>> Thursday, 22 March 2012
Hearing my sons speak with transatlantic accents. It's 'caaahhhn't', not 'caint'. It's 'scooter', not 'scooder'.
Hearing myself use American terms rather than British ones; 'snowpants', for 'snowtrousers' (or salopettes, if you're really fancy). 'Fancy', for 'smart'. 'Sidewalk', for 'pavement' ( although, try telling an American-educated child 'Stay on the pavement' and they will have no idea what you're talking about).
Student-led conferences. All very well but I want the chance for a frank discussion of my child's strengths and weaknesses, please...
Snow, snow, and more snow. In March. When what I want to see is daffodils, snow drops, and the first crocuses pushing through the lawn.
Lawns. Or rather, the lack of of them.
Russian workmen walking in - unannounced - through the backdoor, having a long conversation with each other about something or other (I have no idea what; it could be the boiler, the flooring, the shelving unit, or the fact that our nest of shoes is threatening to take over the utility room and possibly the entire compound), and then leaving again. As they leave they thank me of course, and I say 'you're welcome', but that is the extent of my involvement in this exchange.
Russian radio, with it's mix of dad-tastic hard rock, easy listening, euro-crap and Russian rap. I WANT XFM!
Police officers standing by the side of the road forcing me to use my peripheral vision abilities to the max so that I can drive past them safely ostensibly without seeing them, and so don't give them the chance to catch my eye and pull me over. Until they do - which is just a matter of time.
Living with the knowledge that it's just a matter of time.
Please note; there are plenty of things I don't miss from the UK, too. Life, eh? It's a balancing act...