An American in Scotland

Things I Love

2007-03-01T17:24:00.000+00:00

I’ve been threatening to come up with a list of some of the things I like most about my adopted country, so here goes:

The BBC

By virtue of T.V. licensing, which means it doesn’t have to cater to advertisers’ prime demographic of brain-addled 18-24 year-olds, the BBC produces the most amazing nature and historical programs I’ve ever seen. They also produce programs on controversial subjects that no self-respecting U.S. station would touch with a ten-foot pole, like the local village S&M scene…obviously, if you were one of those people who phoned in to complain when Janet bared her nipple, you probably wouldn’t find the BBC as refreshing as I do.

The NHS

The National Health System provides free healthcare (funded through taxes) to 60 million Brits every year. While every British resident is allowed unlimited access to this system, in the U.S., 46.6 million people, or about 16% of the population, have no health insurance and therefore no access to affordable healthcare. In 2005, families who had insurance paid more than $10,000 in premiums and deductibles for it annually.

If you work for a large U.S. company and get group coverage, you obviously can’t be denied insurance, but if you’re self-employed or work for a small company that doesn’t provide healthcare, not only are premiums extortionate but the insurance companies can deny you coverage for just about any reason. You can purchase private medical insurance in the U.K. as well (one of the criticisms of the NHS is long waiting periods for some surgeries, which can be circumvented through insurance) but it is usually only used as a top-up for the NHS coverage, and is much less expensive than U.S. insurance because it has to compete with free-ish healthcare.

It’s really beautiful here

In spite of the fact that over 60 million people live on an island that is a bit smaller than Oregon, there seems to be a lot more green space (forests, parks, farmland, buildingless areas, etc.) than most places I’ve visited in the U.S. I’m guessing it’s a combination of comparatively more protected areas and that Brits tend to live in smaller houses, closer together. Of course, if you asked the pensioners, they would tell you that the U.K. is much more developed than it was 20 years ago and is going downhill.

Incredibly old buildings

I love living in a city that is filled to the brim with ancient architecture. Edinburgh has a wonderful gothic feel beyond even what London has to offer – I could ramble on and on about this but I think pictures speak volumes.

The pub scene

I spent the Christmas holidays in Wales and we spent the majority of our evenings in various pubs, ending with bringing in the New Year at the Hare and Hounds in Aberthin. I think the best part about the pub scene is that it’s a comfortable, everyone’s-invited-including-the-kids-and-the-family-dog experience, not a try-to-go-home-with-someone experience (though I’m sure that happens as well). Our group sat on a worn sofa in front of a fire, drinking, sharing stories and watching the children run around.

Great bread, great cheese

I like buying an unwrapped, uncut, freshly-baked loaf of bread with lots of seeds and bits in it. U.K. grocery stores also sell American-style bread (pre-sliced, processed and packaged) but I have no idea why anyone would want to buy it (maybe single mums on benefits with a dozen kids – yes, they’re here as well). I was also amazed that most cheese here is off-white in color, until I realized that off-white is real cheese color, while the American version adds orange food coloring. British and European cheeses also have superior flavor and texture to anything that’s ever come out of Wisconsin.

Being a short distance from a number of other countries

It’s mind-boggling to be within an hour or so (by plane) from so many different countries and cultures. I love to be able to hop on a plane and visit Paris or Berlin or Milan or Andorra or Prague or Dublin, etc. for the weekend with minimal planning or expense.

Surprisingly happy Immigration workers

I recently went to get my indefinite leave to remain designation on my Visa in Glasgow. As Gareth and I stepped out of our car, a man greeted us and asked if we were looking for Immigration, then directed us to a smiling man in a hut, who checked us in and directed us to more friendly, smiling people inside the main building. After the security checks, we went to a waiting room, and afterwards, were dealt with in the same fashion. The whole experience was, well, pleasant, if you exclude the 500 pounds we paid for the privilege.

Gareth went through U.S. Immigration and said the workers were rude and seemed acutely unhappy to be there. He thinks it’s a combination of the large number of immigration hopefuls the U.S. has to process and the cost, which is much less than in the U.K. Perhaps if the U.S. charged more, the government could pay the workers better and they wouldn’t be so miserable to do their jobs.

Doctors who see you at your appointment time

The first time I went to the doctor, I waited all of five minutes before I was called in. The doctor then apologized for making me wait. Being accustomed to spending upwards to an hour and a half in doctors’ waiting rooms, I’m continually surprised at not having to do this any longer. I used to fantasize about sending U.S. doctors a bill for all the time I could have spent doing something productive. I guess, since the NHS is paid for by everyone, the expectation is that the “everyone” in question should not have to pay for having their time wasted.

The Harley-Davidson void

How blissful it is not to hear the thunderous rumble of hoards of Harleys driving down your street (or across the next county…or even the next state, that’s how loud they are). Before a British Harley owner comments that he or she managed to import one (how wonderful for you) I know there are a few here but the number is a tiny fraction to that of the U.S., and therefore, tolerable.

One Degree of Separation

2006-10-16T10:27:00.000+01:00

Living in a city with lots going on all the time, I tend to forget how small the

U.K.

really is. One thing that highlights this fact is that, relative to the

U.S.

, the artistic talent pool is small as well, so you see the same faces and hear the same names over and over again. As a result, I’ve developed a feeling of familiarity bordering on intimacy with complete strangers that I’d never experienced in the

U.S.

The other night I was watching a television program - a panel show comprised of six comedians and a comedic host engaged in comedic banter about current events (a popular format here) - when I realized that I had spoken face-to-face with two of the seven people on the program. Being a token American at the stand-up shows I had attended at the Edinburgh Fringe, I had obliged Dara O’Briain and Ian Stone when they had asked the fatal question: “Are there any Americans in the audience tonight?” And now, here they were, staring at me from my T.V. screen. I bet this sort of thing happens a lot - it probably explains Brits’ laissez-faire attitude toward famous people.

Things I Miss

2006-09-16T15:05:00.000+01:00

I’ve begun making a mental list of little conveniences that I took for granted in the U.S. and that, for one reason or another, never caught on here. This should by no means be interpreted as a latent desire to move back, however, since there are just as many things that I’ve discovered since my arrival that I’m surprised never made it to the U.S. (I think another blog entry’s called for). Anyway, here’s the current list:

Door and window screens
Every time I open a window or the balcony door and a large bug of some description flies into the flat, I puzzle over the lack of screens. You would think Brits would want to enjoy the nice breeze you get in the summer when you open the front and back door and leave the screen doors closed, without feeling like you’re inviting random strangers/thieves/stray animals to come inside. The only reason I can think of for this is that most Brits believe that the weather is always terrible (even though it isn’t) so why would they ever want to leave a door or window open to let the weather in? It will be interesting to see if screens become more popular with the warmer temperatures.

Porcelain toilet seats
This isn’t to say that the U.K. is completely devoid of porcelain and the U.S. has no plastic, but I’ve yet to come across a porcelain toilet seat here. It’s amazing how many times I’ve thought wistfully to myself how much I miss the reassuring sturdiness of porcelain under my bottom.

Garbage disposals
I think I miss garbage disposals more than anything else. I never realized how much easier it is to clean up after a meal when you can simply scrape the food remnants off the plate and into the sink, flip a switch (allowing the disposal to do its work) and then load everything into the dishwasher. Having to dispose of garbage in the waste basket is not only messier (try holding up the lid while attempting NOT to get food on the floor and sides of the basket) but also smellier, unless you empty the trash daily.

Electrical outlets in the bathroom
I understand the reasons for not having outlets in the bathroom. But if people are stupid enough to electrocute themselves with hairdryers, curling irons and other electrical devices, their demise is, though certainly unfortunate, not a good enough reason for giving me daily neck and leg aches while I kneel awkwardly in front of a mirror that I’ve propped up against the bedroom wall. Yes, I know, I could go out and spend £400 on a dressing table that goes with my furniture, but right now, my budget won’t allow it.

Mail boxes
I’m not convinced that having a rectangular cutout in the front door instead of a mailbox makes sense for a couple of reasons. First, the cutout’s size only allows for envelopes and very thin packages, which means that you either have to be home to receive bulkier mail or go through the hassle of picking it up at the post office. Second, there’s no flag to indicate that you have mail for the postman to pick up – not that they would anyway, because British postmen don’t consider retrieving mail to be in their job description.

Pleasant post offices
I really miss walking into a clean, cheerful, spacious post office that exists for the sole purpose of moving mail. I think people buy into the Royal Mail franchise like they do 7-11s in the U.S., resulting in businesses that are part post office, part card/toy shop and part convenience store. The majority are unkempt, depressing and cramped, and I always feel happier after I’ve left one.

Forced air heating
From what I understand, heating a house via series of radiators is more cost efficient than the way Americans do it, but my issue is the radiators themselves, which take up wall space that could be used for furniture placement, are impossible to paint behind, and are – lets face it – not particularly attractive.

Clothes in my size
This problem has gone from being mildly annoying to serious since I recently found a job that requires professional attire. I take a U.S. size 2 Petite in suits and a 6 in shoes, the U.K. equivalents of which are 6 or 8 Petites (depending on cut) and a small size 3 in shoes. I’ve been to multiple stores in both Edinburgh and London, and have reached the unhappy conclusion that practically no one carries my size, and if they do, it sells out immediately. Obviously, there are fewer American women who are small rather than medium or large, but there are a handful of U.S. stores that carry a decent selection of petite sizes. After a month of searching, I did find one black suit at a Debenhams department store – it wasn’t exactly what I was looking for, but it will have to do until I either have some made or take a trip back to the U.S.

The Path to Righteousness

2006-09-13T18:26:00.000+01:00

I haven’t, up to this point, waxed political, mostly because there are a lot of other people doing it who a) talk about politics for a living and therefore (I’d like to hope) have broader and more in-depth views than my own or b) can’t find anything more interesting (or original) to write about.

But I felt the need to spend a bit of valuable blogging space on “The Path to 9/11,” ABC’s miniseries that aired this week. John Rogers attempts to explain how such a factually flawed account of one of the most tragic events in U.S. history could have been green-lighted for production, while Tom Shales of the Washington Post blasts it for its blatant inaccuracies and neo-con fictionalization. CNN also ran an article stating that former President Clinton had asked ABC to “tell the truth.”

So here’s my gripe (or rant or or protest, whichever you prefer):

First, I’m tired of being lied to (docudrama, my backside) with the expectation that I’m too stupid or uninformed to know the difference. Second – and most important – I happen to think there are plenty of Americans who are too stupid or uninformed to recognize crap when they see it (likely the same ones who bought Bush's justification for the Iraq War) and they’ll probably go to their graves believing ABC’s distorted version, which irks me to no end.

Meetup Madness

2006-09-07T19:42:00.000+01:00

In my efforts to go from “loner” to “joiner,” I decided to become a member of several Edinburgh area meetups.

A meetup is basically a group of people with a common interest who get together to discuss or do said interest. The meetup website claims to have 2.4 million members and 16,000 meetup groups worldwide. I stumbled onto it while I was searching Gumtree for something unrelated. Although I’ve joined four so far, only the meetups that have an organizer (someone who comes up with the meeting place and activities) actually, uh, meet up.

So Sunday I’m going walking along a canal with the Walking Meetup group (to nurture my nature-loving side), and Monday I’m having a drink and a chat at a local pub with the Occult Meetup group (to nurture my spooky side). At present, no one has stepped forward to own the writers’ group or the American ex-pat group. I’ve been thinking about becoming the organizer for the ex-pats for a couple of weeks now. Before I make the leap from "joiner" to "organizer," however, I’d better do a little research to see what’s actually involved.

Farewell to the Fringe

2006-08-30T18:18:00.000+01:00

Monday marked the end of the Edinburgh International Festival’s alter ego, the Fringe. Several newspapers suggested that the festival is suffering some sort of identity crisis and will soon be overtaken by copycat festivals springing up across the

U.K.

In spite of all this journalistic doom-mongering, however, the BBC reported that this year’s events drew the biggest audiences so far, with 1.5 million tickets sold for the Fringe and International Festival ticket sales approaching £2.5 million (the EIF runs for an additional week).

Last weekend, Gareth’s friend Andy flew up from Wales and we spent most of it running from one end of Edinburgh to the other, managing to catch six comedy shows before he flew back on Sunday.

Although I was amazed by the amount of energy Charles Ross expended while acting out the entire Star Wars Trilogy in an hour, I think my favorite was the Dutch Elm Conservatoire in Prison. I guess it was the opening sequence, when two of the five guys stripped down to micro-pairs of denim shorts, that won me over. Not that the Village People-esque attire was particularly attractive on their less than ideal physiques, it was simply the unexpectedness of it that grabbed my attention, while the the show’s singing, dancing and comedic banter kept me entertained until the end. I suppose I should mention that it was about a group of prisoners who plot to keep a new warden from ruining their utopian prison existence.

Other acts that deserved a mention were Jeff Innocent: Eco Worrier, Ian Stone’s Embrace the Chaos and Brendan Dempsey: England Expects.

Jeff Innocent’s show was about his attempts to incorporate all things pro-environment into his life. As a fellow tree-hugger, I appreciated the message and could relate to his worries about the planet and the future. I guess the only reason his show wasn’t my favorite was because I felt the humor level ebbed and flowed a bit. Obviously, humor is subjective, and Gareth said he enjoyed Jeff’s show the most.

I think Ian Stone stood out because he pushed the boundaries more than the other comedians I’d seen (I was particularly impressed by the Princess Diana jokes). Unfortunately, I happened to be the only American in the room, so he aimed all the anti-American jokes in my direction. I think I was just tired of mentally shouting, “Look – it’s not my fault! I didn’t vote for him, okay?”

Brendan Dempsey’s show was polished and funny – I especially liked the bit about Scots and warm weather. I guess I just needed it to be a bit more off-the-wall and unique.

As an Edinburgh resident, I’m both sad and relieved to see the festival go. But come July, I’m certain I’ll be eagerly awaiting the arrival of the program tome in my mailbox.

Adam Hills: Characterful

2006-08-12T19:33:00.000+01:00

Earlier this week, we joined more than 300 Fringe-goers at the Assembly to watch another Aussie comedian named Adam Hills. His show reminded me of Dara O’Briain in that he frequently interacted with the audience, asking them lots of questions and weaving their responses into the fabric of his routine. A prime example was when he singled out a young girl (10 yrs. old?) and her father and then chatted with her off and on throughout the show, which I’m sure made her night. I did wonder why someone would bring a child to an adult performance, but her father apparently felt she was mature enough to handle the swearing and mature themes.

Hills has a number of decent impressions up his sleeve as well, including a brilliant “George Bush being his normal moronic self” that I almost weed my pants over. But I think my favorite part was toward the end when he told a true story about one of his audience members collapsing after his show and being administered to by Nancy Cartwright, the woman who does the voice of Bart Simpson.

If you’re looking to add a standup show to your list, Characterful definitely deserves your consideration. Although, I have to say, it was the first time I’d ever seen a comedian work in his stocking feet.

Chanbara at The Fringe

2006-08-11T15:22:00.000+01:00

We got to our seats in the Pleasance Courtyard's auditorium just before the lights dimmed. The 300+ seat venue was packed with people of all ages, eagerly awaiting the spectacle that includes Taiko drums, Samurai swords, fake trees, smoke machines and lots of young Japanese performers play-fighting across the stage.

The high-energy show brought back memories of the year I spent learning Kung Fu, especially the staff sequence (my favorite weapon). I really enjoyed it, though I could have done without one skit that was supposed to be funny (a teacher puts his students through their paces and they do silly things to him and each other) but was really just corny. Even so, Chanbara was well worth the money.

Alfred Williams Tells a Joke

2006-08-09T08:42:00.000+01:00

Our next foray into The Fringe brought us to a small classroom at the Edinburgh College of Art and a comedic newbie named Alfred Williams.

His hour-long show consists of one joke: a shaggy-dog story involving a car break-down, a pink gorilla and a bell tower. Although the joke’s punch-line, following fifty-nine minutes-worth of ramblings, sub-jokes, and extraneous asides was actually good, getting there was a fight to keep from falling asleep. This was in small part because the room was warm and stuffy, but mostly due to Williams’s delivery, which was entirely too fast and acutely lacking in all the things that make good comedy, i.e., perfectly-timed pauses, voice impressions (or, at least, voice variation), humorous hand and body movements, etc. Williams entertained his audience (around ten of us) mostly by sitting on a stool and talking…and talking…and talking. One guy did seem to be enjoying himself – he laughed with unbridled enthusiasm throughout the show. It turns out that he was the show’s producer, which says a lot.

On the plus side, the few jokes I did happen to catch as his words flew past me were fairly high-brow and yes, funny. If he would just slow down a bit (cutting out some of the unfunny streams of consciousness to make room), his one-joke gimmick might work.

Although I can’t, with a clear conscience, recommend this show, providing open access for all performers is still The Fringe’s main directive – and what makes it so worthwhile.

Charlie Pickering at The Fringe

2006-08-08T11:39:00.000+01:00

The Edinburgh Fringe Festival is now in full swing. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this event, according to Edinburgh – The Capital Guide:

“The Fringe…is officially the largest arts festival on the planet...and it breaks its own record every year with increasing participants and audiences.”

This year, the festival runs from August 6 through 28. I’m thrilled because, since I now live here, it will be much easier to see the shows and exhibitions without first driving in from St. Andrews on a Saturday, finding parking (nearly impossible during The Fringe), sprinting from one show to the next with the goal of attending as many as possible, and then driving back home again. Since I’ll undoubtedly see twenty or more shows this month, I’ve decided to share my thoughts on them to give fellow Fringe-goers a few ideas if they’re struggling with their own itineraries.

The first show on our list was Charlie Pickering – Auto. We chose the Aussie comedian because he had been nominated for the Perrier Best Newcomer 2005 Award and we thought that sounded promising.

Pickering’s monologue begins as he attempts to write his autobiography. “My autobiography,” he types on his laptop, “by Charlie Pickering.” The words offer promise, but throughout the show, Pickering finds that writing is much more difficult than it at first seems (tell me about it). So between tales of his childhood that are both hilarious and poignant, he searches for inspiration from B.B. King’s borderline-embarrassing autobiography, from which he reads an occasional excerpt.

I thoroughly enjoyed his performance: it was a great start to The Fringe.

Everything for Every Body

2006-08-03T12:37:00.000+01:00

Since our move to Edinburgh, we created a To-Do list that includes, somewhere near the top after all the address changes, “Decide on a health club.” So last week, we began the selection process by putting together a list of clubs that were within five miles of our house and setting aside a couple of afternoons to visit them, with the expectation of joining the one that met our minimum requirements and offered the best value for money.

On the first afternoon, we set out to tour the Next Generation Club, conveniently located just down the street from us, Virgin Active and Bannatyne in the City Center. Next Gen and Virgin went way beyond my expectations, offering an onsite spa and beauty salon, as well as a restaurant, bar, children’s workout facilities and tennis courts, none of which I’d ever seen in a health club before. Next Generation’s amenities also included a heated outdoor swimming pool with a view of the ocean, while Virgin gave members access to computer work stations with free internet. I can’t say much about Bannatyne, however, because on our arrival, we were told that there was no designated parking, which was one of our minimum requirements, so we left without a tour.

Of course, all these resort-style facilities come with hefty price tags. Next Gen charges £52.50 per month EACH for a standard membership (racquet sports not included). I did my best to keep a straight face during the pricing portion of the tour, wondering how the average Scot could justify paying that kind of money for exercise. Virgin’s off peak membership was a little more reasonable at £43 per month (though still much more than we had expected), but it was just inside our travel radius and we decided the 20-minute drive back and forth would quickly get old.

We arrived home in a state of sticker shock, having paid a measly $53 per month couples membership at L.A. Fitness, a club in Ventura that, by U.S. standards, is considered at the upper end of clubs that cater to the general public.

We left the flat for our second round of health club-hunting with less enthusiasm. We started with a club called Holmes Place, which was even more luxurious and expensive than the first two. The next three clubs on our list had gone out of business. Then we visited two Leisure Centres* in the hopes that they would be less expensive. They were, but only marginally so, and the basic workout facilities were rundown and depressing. That left the University of Edinburgh’s Centre for Sport and Exercise. Minus the nonessentials, the Centre had everything we could possibly want in a health club, and at a very reasonable £19 per month (annual rate). Now for the deal breaker – paid street parking only except after 5 pm, and we both work out in the mornings. Acknowledging defeat, we reluctantly signed up with Next Gen – and all those luxury amenities we’ll never use.

It’ll be interesting to see how the health club scene evolves here in the next few years. Unless Brits have far more disposable income than I think they do, the market that is willing/able to pay £50 a month or more is only a fraction of potential gym-goers. There is definitely a place for the U.S. health club model: focus on fitness at an affordable price.

*Similar to YMCAs. Instead of being run by a nonprofit organization, Leisure Centres are government-subsidized.

Another Texan Talkin' Crap

2006-08-02T11:09:00.000+01:00

A few days ago, Gareth and I were driving through the country and we decided to stop for dinner at a gastro-pub called The Inn at Lathones. When we entered the reception area, bringing to mind a living room in a cozy French cottage, we were met with what looked like a homeless man, strewn across one of the comfortable-looking sofas and snoring like a freight train. We stopped in our tracks and looked uncertainly at one another until a flustered waiter guided us to seating around the corner and took our before-dinner drink orders. Then he scurried away and we heard him explaining to the homeless man that, although he was a guest of the inn and it went without saying that they appreciated his patronage, he couldn’t just take a nap in the middle of the four-star restaurant’s reception room. The man chuckled and gave a half-hearted apology and I immediately recognized the Texas accent.

As I finished off my Screaming Orgasm (a surprising cocktail offering for a country pub) I wondered if, at this very moment, American tourists all over the U.K. were doing things that confirmed Brits’ negative perceptions of us. The waiter would certainly enjoy telling his family and friends that apparently all Texans are socially inept buffoons, not just the U.S. president.

A few minutes later the waiter returned, apologized profusely for the napping Texan’s behavior, and took us to our table. Midway through my scallop ceviche, voices permeated a softly playing French ballad: the napper had returned to the reception area with a dinner companion.

First he told his friend about his little incident, to which the man replied, “Nah, really? Right there on the couch?” followed by a hearty laugh. Then he scrutinized the menu and announced in an even louder voice that although the roasted chestnut and herb stuffed quail looked interesting, he was astonished that the restaurant was only offering one quail and not two, since one couldn't possibly satisfy his big Texas appetite. His friend tried to console him: “You can have some o’ mine if ya want.”

The part of this exchange that intrigued me most, however was the napper’s declaration that “if a man eats one quail egg a day for thirty days, he’ll die of iodine poisonin’.” That evening, I spent a fair amount of time searching the web for evidence of his claim. Although quail eggs do contain iodine, so do chicken eggs, and apparently in similar amounts. No mention of anyone dying from a quail egg overdose.

Sounds like just another Texan talkin’ crap to me.

Experiencing Technical Difficulties...

2006-07-26T15:07:00.000+01:00

To those of you who have stopped by recently to find that I haven’t put up any new posts, you deserve an explanation for your efforts.

The morning after our move on July 14th, we discovered that the previous owner’s tenant decided not to shut off his internet or phone service, which means we have to wait until August 2nd to get a new phone line installed. Apparently, Bulldog, his phone/internet provider, wanted to charge him £30 to cancel, which pissed him off, so he decided to just leave it on instead. I’m not sure what kind of brain surgeon this guy is to think the avoidance of a lousy £30 fee outweighs all the other charges he’s going to incur in the long term, not to mention screwing up his credit rating if he doesn’t pay, but until our line goes in, we’re repaying him for all the trouble he’s causing us by calling all our friends all over the world. Unfortunately, we can’t hook up to his internet service as well, so after a week of trial and error, I found a wireless signal that I can highjack. It only works intermittently, however, which is annoying as hell. So please bear with me and in the meantime, I’ll post what I can.

In Dulux We Trust

2006-07-05T10:08:00.000+01:00

I’ve painted a lot in my life. I think it started when I was in college. I put an ad in the Lansing State Journal looking for an apartment that I could fix up in exchange for cheap rent. A guy called and said he had a studio apartment in the basement of a house that hadn’t been lived in for several years. We agreed on the miniscule sum of $150 a month and I got to work clearing away debris, cleaning out years of dirt and dead bugs and painting.

Over the years I’ve painted rooms multiple times in three different houses, not including a bedroom and two bathrooms that my hairdresser's wife paid me to paint when I was laid off from a corporate job after 9/11. And in so doing, I’ve acquired a vast amount of experience with U.S. paint brands, which includes scrutinizing color swatches and choosing paint colors.

Last year, when we decided to impose on Gareth’s mother for an indeterminate amount of time while we figured out where we wanted to live, I volunteered to do some decorating for her to show my appreciation for her hospitality. I started by wallpapering her upstairs bathroom (which went remarkably well considering I’d never wallpapered before) and then I moved on to her downstairs bathroom, which she asked to have painted. We picked up several swatches and she chose a Dulux color called Antique Lace – similar in tone to very weak tea. I bought a 2.5 liter tin and started to paint…the color that the guy at B&Q had mixed for me was significantly redder than the swatch, which had never happened to me before. I wanted to return the paint to B&Q and try another color, but having lived through WWII, Gareth’s mother was adamant about not wasting it, so I combined it with a tin of light yellow paint to try to dilute the red. Needless to say, I was never satisfied with the result.

Now we move on to my current – and hopefully last – painting project: our new flat. I found a local Jewson (a smaller version of Home Depot), pulled a handful of swatches from the display and, after much consultation with Gareth, picked four colors – two bold accent colors, a softer color for the majority of the flat and a white for the ceilings and woodwork. I had 1-liter tins mixed as color samples and headed back to the flat.

The white (Subtle Ivory) and the accent colors (Autumn Fern and Salsa Melt) were fine and exactly what I had expected. The fourth color, Khaki Mists, which was intended for use on at least two-thirds of the walls, seemed greener than I had envisioned. I figured it was a trick of the light or something, and didn’t think to compare it with the swatch, probably because I had forgotten about the Antique Lace incident by then and trusted that the mixed color was identical to the swatch.

More discussions and scrutinizing took place, and we decided we were happy with all the colors, including Khaki Mists. So I called Jewson and ordered several tins. When I opened the first 5-liter tin of Khaki Mists, much to my shock, it was not the soft, sophisticated green that was all over my living room walls, but a very tan taupe. Unfortunately, the green that I had based my decision on turned out to be the one that did not match the swatch and the tan was the real Khaki Mists.

I called Gareth, who was still at the house in St. Andrews, trying not to sound distraught. He talked me into painting a couple of walls to see if I could live with it before buying more paint. Meanwhile, he described my dilemma to his sister, who told him she had heard of color issues with Dulux. He also searched the web and came across a story by a woman who ended up with pink instead of the dark red she had expected: http://www.dooyoo.co.uk/household-products/dulux/139020/

From a coverage standpoint, I think Dulux beats many brands I’ve used in the U.S. It’s a complete mystery to me, however, that a paint company would have color mixing problems in the 21st century, especially since I haven’t experienced them elsewhere. It’s bad enough having to do all that work without the worry that your color choice isn’t what you think it is.

Back on the Property Ladder

2006-07-03T21:07:00.000+01:00

A couple of months ago, we decided to start looking for a house in Edinburgh. As you might expect, the purchasing process is different from what I’d experienced in the U.S.

First of all, estate agents here don’t do as much work as they do in the U.S. I'm sure it's partly because Scottish agents only make 1-2½% of the purchase price compared to 4-6% in the U.S., but most of the time, U.S. agents have to split their commission with the buyer's agent, so the discrepancy isn’t as large as you might think. They also handle all the paperwork because, unlike the U.K., solicitors are not required for property transactions.

When I was looking to buy a house in California, I called an agent, gave her a list of search criteria (price, number of bedrooms, location and any other must-haves) and over the course of several weeks, she drove me around to the various properties she had found. Since the concept of a buyer’s agent doesn't exist here, the only properties an agent will show a potential buyer are the ones that are listed by the company he works for, which is a tiny fraction of what's on the market.

Without an agent, buyers are left to locate properties and arrange viewings themselves. In addition to individual appointments, most sellers hold regular open houses on Thursday evenings and Sunday afternoons. The interesting thing is, if the seller is living in the house, he has to show it himself. If I were an agent, I'd think twice before allowing the seller to chat to the buyer. More than once, we had people tell us how desperate they were to sell their properties.

I found two websites to be really useful during my search. www.espc.com has a comprehensive list of Scottish properties for sale and is user-friendly. The My Pages feature is handy for saving details on properties you want to revisit. Once you're thinking about making an offer, www.nethouseprices.com tells you how much the seller paid for their property. Final selling prices are also available for England and Wales.

Another difference is the “Offers Over” scenario, which happens in England and Wales as well. When you see a property listed for “Offers Over £200,000,” it means the seller has a price in mind that is an unknown percentage above the £200K mark, but he’s decided not to inform the buyers. Interested buyers can either put in a Note of Interest to the agent or make an offer, at which point the seller may or may not accept it. Once the seller receives two Notes of Interest, a closing date will be set for the interested parties to get their offers in. An agent told me the Offers Over came about because solicitors didn’t want to be held responsible by the seller for setting the price too low or too high. With Offers Over, the seller is confident he received the most he could get for his property in a given market.

From a buyer’s perspective, it’s a very annoying and confusing process, which is why sellers who are having trouble getting interest will sometimes switch to a set price. Many new homes are now starting with a set price to encourage buyers to make an offer.

Once an offer is accepted, the buyer’s and seller’s solicitors exchange Missives, which means they are ironing out the fine points of the contract. When Missives are concluded, the deal is finalized. In England and Wales, there is also something called Gazumping. http://observer.guardian.co.uk/uk_news/story/0,,684075,00.html Gazumping is when a seller accepts an offer from one interested party, only to accept a higher offer later on from someone else. Unlike Scotland, an accepted offer from a buyer isn’t legally binding.

After three months of searching, we decided on a three-bedroom flat in Leith, which is an up-and-coming area about 10 minutes from the city center. Here are some good pictures of the area: http://www.doughoughton.com/webpage/page/page040.html

This is Britannia Quay, where we purchased our flat. I know this isn’t a very interesting shot, but I’ll post interior photos as we get the rooms painted and furnished.

Punk Grannies

2006-06-25T11:55:00.000+01:00

My fascination with British punk grannies began when Gareth introduced me to his mother on her first and only visit with us in California. I remember puzzling over the contrast of her conservative skirt and blazer and her hair color, which was an exuberant shade of burgundy that was careening toward purple.

Being the sort of woman who prefers having a hairdresser style her hair, a week later we took her to a popular Ventura hair salon. Patrick, the owner, commented that American women of a certain age would never consider coloring their hair anything but some shade of blonde, which she, of course, found strange. The way she viewed it, hair color was one of those things that you should experiment and have fun with; if she didn’t like the result, she’d just get it redone.

A few years later, we relocated to the U.K. and spent three months in Wales before deciding on a permanent move to Scotland. A visit to the Bridgend B&Q (similar to a Home Depot) soon after our arrival brought me face-to-face with a fifty-something cashier sporting a bright blue bob. That same day during a quick stop at Tesco, I spied an older woman in a business suit who reminded me of a parrot in a coif of florescent green. Scottish punk grannies seem to favor bright reds and purples, though I’m sure I’ll eventually come across more colors.

I asked a hair stylist about this and she had no idea why some elderly British women chose to rival their grandchildren on the hair-color front. Maybe doing something fun and outrageous on the outside makes them feel younger on the inside. American women would never take such a light-hearted view of their appearance – they are as focused on being stylish and beautiful as they were when they were younger. Their preoccupation with blonde hair color comes from the outdated belief that it is kinder to aging skin than shades of red or brunette.

As I get older, I’ve come to value my newfound ability to laugh at myself, though I admit my approach to hairstyles remains serious. Perhaps a strategically-placed lock of blue or green every now and then would be good for my soul.

A Pocketful of Change

2006-06-20T09:26:00.000+01:00

It’s amazing how much change accumulates in the bottom of my purse here. My aversion to digging around for loose coins existed in the U.S. as well; the cumulative effect was significantly less, however, and I realized it's because U.S. currency is more bill-centric.

Consider the following: in the U.S., there are pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters, which immediately segue to the dollar bill. I’m not including half dollars and the Susan B. Anthony dollar coin here because, even though the half dollar is still considered legal tender, it’s rarely used, and after its final minting in 1999, the Susan B. Anthony dollar all but disappeared due to its unfortunate similarity to the quarter. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Susan_B._Anthony_dollar

The pound sterling, however, is significantly more coin-centric: one-pence, two-pence, five-pence, ten-pence, twenty-pence and fifty-pence coins are all in regular circulation. Then there are one-pound and two-pound coins, keeping in mind that a pound is worth (in real terms) about $1.50. Thankfully, there are no plans to elevate the five-pound coin’s current commemorative status to that of regular circulation. http://www.answers.com/topic/british-five-pound-coin

But while I find the coin issue annoying, British men are even more upset by it. Whenever Gareth is given change by a merchant, he either hands it directly over to me to add to the small mountain inside my handbag, or he waits until we get home and then dumps it in our designated coin jar. It is then my job to keep in mind all the possibilities for coin use (toll booths, shopping cart rental*, etc.) and to make sure I’ve raided the jar before we set out on a journey. Men who don’t immediately discard their change find themselves with holes in their pants pockets from the weight.

It’s easy to see why governments love coins: the average coin has a life expectancy of 20 to 40 years, while a dollar bill can’t handle more than 18 months of abuse by the general public before it’s pulled out of circulation. Nations that decrease their paper note usage are rewarded with massive savings. To put this into perspective, had the dollar coin successfully replaced the bill, the BBC estimated that the U.S. would have saved $500 million each year. http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/1921123.stm

My one saving grace is that debit cards are accepted practically everywhere - I’ve even managed to stop feeling guilty about using my card for purchases of a couple of pounds.

* Brits have come up with the brilliant idea of putting a locking mechanism on shopping carts that forces shoppers to insert a pound coin, whereby it disengages itself from the row of carts. When you’ve finished with it, you simply reattach it to the row and it gives you back your coin. This solves the problem of workers having to go cart collecting every few hours, plus carts have less of a tendency to magically disappear from store parking lots.

Customer (Dis) Service

2006-06-14T18:30:00.000+01:00

First of all, the exchange I’m about to describe started with a mistake I made.

Since Gareth and I aren’t married, we need to have wills and powers of attorney that delineate who gets what if one of us dies, especially since we are getting ready to purchase a house together. In a moment of cheapness, we decided to forgo a lawyer (solicitor) and order a set of prefab wills/POAs from an online company called tenminutewill.co.uk.

After I read through the FAQs on the website, paid £84 and spent significantly more than ten minutes filling out all the forms, I noticed in one of their return emails a line saying the documents were legal in England and Wales, but not Scotland. This sometimes happens; the individual countries that make up the U.K. don’t always work the same way with regard to matters of a legal nature, in much the same way that U.S. states have different laws. Realizing I somehow missed this important piece of information, I decided to try and get a refund on the grounds that I wouldn't be able to use them.

So I sent tenminutewill.co.uk’s customer support department a brief but courteous email asking for a refund. I didn't really expect to get one, but you don't get if you don't ask. The unnamed customer support rep responded with an oddly sarcastic email basically stating that I should have read all the small print and it was my own fault.

Although there are many things in the U.S. that could arguably stand improvement, American companies have customer service down to a science, which was why I was surprised by the rep’s rudeness. This prompted me to send a response that included following:

"you might want to simply post clearly on your website that your products are not valid for Scotland" and "Since you are not being reasonable, I will be sure to post on every will-related forum I can find how accommodating and helpful you've been."

I never actually intended to do this – I just felt the need to respond to sarcasm with sarcasm and it was the only thing I could think of at the time.

A few minutes later, the rep wrote back:

Why should we waste space on our Home Page just to accommodate the less than 1% of our 'Customers' who are unable to read the words:

"All documents will be downloadable (and also emailed to you) immediately in Adobe Acrobat format as soon as you've clicked the 'PROCESS' button above, will be checked by a professionally-qualified Willwriter, and are valid for assets in ENGLAND AND WALES. If you have assets elsewhere please click here. If this box is ticked, you are over 18 and have read and accept our Terms and Conditions and, if you live in Scotland or the Channel Islands (or have any assets outside England & Wales), have read these notes."

What, pray, is NOT clear about the above ????? We'd be interested to hear why YOU didn't read and understand it.

Go ahead. If you spend 100 hours on this task you might get your message across to about 0.1% of our future Customers.

Don't forget to mention that your advice applies only to those who can't be bothered to read what they're buying before handing over their money. How ironic that you're Scottish.

Regards

Portology Ltd. Willwriting Support

Again, I’ve happily accepted the blame; I just don’t happen to think any customer should be treated that poorly by a representative of a company, regardless.

One thing I’d like to point out is the rep’s last sentence:

“How ironic that you’re Scottish.”

Besides the fact that I’m not Scottish, this is a great example of the ongoing prejudice between a relatively small number of Brits in both England and Scotland.

Some Scots still consider the English to be the enemy because they resent having been taken over by England in the 18th century. It’s difficult for me to imagine that people who weren‘t born then would still hold a grudge, but there you have it. And I guess it follows that some of the English, as the victors, still consider the Scots to be inferior to them, hence the statement above.

Going back to my problem with the wills, I thought about asking our bank to try and get the money back but decided I couldn’t be bothered with more paperwork. We met with a lawyer this week and he is putting everything together for us at a very reasonable price.

Driver's Test Update

2006-06-14T17:43:00.000+01:00

Well, I'm thrilled to announce that after three months of driving lessons and much pain and suffering, I passed my driver's test.

Test takers are allowed up to 15 minor faults before failing the test, and I managed to get through with four, which I guess is pretty good if you ignore the fact that I've been driving since 1980. Minor faults are things like signaling too early or too late, not looking in your mirrors enough or not putting on your hand brake at a stoplight. A major fault, which means automatic failure, would be something that is either illegal or dangerous.

Anyway, it's one less headache to worry about.

Haunted Castles

2006-06-07T15:31:00.000+01:00

Throughout the U.K., you are never more than a stone’s throw away from a castle. According to Wikipedia, there are over 650 castles, the majority of which reside in England and Scotland. Many of these formidable-looking fortresses were built between the 11th and the 14th centuries. Coming from a country whose oldest buildings, with the exception of early Native American dwellings, date to around the mid-1500s, I find myself drawn to the these medieval structures and the intrigue and violence that regularly took place within them.

Last week, Gareth and I drove to Northumberland, an English county just over the Scottish border, to spend the night with our friends Darren and Nikki at Chillingham Castle. http://www.chillingham-castle.com/

When we arrived, Gareth asked an old gent in tweeds who was chatting with the receptionist whether the leg irons hanging on the far wall were for people who don’t pay their bills. “Oh no, we have a blunderbuss* for that!” he replied with a snaggle-toothed smile. Then a young woman escorted us up a steep spiral staircase to our self-catering apartment, which was charming in an old-fashioned, could do with a lick of paint and new carpet, sort of way. Soon our friends arrived and we headed back down for a look around the castle and a tour of the grounds.

I think the best part about visiting Chillingham Castle is that the owner, Sir Humphrey Wakefield, allows guests to literally have the run of it, minus, of course, his own living area and those of the staff. We started in the dungeon and worked our way through myriad dining halls, reception rooms and bedrooms, each filled to the brim with artifacts from all over the world that Sir Humphrey had brought back from his travels. It was as if my Great Aunt Winifred invited me over for tea, then left me to rummage to my heart’s content through the long-forgotten contents of her attic. There were beheaded toys piled around a ramshackle dollhouse; stacks of Mein Kampf magazines from the 1940s atop a snooker table that had seen better days; damaged oil paintings from the 1700s; furniture from various periods in various stages of restoration; rusty suits of armor; mounted antlers of every species imaginable; a pair of life-sized wooden horses; the list goes on.

After we’d spent a couple of hours exploring the interior, we moved to the Italian-style gardens and then on to acres of woodlands surrounding a lake that was the picture of serenity. Watching a mother duck and five ducklings glide past our vantage point on a small dock, I dreamed I was sitting in a lawn chair with my laptop, working away on my second novel. As we continued along the dirt path flanked by thousands of bluebells beneath twisted expanses of yew, I started to seriously consider applying for the next open staff position.

Complaints of hunger from the guys made us end our walk and drive to the singular restaurant/pub in the area, which was beyond busy with hordes of locals, tourists and walkers. Then we returned for the guided ghost tour that makes Chillingham a tourist favorite.

Two couples joined us in the courtyard and then Bob, our tour guide, led us through the castle and grounds while he told us about the castle’s violent past. This included vast amounts of torture and killing of Scots through the centuries. One of the guests claimed a brass plaque in her apartment kept moving while she watched, and Bob recounted myriad sightings of the resident ghosts. Our set of rooms, dubbed the Lookout, was supposed to be regularly visited by a female apparition, but while we spent a few hours supposedly chatting with spirits by way of a makeshift ouija board, we didn’t actually see anything of a supernatural nature during our stay.

* Translation: 18th century shotgun

Gotten's Bad Rap

2006-06-02T08:54:00.000+01:00

The other night, I was watching a chat show called “Room 101.” For those of you who haven't seen it: a guest divulges a list of pet hates to the host (currently Johnny Vegas), who then decides whether each one deserves to be consigned to Room 101. The show title comes from Orwell’s book, 1984; it's the name of the torture chamber where prisoners are subjected to their worst nightmare. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Room_101

Sir Alan Sugar, the U.K.’s answer to Donald Trump, included among his pet hates the American dictionary, and said something to the effect that Americans don’t speak proper English because they use words the British don’t use and everyone knows the Brits invented the language. Among his examples of words Americans apparently made up, he cites gotten, as in “I thought I’d gotten the part until Angela read for it.” Sir Alan would have said, “I’d got the part” instead.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/apprentice/board/

I just wanted to point out that the word gotten originated from the U.K. It dropped out of use in the move from Middle English to Modern English, except in stock phrases such as ill-gotten and gotten up. In the U.S., however, it is still used as the past participle of get. I should mention that linguistics experts claim it’s not as simple as exchanging got for gotten either, though I won’t even attempt to go there. If you’re a wordophile, check out this link: http://www-personal.umich.edu/~jlawler/aue/gotten.html

So obviously, while Brits who remained in the U.K. eventually decided to shorten the word, the ones who had (by choice or mandate) moved across the Atlantic apparently didn’t get the memo.

I’m sure linguists can provide numerous examples of Australian, New Zealand and Canadian English that have met with a similar fate. But as long as we can still understand each other − the raison d’être of language − why concern ourselves with the details?

Cigarette Pack Update

2006-05-27T17:50:00.000+01:00

In Smoking Kills, I mentioned the differences in cigarette pack health warnings among the U.S., U.K. and Canada. I just came across an article on the BBC's website announcing that the U.K. is going to follow Canada's lead: beginning next year, they are adding graphic pictures of diseased body parts on the back of cigarette packs.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/5017616.stm

The National Health Service has posted the proposed images on their website and are asking the U.K. public to vote for the ones they think would be the most effective smoking deterrents. Click on the link below to cast your vote.

http://www.packwarnings.nhs.uk/

The Road to Hell (Part 2)

2006-05-26T11:26:00.000+01:00

I’ve spent the last two months preparing for my driving test. While immigrants from EU countries can simply show their current license and passport and get issued a U.K. license, the rest of us have to go through the same process as British teens.

First, there's the Provisional Driver’s License, which is similar to a driver’s permit in the U.S. To get one, I needed to show proof of identity, fill out a form and pay a £38 fee (about $68). http://www.dvla.gov.uk/drivers/applydl.htm

After getting the PDL in the mail, I contacted one of a billion driver’s training schools. John, my instructor, assessed my driving skills by having me drive around St. Andrews for a couple of hours. Then he gave me a study guide CD for the written portion of the test, which I have to pass before I’m allowed to take the practical test.

The written test has two parts: a multiple-choice theory test and a hazard perception test. The 35 theory questions are similar to what you would find on the U.S. written test. The hazard test consists of 14 video clips that simulate driving on varying types of roads at different times of day. During each clip there is a developing hazard that you are suppose to recognize. As soon as you spot it, you let the computer know by clicking your mouse. http://www.2pass.co.uk/hazardtest.htm

A few weeks later, my test day arrived. On the way to the test center, a pheasant decided to run out in front of my speeding car. As I pulled into the parking lot, I wondered if hitting deranged birds could be considered a bad omen.

The man at reception checked my PDL and instructed me to put my coat and purse in a locker. Then he handed me off to another man who led me to a small cubicle containing headphones and a computer. After taking the practice tests, I sailed through the multiple choice. The hazard perception part was going okay as well until my finger spasmed, clicking the mouse a couple of times in quick succession. The program determined I was cheating and gave me a zero for that clip, causing me to shout at the screen until I remembered where I was. Fortunately, I still received enough points to pass.

Meanwhile, I had been taking weekly driving lessons. Each hour and a half lesson costs £33, while the testing fees set me back another £70. For the practical test, I will need to correctly execute several maneuvers that are supposed to show my adeptness at driving:

Emergency stop – A wayward pheasant might qualify, though only if I’m not endangering a driver behind me.

Parallel parking – Even though I didn’t get much of an opportunity to do this in the U.S., it’s obviously something I need to know how to do.

Three-point turn on a side street – I’ve done this a few times in the absence of a driveway to turn around in.

Backing into a parking space – I’m in unfamiliar territory here, but it’s apparently safer because your visibility's greater when you’re pulling out.

Reversing around a corner – I have no idea why anyone would ever have the need to do this. And of course, this maneuver has proven to be the most difficult for me to master. John did say they were planning on removing it from the test at some point, though not before I’m scheduled to take it.

There’s also a brief question/answer session called “show me, tell me,” where the examiner asks questions related to car maintenance. It’s fairly straightforward and the least of my worries.

My partner Gareth thinks the U.S. driving test is a joke, and I must admit that I’m putting a hell of a lot more work into passing this test, even with two decades of driving under my belt. But when I think back to my Driver’s Ed training in Michigan, which was free except for the license itself, it’s no wonder only 26% of 16-19 year-olds here have licenses. It must run them close to a thousand pounds in training and test fees, not to mention the high insurance premiums.

The Road to Hell (Part 1)

2006-05-19T14:03:00.000+01:00

By far, the most difficult part about moving to the U.K. has been learning how to drive. I know you’re thinking: “Don’t you already know how to drive? Isn’t it just a matter of getting used to driving on the other side of the road?” This is certainly the most obvious difference, but not nearly as painful to get used to as some of the others I’ve encountered. Below are what I would consider to be my three greatest challenges:

Roundabouts: A roundabout replaces stop signs or stoplights at an intersection. If you saw an aerial view of one, it would look like a child’s drawing of the sun. You always enter a roundabout on the left, while the vehicles already on it are coming at you from the right. Wikipedia has some great illustrations and photos. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roundabout

Roundabouts are everywhere and come in all sizes, from mini-roundabouts that are just painted circles on the ground, to massive, multiple-lane roundabouts containing several stoplights within them. The mixing of roundabouts and stoplights puzzles me: since roundabouts are supposed to keep traffic flowing and stoplights intermittently stop it from flowing, then why not just have the stoplights?

I find them upsetting for a couple of reasons. First, you need to figure out which of several exits to take by quickly reading a sign just before you enter. This gets even trickier in Wales, where the exits are listed in both Welsh and English. Then, once you're on the roundabout, you have to choose just the right moment to cross one or more lanes in order to exit without crashing into anybody. I thought I was going to have a coronary the first time I drove on a large one.

A few roundabouts exist in the U.S., but from what I understand, they’re really more like traffic circles than roundabouts. baconsrebellion.blogsot.com/2006/05/in-praise-of-roundabouts.html

Narrow Roads: Since many of the roads have been here for centuries and were originally built for horse-drawn carriages (or just pedestrians), they have no extra space for street parking, which means that vehicles are always parked in the lane you’re driving in and you have to continually maneuver around them. Side streets are often only wide enough for one vehicle to get through (usually because of parked vehicles on one or both sides) so you have to wait for oncoming vehicles and vice versa. I’ve even driven on country lanes where I’ve had to back up several yards to allow the car coming toward me to pass.

Street Furniture: This is what American author, Bill Bryson, calls the inordinate amount of signage cluttering U.K. roads. www.english-heritage.org.uk/server/show/ConWebDoc.5411 It’s as if Brits tried to cover every possible or potential hazard that might befall an unsuspecting driver in virtually every weather condition known to man. At first, I constantly worried that I was missing something important until I got to know which signs were actually helpful and which were just telling me what I already knew.

Keep an eye out for low-flying planes.

Be careful not to run aground.

Choo-choo Xing.

Try not to drive off the bridge.

In all fairness, the Brits I know who’ve driven in the U.S. said that, although they loved the wide roads, they found the lack of signage disconcerting and couldn’t fathom the idea of turning on a red light. I guess it really comes down to what you’re used to.

Smoking Kills

2006-05-17T09:53:00.000+01:00

Last year in August, my partner Gareth and I moved from Los Angeles to a small town in Scotland called St. Andrews. Gareth grew up in Wales so, as his partner, I was allowed to become a U.K. resident on a 2-year Work Visa. If we decide to remain here, I can then apply for citizenship after my Visa expires.

St. Andrews is a picturesque town on Scotland's southeastern coast, a little over an hour's drive from Edinburgh. http://www.standrews.org.uk/ It’s home to the University of St. Andrews, which is where Prince William just completed his Art History degree. According to several British newspapers, his 2001 arrival prompted a sharp increase in British Council inquiries by American girls who were suddenly interested in applying.

The town is also known as the "Home of Golf." The golf course frequented by all the celebs is called the Old Course at St. Andrews Links. Although I'm not a golfer, the fact that St. Andrews is THE place to golf means there are loads of decent restaurants. The downside is that, during the golfing season, the town becomes filled to the brim with Americans.

I don't have a problem with Americans as such. I just mistakenly thought that moving to a small, Scottish town would not involve daily encounters with my fellow countrymen (and women). Even more worrying, however, is that American tourists are allowed to drive on British roads without any tips or training whatsoever, imperiling British and non-British drivers alike. More on driving in the U.K. later.

To begin my exploration of the differences between British and American life, I thought I'd talk a little about the smoking ban that just came into effect in Scotland on March 26.

Although the whole of the U.K., which includes Northern Ireland, Scotland, England and Wales, is mostly controlled through the British Parliament in London, taxpayers also support national assemblies that have limited decision-making powers over local affairs. This includes the ability to vote on and enact a public smoking ban. Northern Ireland had opted for a partial ban in 2005, while full bans in England and Wales are scheduled to go into effect in summer of 2007.

In the months leading up to the final decision, most of the polls I'd seen were in favor of the ban. However, a few groups (tobacco industry lobbyists, smokers' rights groups and restaurant and pub lobbyists) fought tooth and nail to keep it from happening. Interestingly, the plummeting revenues and sweeping pub closures predicted by these groups have not yet come to pass.
http://www.ashaust.org.au/SF'03/files/ScotBan060412.htm

Having spent a number of years in California - one of the handful of states that currently has a smoking ban - I'm thrilled to finally have a meal or a pint that's not laced with smoke, and from the reported revenue increases by many pubs, it sounds as though other non-smokers are flocking to enjoy the fresh air as well.

Which leads me to a discovery I made during my first trip to the grocery store. When I walked past the tobacco products area, the first thing I noticed were the startlingly large warnings on the cigarette packs. Not only did they take up nearly half the front and back of each pack (compared to the tiny warnings on the backs of U.S. packs), but the warnings themselves were more ominous. Besides the beautifully to-the-point, “Smoking Kills,” below is one of my favorites:

Although I found this “in your face” approach surprising, apparently it’s nothing compared to Canada, where they include graphic pictures of smoking-ravaged body parts on the packs as well. http://archives.cnn.com/2002/HEALTH/01/09/canadian.cigarettes/