(Some) Things the English don't understand about Americans

Not a comprehensive list.  But a list of things people have asked me about at one time or another.


"American Tights."  English women like their tights.  And why not?  It's really cold most of the time and the ladies in London do tend to wear dresses.  So, yes!  I fully support the tights revolution.  But they also tend to be black.  So much so, that I'm starting to feel Amish.  And while summer lends itself to colors other than black (such as navy - see below with pink sandals), no one goes for the "Suntan" shade of hosiery.  I remember being 7 years old and getting my very first pair of Suntan Hose.  It was a very grown-up thing for me.  And now of course, a dressy occasion often calls for pantyhose and we ladies often choose a shade that makes our pale little legs look a little more St Tropez.  And that just doesn't fly here.

Sarah Palin.  Margaret Thatcher called her "unimportant" but most Europeans loathe her.  I'm often asked if she will become the next president.

Vacation.  It is generally believed that Americans don't take vacations.  Which is quite funny considering how many Americans are clearly right here in London.  I think people believe these oddities to be "retired."

White Socks.  And while we're on the subject of footwear, I've heard that you can always spot an American by their white socks.  I have quickly pointed out that you can just as easily pick up Europeans on Venice Beach by their black socks...with speedos.  Touche.  If you go into a sock department here, you will find a treasure trove of patterns, a rainbow of colors and not a white sock in sight.  Even for men, there are socks with hearts and flowers and kittens.  But no white socks.  You have to go to an athletic store for that.  And even there, you will find a selection of black running socks.

I scream for Baby Gaga

Finding myself with a little time for lunch, I headed to Covent Garden to buy myself a Norf London shirt, which I always thought was hilarious.  I had a snack and then decided to stop into the gourmet ice cream place, The Icecreamists.  This is the store that debuted Baby Gaga ice cream a few months ago.  It's an ice cream made out of breast milk.  I know it sounds weird.  But the ladies who were making extra income donating milk seemed ok with it.  And it is pasteurized.  So I kinda psyched myself up to try it.  I knew it had been pulled before when someone called the health department and raised the fear that it could contain hepatitis.  I inquired today, and apparently, all is well and for Baby Gaga and they are allowed to sell once more.  But the girl behind the counter in a black patent leather sort of S&M cop type outfit (think Hot Dog on a Stick for a Goth bar) said they were out today.  Oh well.  I had to settle for custard and Chili Ginger.  It was really good.

While I was paying, an American family came in.  A very precocious young girl went right up to the counter and said to the girls, "Why are you dressed like policemen?"  The girls looked at each other as if to say, "Because we have to."  But they ignored her and finally the Mom proclaimed in the best Midwestern dialect I have heard in months, "This is too expensive.  Let's go."  The girls and I gave each other a "they just don't get it" look.  Probably for the best the Baby Gaga was out.

I left with my ice cream and enjoyed the rest of the day.  Right up until I sliced my finger while cutting shallots.  That's when it occurred to me that IF it didn't' stop bleeding, I wasn't really sure where to go.  I mean I'm not sure where the nearest emergency room is and if it's more than a block, how do people get there?  Would I call an ambulance for a finger cut?  That seems excessive.  Fortunately, the bleeding stopped and I went across the street to the nice Ukrainian convenience store across the street.  I remembered to ask for a "plaster."

I think I might go back one day and seek out the Baby Gaga.  But honestly, just a small taste. Just to say I did.  But not a whole cup.  Or two.

Real Tennis

Real Tennis, a photo by daradactyl on Flickr.

Round two of tennis lessons!  Saturday, I had the second lesson of Real Tennis (or Court Tennis in the US or Jeu de Paum in France) at Hampton Court on Henry VIII's royal tennis court (1528).  Legend says this is where Henry was when Anne Boleyn was executed.  That aside - it was really fun AND unairconditioned.  A sweaty experience to say the least.  And because it's high season at the very popular Hampton Court, there were a constant stream of tourists who would wander into the sidelines - (the windows you see on the right of the photo.  The people in the background were waiting to play next.)  A few times they tried to get onto the court, which is why they lock the doors to the court.  When you are learning a new sport and you're not really good at it, it's very disconcerting to have about a dozen people at a time staring and taking photos.  But I tried to put that out of my mind and just focus on the game, which I did play.  Last time, I just learned the basics but this time, we played two games.  And I must admit I'm sort of addicted.  It's a very strategic sport.  Here's a basic breakdown of the rules from Wiki:

The game has many other complexities. For instance, when the ball bounces twice on the floor at the service end, the serving player does not generally lose the point. Instead a "chase" is called where the ball made its second bounce and the server gets the chance, later in the game, to "play off" the chase from the receiving end; but to win the point being played off, his shot's second bounce must be further from the net (closer to the back wall) than the shot he originally failed to reach. A chase can also be called at the receiving ("hazard") end, but only on the half of that end nearest the net; this is called a "hazard" chase. Those areas of the court in which chases can be called are marked with lines running across the floor, parallel to the net, generally about 1-yard (0.91 m) apart – it is these lines by which the chases are measured. Additionally, a player can gain the advantage of serving only through skillful play (viz. "laying" a "chase", which ensures a change of end). 
Another twist to the game comes from the various window-like openings below the penthouse roofs that, in some cases, offer the player a chance to win the point instantly by hitting the ball into the opening (in other cases, these windows create a "chase").

OK - got it?  Yeah, me too.   Anytime I have been to the court, I arrive on the tail end of a game.  And always, there is someone keeping the score, presumably because it's too difficult to score and play at the same time.  And fortunately, the instructor scored the games we played.  He was a very nice guy who often commented that I sounded American.  I pointed out that in fact, I am.  I started to wonder if that was a problem, to be non-English.  It is a very patrician place, with an active club attached.  And by club, I mean a kitchen, dining room and office with tiny dressing rooms which are uni-sex.  That is, they are one at a time, so there is no gender separation.  The dining room and sitting room are well appointed with leather chairs, floral wall paper and photos of famous past players, including Pierre Echtbaster, with whom my first husband's father trained.  And that is how I know this game even exists.  Billy Haggard was some sort of regional champion from Aiken, South Carolina, where the courts didn't even allow women, last time I saw them.  When I was married, we had a signed photo of Pierre on the wall.  At the last lesson, the instructor, Nick, told me that Pierre was an undefeated champion for 50 years because A:World War II meant there were no games for quite a few years and B: he refused to meet his challengers.  


The sport does draw the quirky.


As I was leaving, the nice, older man who had been playing before me was returning with his young, Caribbean wife for her lesson.  He had an amazingly "posh" accent and I imagined him working as a judge which immediately made me picture him in a white, curly wig.  We waxed about the finesse required to play the game and the trouble with financially keeping courts open.  Too bad.  It's a really cool game that could potentially have a nice following if it ever jumped out of the circles of old, rich, white guys.