should Eddie buy white bread? Certainly a much better choice for sandwiches, but not a wise choice according to any sort of nutritionist.

Eddie sighed in frustration, knowing that she probably would pick the same kind she got last time, but yet doubts kept springing up. She understood that, at the end of the day, it really didn't matter what bread she got. Whether it was soft or crusty, fresh or not quite as fresh, brown or white. It wouldn't change her life nor would it really bother her that much but yet she still struggled to make her choice. In that moment, it felt mountainous.

She finally bent down and picked up a loaf, felt it for freshness and placed it in the basket.

There. It was done.

 Eddie turned around, narrowly avoiding two school children and their mum, sighed again and then made her way over to the frozen section.

Now... which chips to get?



 *This is clearly a work of fiction but yet sort of based on me. I always said the decision to move to the UK was easy, but which loaf of bread to get... now that is a hard choice. It's silly and clearly the story is a tad hyperbolic but I thought it would be fun to write something a bit different.
-E :)

Cool Thoughts on a Hot Day

The past few weeks in England have been gorgeous. Hot... very hot (25-30) and gloriously sunny. My school recently had a sports day which meant outside track and field events at a nearby sports park. After sitting in the sun for less than 20 minutes, everyone was boiling, sweaty and oh so thirsty. I managed to get some pretty interesting tan lines that day, but I'm just thankful for any sort of colour as my usual colour living in this country is deathly pale.

In honour of the heat wave, I thought I'd switch things up and tell a story about the time I got hypothermia.

It was May 24 weekend (a holiday weekend in Canada), in the spring after my first year of university. I had gone up north to the camp that I had worked at (and been a camper at) with a friend to help him set up stuff for the summer. He was going to be the head lifeguard and as I used to guard with him, I came up to help and to see a play that some other friends were putting on.

So on the Saturday, one job that my friend wanted to do was to bring the raft that had the slides on it, over to the swimming area. The raft was down the shore near the trailer park, which was maybe a two minute walk away. We figured that we could just get in the water and walk the raft over. My friend's girlfriend (at the time... now wife!) got in a canoe and roped herself to the raft to go along for the ride.

My friend was smart and decided to wear his wetsuit, but I forgot mine so was just wearing a bathing suit. Now, if we were actually swimming, I wouldn't have gone in as the water was very chilly and really not safe to be in for a long period of time. However, we figured, meh it would take five minutes and we would be done.

Silly us! As soon as we started, the wind picked up and soon we realised we were being pushed further and further out into the lake.  We were quickly over our heads and struggling to swim the raft (which had turned into a giant sail) back to shore, let alone to the swimming area of the camp. We got to the point where we were unsure if we could even get the raft back or if we would have to leave it and find a boat to rescue it later. We decided to keep at it and eventually got the raft back to where we started. At this point we had been in the water for some time, which was no good. I had been focused on the job but as soon as we got the raft back, I felt it. I started walking out of the water and fell. I couldn't feel my body and I couldn't think straight. I was confused and yet I knew what was happening. My friend and his partner quickly walked me over to the showers so that I could warm up (because of our first aid training we knew that a good way to deal with this was to start in a cool shower or bath and to slowly warm it up). When I got in the shower... I started it off cool and the water felt like fire. My body was so cold that the water seemed just so hot, even though I knew that it was actually more lukewarm than kettle hot. Finally, I started to be able to become less numb and I could think with a bit more clarity but I still felt out of it and just so cold. After a good amount of time, I went back to my room and changed into several warm layers. We did an assessment and determined that I wasn't bad enough to go to the hospital, but I would just have to be careful and let them know if I felt worse at all.

I spent the rest of the day shivering and never really felt warm, despite the amount of clothes that I had on! I woke up the next day with bruises from falling (which didn't even hurt at the time, as I was so numb) and with a headache, but luckily that was all. A not-so serious case, but definitely enough to make me wary of swimming in cold water!

Hopefully this tale has helped you cool down a bit in this blistering heat. It's all just part of my weird and wonderful life! 

Just Call me Ariel

Prom.

I went to school in Canada, and I don't recall prom being a big deal. We had another dinner/ dance that a lot of people went to, and graduation but prom wasn't a thing... not a big deal and certainly not something that most of my friends went to (if indeed my school even had one! I can't remember).

I went to my first prom in England, at another school that I was teaching at, two years ago. It was glorious. The hair, the makeup and the dresses. The big, colourful, and blinged out dresses. I also remember a great deal of orange skin, as fake tans are very in these days. I stayed and had a good time and just remember thinking how very different my school experience was.

This time around, I went with a few friends for only an hour or so. We wanted to see the students arriving and have a drink but not spend the entire night. There were less fake tans (probably as it's been very sunny lately and so lots had real tans... and burns...) and plenty of nice dresses, but still lots of sparkle and fanciness. Some kids even arrived in an old red double decker bus! That was a lot of fun. It was great seeing students again and to see them so happy and looking so grown up.

On the way home, we started talking about this blog. I explained why I wanted to write and we mused on possible topics. One that came up was the time I lost my voice. It was a pretty odd event and, on reflection, an experience that taught me a lot.

During university, at the very start of the year, I got a throat infection that moved down into my esophagus. This caused my throat to swell and so it was off to the emergency room for me as I couldn't breathe. They gave me some medicine which helped me breathe and sent me home when things had settled. The next day my throat was really sore, and I couldn't speak, but I figured things would come back to normal when the infection cleared up more. A week later, I felt much better but still could not speak. It was as if I was Ariel in 'The Little Mermaid' and some evil seawitch stole my voice.

I'll spare you the details, but after one horrible specialist and one really helpful one, I was able to get a diagnosis and start voice therapy. After almost four months, and hours of vocal exercises, I was finally able to talk again! I was so happy. I remember feeling as if I looked different, and that everyone (even strangers) should be congratulating me on being able to speak, even though it's a pretty basic thing that most people can do with ease. Ordering a coffee caused me extreme joy... because... because it was so normal. It was so easy. And after four months of struggling to do the most basic things, such as ordering a drink, it was a relief to interact in a very normal way.

The months I lived without being able to speak were very weird. It was also very enlightening. Whenever I wanted something, like a coffee, I had to write down my order. Some people just stared at me and then got what I ordered. Others tried to talk to me and then were very awkward when I just smiled back. Some openly told me that I was being difficult by writing things down and "why don't you just tell me? I don't have time to read everyone's orders". As if I was deliberately trying to make their lives more difficult and that I could communicate verbally but wanted to be lazy or demanding. Those were the times that I really wanted to scream. Scream at them that it wasn't my choice! I wasn't trying to be difficult! I just wanted a drink! Those were the times when I wanted to rant about people with disabilities being treated fairly and with respect. What about those who are deaf or mute? Those people who would never be able to verbally communicate?

I learned very quickly that some people either do not know how to act around someone who is different, or can be openly hostile to those with differences or disabilities. Not all disabilities are visible and a lot of people didn't seem to either understand that or know how to deal with it. Plenty of people treated me as someone who was mentally delayed or that I had a low level or intellect, as if my vocal chords had something to do with my intellectual capacity (and yes... I know... there are lots of jokes that could be made here!).

During this time, I had to carry around a note, to explain why I couldn't talk... complete extra work in my courses to make up for the participation mark and completely adapt the way I did things. I would hang out with friends, and while most of them were really good at including me, I often felt like an observer as I couldn't join in on the conversation or impart any of my famous humour and wisdom (hahaha...). It was in a word: difficult.

I am very grateful every day that I can speak (although I'm sure not everyone is happy that I regained my voice!). It means that I could work in the career that I wanted to work in. It means that I could continue to communicate with my friends and family without everyone learning sign language, but it also means that I am not judged, mistreated or even yelled at, for something that is beyond my control. I respect and admire those who do have to live with any sort of disability; especially those who may come up against any rudeness or hostility. When I could not speak, those who I felt the most comfortable around, were those who weren't afraid to talk about my issue, who took it seriously but never pitied me or let it change the way they acted around me. Those who were understanding and accommodating but knew that it didn't make me helpless or hopeless. I love my family and my friends and am so thankful that I had such good ones to support me during my silent months. Although... if you ask my Dad... he'd tell you it was a great four months!

This experience taught me a lot and while it was difficult, it was part of my weird and wonderful life.

Foul Fowl

Birds.

I really do not like birds. Well... most birds.

And I know what you are thinking... why then dedicate a whole post to these awful, horrible creatures? Well... because. Because I can. Because I want the world to understand why I feel so strongly that birds should never be anywhere near me.

Ok... let's start at the beginning.

When I was growing up, my Dad used to always refer to seagulls as "dirty birds". They were not to be fed and my sister and I were taught that these birds were gross. I think my Dad is pretty wise to pass this information down to us.

On a trip to the eastern coast of Canada when I was younger, we driving along in our van and one of these "dirty birds" started flying along in front of us. The ill-fated seagull had a fish in its mouth, which suddenly slipped. In an effort to save the fish, the seagull dived and flew right into... our windshield. That's right. Dead bird everywhere. Feathers, guts, blood and other seagull bits covered the window and presented us with a horrifying sight. Forget bugs on the windshield. We had seagull.

Fast forward 10+ years and there I was.... in Paris, France. Enjoying the sunny weather, sights and nutella crepes (mmm) when my friend and I decided to wonder over to Notre Dame. I was excited to see this famous church, after all, I had seen the Disney film! We arrived at the square in front and what did I see?

Pigeons. Hundreds, no, THOUSANDS of pigeons. Bobbing their heads, flying around, begging and fighting for food.

Panic struck and I couldn't move. I was surrounded. I now know what a criminal must feel when he/she is in a building and the police say, "We've surrounded the building. Come out with your hands up!". It felt like the pigeons were just waiting to make their move. It also really didn't help that my friend insisted that the situation was funny and kept laughing when I was in the grip of such terror. Sigh.

I somehow survived the hoards of evil birds but realised afterwards that the whole thing left me with a stress rash on my chest! I was so confused as I've never in my life had heard of such a thing, but apparently it can happen if you have a experienced a lot of anxiety.

Birds. Rash inducing monsters.

So that has been my experience with birds. Can you blame me when I say that they are just fowl?

Bonjour, Hola, Holla and Hello!

So... I will admit it.

I've blogged before. At the time, I was moving from my hometown in Canada to England (first to London and then to a nearby county) and I had lots of things to share with my family and friends at home. I was travelling, experiencing new things and meeting new people. It was exciting! Sadly, since I have been living here a few years now, life has become a tad more mundane as I've settled down, work full time, and things aren't as new and exciting anymore. Now, don't get me wrong... I am extremely happy with my life here but most of my day to day living is more about marking whilst waiting on my Tesco order or watching old tv shows with my amazing boyfriend. All this has meant that I gave up on my old blog and haven't been writing as much in the past 2 years.

Lately however, I've been getting a lot of comments about how weird my life has been (despite being only in my mid-twenties) and how I need to write a book. Now, I'd love to eventually write a book, or several, but I figured I'd start with the internet and get used to writing again. I will give a warning. My life (despite being wonderful) has been weird. I get hurt a lot. I've had some real health scares. I've also had just odd things happen. And that... is what this is all about. My weird and wonderful life.