The Commercial Break

Whilst I have gained patience and become more tolerent of many of the foibles of my newly adopted homeland, I do still have a few major bugbears.  The commercial break is definitely one of them.  One year on, I still find these continuous interruptions drive me to distraction. As far as I am concerned the commercial break is one big turn-off.  In fact, there has been many a time when towards the end of a film or TV show, as the time between the breaks decreases from 7 to a mere 3 minutes,  I have reached the end of my tether. Forget the flipping ending…I can’t be bothered, and I give up and switch off.  It’s that bad.

And, for those uninitiated in the delights of American life, the commercial break will burst onto your TV screen without warning, at least 50 decibels louder than whatever you happen to be watching.  The subject and content of these commercials may well surprise you.  Well it surprised me and I thought I was an open minded worldly wise individual. The amount of advertising for medical and pharmaceutical products here is phenomenal and these Americans are not backwards about coming forwards, you will be spared no details. Do I want to watch advertisements for products that will “enhance” my love life at 2.00 pm in the afternoon?  Not really.  Do I want to hear about regular and irregular bowel movements whilst I eat my supper?  No. In the same vein, do I want to watch lengthy commercials for prescription only drugs that go on forever listing every possible contra-indication and side effect including imminent heart seizure, kidney failure, and very occasionally death: I’m not a medical practitioner.  Sell the drugs to the professionals, not me.  After all what has a doctor spent ten years in medical school training for, isn’t he/she the one who’s qualified to tell me what I need to make me better or shall I just do a bit of self-diagnosis following a five minute TV ad or a three page spread in a magazine?  

And it’s not just TV advertising that drives me nuts. Buy a glossy mag out here and you play a guessing game of spot the genuine features and articles.  You can pay $5 just to read page after page of adverts.  The newspapers are the same.  The LA Times on a Sunday is so heavy it takes two of you to carry it back from the supermarket; but the whole bundle is double the size it needs to be because of the adverts and promotional inserts. Oh and the coupons of course.  Americans just love their coupons.  Every time I go the supermarket I’m asked if I’ve got my coupons.  Americans like to think they are getting a good deal, well I know a good deal when I see one and it doesn’t involve spending Sunday afternoon cutting up bits of newspaper then wasting fuel by driving all over town clutching my coupons just to  save a couple of bucks in seven different stores…

And talking of food…....I’m sure the food production companies are in cahoots with the pharmaceutical industry ( in fact having studied a vast amount of food labels and seen some of the ingredients I'm actually convinced they are one and the same thing).  For the first 40 years of your life they entice you buy all this rubbish to eat, then for the last 40 years of your life they sell you all the remedies to counteract the effects! Brilliant idea!  

My least favourite ad on TV at the moment has to be the Jack in the Box fast food guy smugly telling weary mom  unpacking grocery bags that rather than spending $200 on the weekly shop, she should have just gone to Jack in the Box and spent $3.99 on his double burger, fries and soda meal. Hold on if she’s got a family of four and they all go to Jack in the Box, then that’s $16; but that’s only one meal a day, so if you times the $16 by three then times it by seven for the whole week, I actually think Mom’s weekly grocery shop was quite a good deal.  Of course the advertising guys behind Jack in the Box aren’t expecting their audience to think like that.  In fact, no TV production team over here ever expects their audience to think.

Take the car adverts.  Super car whizzing round the hairpin bends on snowy mountainside.  Little caption comes on screen. Professional driver. Closed circuit. Do not Attempt.  Funny that - I wasn't going to.  I knew it was an advert.  I’m not that stupid….

How – and why - on earth does your average, intelligent American put up with being patronised like this? Come on guys,  enough is enough. I’m going to start a campaign to get rid of  crass adverts, I just need to publicise my cause and get noticed by a wider audience....how can I do that? I could always make a commercial I suppose…. 

Acclimatization (with a zee....)

The most awful thought occurred to me the other day as I drove to school…I’m becoming acclimitised.  My bubble is starting to burst.

How did I come to this conclusion? My driving is deteriorating. I jumped two sets of lights in quick succession. Why? Because if you don’t go through amber lights at certain junctions it’ll be ten minutes before the light goes green again. Some of these road junctions are just too big and convoluted for words, but in my defence, I didn’t go through on red, and a lot of people do.  I’ve seen more crashes in 12 months of driving out here than in over 20 years in the UK.  Pop in a few roundabouts and a lot of the problems would go away overnight.

So yes, I’m starting to drive like an American.  My neat, tidy, economical little Ford Focus has gone back to the car showroom in exchange for a convertible.  Not for me, you understand, but for the man having a midlife crisis.  I’m now stuck with a Honda Accord, which although not big by American standards, is really twice the size of what I actually need for the few miles I do each day.


I’ve got fed up of having to repeat myself six times when I politely ask for a glass of water (with a T) so I find myself asking for waugher  when I want a drink. I realize our daughter starts school every Monday  speaking the Queen’s English after a weekend at home with mum and dad, but by Friday, we have this little American kid in the house, who, like me, has gotten so fed up of having to repeat everything at school she just slips into this lazy Californian drawl….

The packet mix cookies she bakes for school functions no longer seem so unbearably sweet, in fact they are so nice I’ve just had two…

I’m suddenly concerned about the welfare of the KTLA 5 morning weather man.  I miss him - he’s been off screen for ages and they say he has pneumonia but I’m starting to suspect something far more sinister.  And what about poor Ginger Chan, the girl who does the traffic news – she’s had the longest pregnancy on record; is she ever going to give birth?  Suddenly I care about these people whose lightweight news programme I used to so despise…..

And then last week we had a cold snap.  It got down to below 65 degrees during the day.  Brrr...I had to put a pair of socks on! That’s how soft I’ve become.

I pass houses on my morning walk dressed from top to toe in Christmas decorations - I no longer think how OTT; instead it inspires me to go home and create a winter wonderland on my balcony.

And even the grocery shopping doesn’t seem such a chore anymore. - even when disaster happens like it did last week at Fresh & Easy.  I'd just self-checked out a large weekly shop when the computerized till broke down at the payment stage.  At Fresh & Easy it’s all self-check out and you have to pack your shopping yourself which I’m sure is why no-one else ever shops there.  It's always empty. Anyway, an assistant came over; had a look then called the supervisor who spent about ten minutes trying to sort the computer out.  They both offered profound apologies but the outcome was that my shopping would have to be unpacked and rung up all over again on a different till. Can you imagine the furor this would have caused back home? Fresh & Easy is  part of Tesco and if this had happened at my local Tesco on a Thursday morning back in the UK there would have been a riot! The queue behind me would have been huge and I’d have wanted the ground to swallow me up but here there wasn’t another frustrated customer in sight.  And that’s when I knew I really had become acclimitised. I merely shrugged and said:  “Don’t worry, you go ahead, not a problem, take your time….” 

What’s happened to me? Soon I’ll have nothing left to blog about…no gripes or moans.  Next I’ll be telling you we've become so integrated into American culture we had full Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings.  Well we did actually, my sister was over and we had a very pleasant family meal.  It was just like Christmas but without all the stress of having to get presents for everyone.  Our turkey was delicious but pumpkin pie is definitely something you have to be spoon fed since birth to appreciate.....

But don't worry - my bubble hasn’t completely evaporated; I still don't find Two and a Half Men  funny. But I did spot a Chihuahua in a Santa outfit and found myself thinking, gee that looks kinda cute…….

The Health Kick

Now here’s a contentious issue. I know it's just because I've always lived in a country that has a government run national health service  but I really don’t understand this huge problem  the vast majority of Americans seem to have with the prospect of President Obama's health care reforms.  The bottom line seems to be Americans don’t want affordable health care for all – they certainly don’t want tax increases to pay for it and they definitely don’t like the thought of money they’ve earned being used to support anyone else.  And what would Ty Pennington and the producers of TV's Extreme Home Makeover do if they couldn’t go around helping those poor unfortunate families whose houses are literally falling down around them because they have bankrupted themselves spending their very last penny on medical bills for their sick children……

Health insurance over here isn't cheap and it certainly isn't a bottomless pit - all schemes have their limits.  So,  if you have to pay your own medical bills doesn’t  that mean you start looking after yourself a bit better? Well in California the answer is a resounding yes – and it’s very easy to get yourself on a health kick out here. 

I remember those mornings back in the UK, waking up in the dark when it's grey, wet and windy outside, all you want to do is pull the duvet back up over your head.  What is there to get up for? I’ll have another cup of tea and chocolate digestive please….

 

Here you wake up, jump out of bed with a spring in your step, have a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, grab a granola bar and get out there and feel that sun on your skin  (not for too long though otherwise you’ll end up like a wizened up old prune.)  The weather out here is an instant pickup. And yes people really do all they can to keep themselves fit and active and away from the doctor’s surgery and the $20 they have to fork out just for the appointment….

For a start Americans carry on working as long as they possibly can – people don’t want to retire here  and it’s not because they love their jobs, it’s because they don’t want to lose their company’s medical insurance.  And when they do retire and have to go onto Medicare, then they do all they can to keep fit and healthy - so they “volunteer”. Very admirable – you certainly don’t want things seizing up through lack of mental or physical activity.  Of course this is all well and good until you realize that lots of American public institutions rely on these elderly retired volunteers to perform what really ought to be paid jobs –  are your hospital notes truly safe in the hands of a couple of 90 year old filing clerks who really should be sat at home playing dominoes…

Anyway, back to this continuous strive to stay healthy.  Americans can appear just a little obsessed with their health - there is definitely an air of neurosis out here which must stem from this fear of visiting the doctor - well not actually visiting the doctor but the bill that will come afterwards.  I'd say self diagnosis is widespread and there are all kinds of aids available for the prevention of all things nasty and infectious.  Sales of antiseptic wipes and disinfecting handwash must be huge, and as for the market for vitamin and mineral supplements....well that's a winner!

I thought we could do with some multi-vitamins to keep us going this winter.  Our daughter had been a bit under weather and with the colder temperatures looming I thought we should be doing a bit more to boost our immunity so I set off to the pharmacy hoping to spot a recognisable general  multivitamin suitable for the whole family.  Could I find one? No this is America.  I was totally overwhelmed by  shelf after shelf of vitamins, minerals and supplements for absolutely every condition you’ve ever heard of and plenty that you haven’t heard of as well, and whilst I could find vitamins disguised as gummy bears and chewy sweets for the very young, and vitamins designed specifically for teenage boys, and others specifically for teenage girls, and  a variety of supplements for pre-menopausal women, post-menopausal women and men having a mid life crisis, could I find one designed for all of us? Of course not!! Why make do with one vitamin and when you can create a sales pitch for thirty three?!

What a great country! I’d give up now Mr Obama – it’s a lost cause.

Viva Las Vegas

Well we just had to go didn't we?  It's only a four hour drive away and only two roads - the 210 freeway and the 15. To be honest Las Vegas was never going to make it to my "must see" list alongside the Taj Mahal, Machu Picchu and Ayres Rock, but as we are so close....well it would be stupid to give it a miss, wouldn't it?

Las Vegas rises out of the desert like an oasis of neon.  There really is nothing else to see along the journey - just a couple of small towns which appear to have been built purely to service the roadside break.  As soon as you reach the Nevada border you spot your first casino, and a power station.  California likes to import its fuel from its neighbours rather than produce its own - that way it call call itself green and clean - who are they kidding?  It's 100 yards over the border.....

So you leave the freeway and join traffic deadlock trying to get onto the Las Vegas strip.  This is when you realise that cruising up and down the strip to take in the sights is probably not such a good idea.  Fine, just get to the hotel, park the car, unpack the suitcase and go for a walk.

And here at last is an American town that has been designed for pedestrians.  Yes of course there are roads and crosswalks and lots of them, but the hotel planners have at least realised that their clients do want to be able to get from one casino to another without dicing with death and negotiating the traffic.  They have constructed bridges and, even better, built elevators and escalators to help you reach the bridges, and moving carpets to transport you from the bridge to the hotel.  Some of the hotels have even clubbed together and built trams to ease your journey, so yes, you can see the strip without using your car, and yet you still don't have to use your legs either - that's so innovative and amazing....

Well everything about Las Vegas is amazing - jaw dropping opulence and awfulness side by side as each new hotel tries to do out do the other. 

We found the infinity shopping mall - it just goes on forever, never reaching an end......

We found Venice; the Rialto Bridge and the Grand Canal.  Yes we did the gondola ride - and why not?!! Yes it was very tacky and our teenager cringed with embarrassment as we were serenaded by the gondolier.  We floated past the resplendent white and gold wedding gondola, and were informed that 27 marriages were being performed that day - nothing like making your wedding day unique and special here then!  Of course every hotel has its own wedding chapel; these poor brides must arrive reeking of beer and tobacco as they stroll through the gaming rooms to reach the altar.   Las Vegas was the first place we've come across in America where you can smoke indoors and boy do they take advantage of it! And drinking in the streets - this is America's Ibiza - college kids suddenly reach the age of 21, everything's legal, and here they come....

Oh and don't think Vegas, casino, glamour!! This isn't Monte Carlo here you know - don't bother de-mothballing the tuxedo and unwrapping that little black dress - jeans and shorts, sneakers and a baseball cap will do you just fine.

Yet despite the masses on the street at midnight clutching their beer cans and swigging margaritas, you wake up the next morning and the place is spotlessly clean.  It's like Disneyland - there must be a whole team working behind the scenes to keep the place looking immaculate. 

This really is sanitised America.  And not just America - here they have sanitised the whole world - the Grand Canal smelt of chlorine and you can climb the half sized Eiffel Tower outside the Paris Las Vegas Hotel and instead of a great view of the Champs Elysee, you look across the road and you're in New York, there's the statue of Liberty and the Empire State; to the left you've made it to Egypt because there's the Sphinx and a pyramid, to the right is Treasure Island and it's pirate ship, and there's the erupting volcano outside the Mirage....you could be anywhere in the world.  But you're not - you're in America and you know it can only happen in America when you walk through a casino on a Sunday morning and there's a religious service taking place in one of the bars. I really didn't get that - nor did I get what that wholesome couple Donny and Marie Osmond were doing performing in a place like Vegas every night.  Making lots of money obviously but doesn't Vegas represent all those vices Mormons abhor - drink; tobacco; gambling.....although actually the town of Las Vegas was originally settled by Mormons - or so I learned from our rather thin guidebook....

And talking of gambling - yes, fortunately we came back with the bank balance still intact.  One very brief flutter on a slot machine and we were in credit so we quit.  We spent our meager winnings on a bottle of wine in a restaurant overlooking St Marks Square.  A squeaky clean St Marks Square under a sky blue ceiling painted with puffy white clouds...I love that place!

Then it was time to drive back across the desert and home.  Suddenly LA doesn't seem such a bad place after all.

Culture Vulture

Any one who knows me well will know that I’m a bit of a culture vulture.  I do like my old stuff.  I’m not saying I’m addicted to Time Team or the Antiques Roadshow, cos I’m not, but I do like a bit of art, a bit of history and an authentic old building or two.   I’m one of those people who will always read the guide book; I like to discover a bit of the heritage and history of wherever I happen to be – despite those exasperated sighs from the rest of the family whenever we’ve been on holiday somewhere – yes you really do have a give up half a day on the beach to go and walk around some old ruins….

So, to be honest, I didn't think LA was going to be the ideal place for me to be.  But on the contrary, I’ve been amazed by the amount of culture I’ve found out here.

There’s "new" money in California and lots of it.  What do those 20^th  century American entrepreneurs and industrialists like to do? They collect stuff.  They spend their cash sending their minions around  the world buying up everyone else's antiquities, Old Masters and National Treasures.   There’s stacks of it out here.

We’ve visited the two Getty museums – the Getty Centre and the Getty Villa.  Mr Getty acquired so much art he had two museums specially commissioned to display it all in.  At the modern high tech Getty Centre in LA you can view the Rembrandts and the Van Goghs; at his pseudo Italian villa in Malibu you can see statues from Pompeii and ancient Greece.  Zillions of dollars worth of it. And how did Mr Getty make his money?  Oil.  His formula for success? Rise Early; Work Hard; Strike Oil.  Well my husband has been rising early and working hard for an oil company for the last 20 years.  How come he hasn’t bought me a statue of Aphrodite yet? 

Then, here in Pasadena, there’s Henry Huntington.  He made his fortune out of the railroad and this man collected anything and everything.  He started with books – hundreds of them –  then moved onto art, furniture, ceramics, silverware, plants.  He's got Wedgewood; Constables, Gainsboroughs; he has medieval manuscripts, a  Gutenburg bible, and a collection of light bulbs.  Yes light bulbs. Why? Presumably just because he could.

And then, just last week, we discovered the Norton Simon Museum in Pasadena.  Mr Simon was another 20^th century industrialist who made a whole lot of money and spent it on collectables.  He has paintings by Picasso; Raphael, a garden full of sculptures by Barbara Hepworth and Henry Moore (haven't we all?), and the largest collection of Indian statues outside of India. Why?   How much “stuff” does one person need?

Couldn’t these people think of anything more worthwhile to spend their money on?

I’ve never seen so much culture in all my life.  In fact, I’ve seen too much.  Must be time to visit Hollywood Boulevard again to buy up a bit of old tourist tat.

Dining Out

We all know America loves to eat - so are all those preconceptions about super size portions and round the clock junk food justified? Well sadly....

Out in the suburbs our dining out opportunities were severely limited.  Within a ten minute walk of the house we could have dined at McDonalds, KFC and Pizza Hut; across the road was a Subway, a Chinese takeaway and a Taco Bell.  The culinary delights of American fast food were literally on our doorstep, great for teenagers but what if you want  a proper meal? Unfortunately the local restaurants left a lot to be desired, a five minute drive away was the main drag of downtown suburbia - a row of eateries that would have you in and out within an hour.  You soon realise that the American eating experience on offer here isn't quite that laid back, share a bottle of wine, enjoy good food, soak up the atmosphere, and make the evening last experience you have back home.  Americans simply go out to "eat" - not so much of a social occasion as a necessity - they want their food quick and without any fuss, they want to watch at least one TV but preferably four whilst they wait, and they want to be back home as soon as possible - and definitely before 9.00 pm. Seriously we've been in restaurants where they have been locking the door behind us...

But now we are in town we are spoilt for choice - Pasadena has a wide variety of restaurants serving international cuisine.  And it really is available 24 hours a day, not just from the burger bars and drive thru's - there are takeaways for everything and everything is available to take away.  Every restaurant in town has a home delivery service.

This really is a society obsessed with food, and there's no getting away from it. Food outlets are everywhere and every occasion presents an eating opportunity.  You think the national games of baseball and American football have those frequent time outs for treating injuries and team changes?  Think again, it's actually an opportunity for the crowd to top up their tray of cheesey nachos or buy another hot dog without having to miss any of the game.  On a trip to Los Angeles zoo - highly not recommended - it was more of a question of count the fast food outlets rather than spot the animals. Junk food plays a huge part of the American dream - it's convenient, affordable and readily available.

Restaurant portions do tend to be on the generous side but on the other hand its perfectly acceptable to split and share.  You can take leftovers home with you and I literally mean leftovers - it doesn't matter how little you have left on your plate, waiting staff will always offer to box it up so you can take it home - your bin or mine?  Sometimes there are occasions when you are in a hurry and you are happy to have the bill thrust under your nose the minute you've ordered dessert; on the other hand there are times when despite the "there's no rush, when you're ready" that always accompanies the bill, you can't help but wish you'd been left alone to linger a little longer.

Menus can be vast - think 24 page novelette - and baffling.  We have been  surprised by the combinations on offer, sweet and savoury are frequently put together, sometimes in a pleasant way, sometimes in a  slightly peculiar way.  No I really don't want a blueberry muffin before my salad, with my salad, or even after my salad....but if you have to give it to me, box it up and I'll take it home.  Something that starts out sounding perfectly decent can  quickly turn into a "did I really order that?" and it is very easy to picture Masterchefs John Torode and Greg Wallace shaking their heads in dismay at the "too many flavours, too much going on" combinations.

Fortunately, Californians being on a bit of a health kick, vegetarians are well catered for with plenty of fish and a variety of salads.  Vegans would find it hard, most food is liberally sprinkled with cheese, whether you ask for it or not.  But that's another thing we've learned, don't be shy about asking for exactly what you want or don't want when ordering - always ask for the  dressing to be on  the side otherwise the salad will be swimming off the plate, and its perfectly acceptable to request variations and deviations from the menu. Waiting staff are extremely willing and courteous, after all they have to make a living on the gratuities and Americans are notoriously fussy and demanding eaters.  Carrot soup without the carrot Ma'am? Not a problem...

So dining out is definitely a case of not bad, just different.  It's not uncommon to have your main course brought to your table whilst you are still eating your appetiser, and of course we Europeans are considered incredibly ill mannered for using both our knife and fork - but then again I think it the height of rudeness to have my plate cleared away whilst the rest of my table are still eating.....here it's just good service! Better leave an extra large tip for that....

Celebrity Spotting

This has been a source of  major disappointment.  After a whole year of living in LA we haven't seen a single celebrity.  To be fair locationally we are at a disadvantage, Pasadena is on the opposite side of LA to Hollywood and Beverly Hills, but it's a pretty cosmopolitan place and every Saturday night you can walk down the main street and see Ferrari's and Porches valet parked outside the swankiest restaurants. These must surely belong to some celebrity or another, but who? Of course the other great disadvantage is that I don't watch enough films, sport or TV, or read enough gossip magazines, to actually recognise a celebrity if one was standing right in front of me.  Every time we go to Santa Monica I see beautiful people jogging along the beach with designer baby in designer pushchair, designer Chihuahua riding shotgun on designer bicycle - surely these people must be the "rich and famous"? But again, who exactly?

When we first arrived in California we took the customary "Homes of the Stars" tour of Beverly Hills.  Sure I've seen the seven foot high fence Orlando Bloom has just erected around his property, I've seen the sturdy locked gates at the beginning of Jack Nicholson's very long drive, I've seen the house where Sharon and Ozzy used to live and the mansion Richard Gere owns but hasn't lived in for the past 3 years. I've also seen the house Tom Cruise once shared with Nicole Kidman, and tucked away in the distance behind that we could just spot the Beckham's chimneys....but well I would have liked to have seen at least one  well known personality out on their drive washing their car! But there again, if I was a celebrity, would I choose to live somewhere a bus load of tourists pulled up outside every 20 minutes or so? No way!

As we drove along Sunset Strip our guide pointed our the cafes and restaurants supposedly frequented by the beautiful people, but we were "just a little too late" for breakfast, and "just a little too early" for lunch, so of course we saw no-one.

You can, however, regularly see film crews and production teams hard at work around the city.  The Arboretum where I do my voluntary gardening is frequently used for location shots.  The parking lot overflows with large heavyweight production trucks; you can watch hoards of technical guys off loading lots of complicated equipment and other media paraphernalia; miles of cabling, huge lighting structures and lots of scaffolding.  The mobile catering team is always hand to feed the masses; setting up large BBQ's, occasionally you can catch sight of the wardrobe mistress wheeling out costume rails, and there are always lots of beefy looking security men milling around with headsets and walkie talkies.  But I've never actually seen any filming - that's just a very minor part of a very longwinded procedure - it really is a case of lights, camera and very little action!  And you can get very excited thinking you're going to catch Johnny Depp stepping out of the portaloo, but actually, at the end of the day it's more likely to be a Hollywood wannabe making a TV commercial.

So what other opportunities are there for star spotting? What about the Oscars and all those charitable functions and film premieres that bring Tinseltown out in force? Unfortunately the surrounding roads are almost always blocked off.  Those people you see standing along the edge of the red carpet are specially invited guests.  There's no hope for us mere mortals to catch a glimpse of anyone famous through the entourage of TV crews and security guards.

Perhaps I will just have to work harder at this star spotting lark.  There are websites which will tell you where to hang out if you really want to make an effort to see celebrities - personally I think this might just be a clever marketing ploy.  Apparently a lot of celebs do their grocery shopping at Bristol Farms - very upmarket food stores.  There's actually one near us in South Pasadena - a reliable source tells me they spotted Liz Taylor there 20 years ago.  I don't think I'll bother changing my grocery habits just for that.

So whilst Los Angeles still holds onto its reputation of being the entertainment capital of the world,  the days are long gone when entire movies were filmed here. The writing team, editing team, production team, might well still be based in Hollywood, but the actors and actresses certainly don't need to be.  These days the only stars you will see in Hollywood are the ones embedded in the paving slabs along the "walk of fame".  And whilst a walk down Hollywood Boulevard is a must from a touristy point of view, it does have a tacky, past-its-best sort of feel which is actually rather sad.   Now Beverly Hills, that really is plush, and Rodeo Drive is positively deluxe, and yes you do have to be mega rich to shop there - but should that  alone automatically entitle you to celebrity status? There are plenty of so called modern media "celebrities" I've no desire to meet whatsoever.

You wanna see real stars? Wait until its dark and look up at the night sky - there's hundreds of them twinkling away up there. I think for now that will just have to do for me!

And when it's hot....

When it's hot, it's very very hot.  113 degrees Fahrenheit - record temperature this year, and that really wasn't very pleasant.  I like the heat, I like the sunshine - that's my favourite thing about living in LA.  When you've been uprooted and subsequently transplanted a very long way from home, you need something to keep you positive and a little bit of sunshine goes a very long way.  But not over 100 degrees worth of sunshine.  Stuck indoors all day with the air conditioning on, only venturing out in the air conditioned car on the school run.  Going outside was like walking into an oven.  I don't like putting the air conditioning on.  I like to be warm; I like it hot.  I don't share this American obsession with keeping everywhere inside as cold as possible; we can all cope with a little bit of warmth.  Neil works in an office where people have asked for fan heaters to counteract the air conditioning - how can that make sense? Why not turn it down a few degrees and save some energy.....

It's like the tumble dryer thing.  Well I like tumble dryers, I had one in England.  It lived in the garage and was very useful on wet wintry days when it wasn't worth pegging the washing out.  Well hanging your washing outside to dry naturally is unheard of over here.  We now live in an apartment where it isn't possible and the tumble dryer, unfortunately, goes on most days.  When we lived in our house the owner didn't provide a tumble dryer and we certainly weren't going to buy one.  Why wouldn't you dry your washing outside when its 75 degrees and sunny most days? I do find this odd, especially as metaphorically speaking, Americans love to "air their dirty linen in public" and are very good at it, often in a very open space in a loud a voice as possible.....

So anyway, most days are warm and sunny.  Last year we had Christmas dinner outside on the patio - full turkey roast, all the trimmings, Christmas crackers, the whole British bubble thing in 80 degrees of brilliant sunshine.

Even the winter winds here are warm - the Santa Ana wind brews up every Autumn.  It's a positive lightweight compared to the howling gales we get back home, it wont blow your fence down or rip your shed roof off, but it does swirl the old palm trees about a bit and it's hot - imagine being buffeted about by a very large hairdryer on a high heat setting!

It's always cooler on the coast of course - that's the other metrological phenomenon which they love to talk about here - the "marine layer".  This is a layer of fog that floats in off the sea and hangs over LA in the mornings in spring and early summer - "grey May" and "June gloom".  It inevitably develops into a pollution ridden smog as it heads inland.  This smog will hover around all morning then disappears about lunchtime to reveal a beautiful sunny afternoon, when the temperature can rise 20 degrees in the space of a few hours.  The downside of course is the layer of black soot that covers everything in its wake...

LA is reknown for its poor air quality.  It's a huge city - in fact the 14th largest "urban area" in the world (Wikipedia - see I don't just make these things up) with a population of over 14 million people, all of whom have at least two cars (well okay I made that bit up).  Anyway, the end result is a lot of pollution and very poor air.  Not too good if you are an asthmatic or suffer from chest problems.  Our daughter had never had a chest infection in her life until she came to LA, where her childhood eczema returned with a vengeance this summer.  The doctor informed us that she was sensitive on the outside and in (just like her mother!) and unfortunately the eczema was a good indication that her lungs were overly sensitive too to the harsh, dry LA air.  A trip back to England would be a good cure all!

And of course it was true.  A trip back home to the damp, grey British summer did the trick.  And that's not the only advantage of the UK's climate, it's good for your skin too, that cool moist air keeps our complexions soft, unlined, youthful looking, natural. Ever wondered why there's such a big market for  Botox and plastic surgery out here? Life under a cloud aint so bad after all!!!

When It Rains

Despite what you might think, it isn't just us British who are obsessed with the weather.  These Californians can be pretty intense about it too.  I never thought I'd be sat in California blogging about the weather - or at least not wet weather - but strangely enough, since we arrived here Los Angeles has had one of its wettest years on record, and this week we've had an almost unheard of seven continuous days of rain. Those palm trees and mountains don't look so good when they are shrouded in grey. It does nothing for my depression - last winter's episode of extreme jigsaw puzzling is not something I ever want to have to go through again.  I think in the UK we're just so geared up for the wet weather we just get on with it - it rarely makes a difference to our day.  When it rains here in LA all hell is let loose.  A little bit of drizzle is fine - even Californians can cope with that, okay maybe the roads get a bit slippy and people don't drive too well, but they don't drive too well at the best of times.  But when it pours with rain as it has done this year, then the whole nature of the place changes.  Imagine Noah and his ark and the rising tide.  That's LA.

These are not people who have grown up driving on a wet surface or who are even used to putting their windscreen wipers on.  Houses here are not designed to cope with rain water,  older homes don't even have gutters and drain pipes, streets do not have regular drains every 25 yards.  Buildings that do have  downpipes will  leave them draining to soakaways which are not always necessarily immediately below the end of the pipe.  Imagine a heavy downpour onto a very dry surface.  It doesn't soak away.  It stays.

Our first house had three soakaways sunk into the middle of the patio - small metal grills over a hole no more than 3" diameter.  All the downpipes from the house emptied straight out onto the patio, but strategically placed plastic trays directed the flow towards the soakaways.  This worked fine on most days - a bit of light drizzle and the water would just trickle out of the end of the pipe and would almost have evaporated before it reached the soakaway.  Absolutely useless in a deluge.

There were a couple of days earlier in the year when I honestly thought the house was about to flood.  The pool water was rising - we were within millimeters of having our own infinity pool, the patio was completely underwater and the soakaways were blocked.  Water was gushing down the street in a raging river towards the one large storm drain at the end of the road.  At the entrance to the drain, a huge lake was being created with the sheer volume of water.

I'm afraid it was another of those "why do they do that?" moments - why build roads without adequate drainage? Why build a house without proper drain pipes? Is that just me? Do they really like sloshing about in all this water?  Perhaps it's like the UK with the "snow thing" - a couple of inches of snow and everything grinds to a halt - why hasn't every local council invested in a fleet of snowploughs to unblock all the roads? Well in the UK you can wait 10 years between snow flurries.  Every year here it will rain at some stage - this isn't the Sahara Desert. Up in the foothills of the mountains, not too far from us, mudslides occur.  A series of forest fires has stripped the vegetation from the mountainside so there is nothing to keep the soil back, and when it rains, the water carries everything downstream with it - mud, gravel, rocks.  Whole houses are destroyed. But it happens every year.

On the plus side of course all this rain did wonders for the ski resorts up in the mountains where the colder air transforms the wet stuff into snow.  It was a bumper year for winter sports and presumably umbrella, raincoat and wellington boot sales.  Think of the increase in sales tax the state will have made - they could put that to improving drainage on the roads, ready for next year's downpour.....

The Power Walk

This is one American habit that I have really taken on board.  The art of power walking.  Of course if I was a really serious power walker I would be out at 5.00 am every morning, baseball cap on head, earphones in, pedometer taped in place.  I'd be setting off at a vast rate of knots, measuring the number of calories burned and my heart rate.  Alas, I am not a serious power walker.  I'm a nosey power walker, so I have to go a bit slower than everyone else, otherwise I might miss something.  I have discovered power walking presents an excellent opportunity to study the architecture, horticulture, and general charm of the American front yard.  I love it!

When we lived in the suburbs I just walked out of my front door and headed off around the surrounding streets.  Being an affluent area the scenery was delightful - lush grassy front lawns; a huge variety of exotic plants - cacti, fragrant roses, palms, ferns, citrus trees, birds of paradise, bougainvillea, all lovingly tendered by an assortment of Mexican gardeners.The houses were all similar in age and style to our "ranch" and it was rather noticeable how many of them were being "re-modelled".  One day the house would be there, the next it would be bulldozed to the ground apart from a couple of stud walls, and then a few days later the building would re-emerge around the two walls left standing (presumably this has something to do with American planning permission laws).  Either way the end result was always twice as big as the original property.

Moving into town made power walking harder because you can't walk for more than 50 yards in the center of Pasadena without having to stop at a crosswalk, and of course you daren't cross if the sign says not too! So a 40 minute walk becomes a 20 minute walk and a 20 minute wait at the traffic signals. Yes I could walk on the spot whilst I wait at a crossing, but I prefer not to.  Instead I take advantage of having to get up early and do the school run, and park up just around the corner from the High School.  This is a very pleasant neighbourhood in the foothills of the mountains - the terrain is a bit steep but good for the calf muscles and the scenery is lovely! There are the usual suburban hazards of yapping dogs and water sprinklers - Americans are obsessed with keeping the concrete moist and it really isn't necessary, but if I time my walk just right, I can normally avoid getting too wet.

My new pounding ground presents an eclectic mix of house styles, age and sizes - there really is everything here - Colonial, Spanish, palatial! Traditional log cabins nestle besides mansions; old and new juxtaposed. One house I particularly love is a single storey uber modernist property, totally out of sync with its surroundings - flat roof, lots of glass, Scandanavian wood cladding - just like something out of Grand Designs.  In fact everytime I walk past it I can picture Kevin McCloud in his hard hat, standing in the shell of the building during the construction phase, speculating on the improbability that it will ever get finished on time. Across the road from this is fine example of 21st century modernism is a an old timber bungalow surrounded by white picket fencing with a large pig living in its front garden..and I mean a real pig. Of course most of the houses don't have live animals in their front yard - but there is a huge array of stone  and bronze imitations - ducks, squirrels, birds, deer, racehorses - yes racehorses (I'm serious here!)

The great thing about these homes is that they nearly all have a larger front garden than back which means all the pretty stuff is out front.  This really is the land of the rocking chair on the front porch, the swing seat on the veranda, all manner of garden furniture, table, chairs, sunloungers, BBQ's, plant pots, ornaments, all out on public view.  These things wouldn't last five minutes back home unless they were firmly chained and nailed down....

Americans are so honest! And so patriotic. Flags, now that's another thing they have in abundance outside their homes, and not just the Stars and Stripes, there are flags for everything - college flags; Thanksgiving flags; holiday flags; St Patrick Day flags; Easter bunny flags, and of course, now, Halloween flags....You think we've gone a bit over the over the top with Trick or Treating in the UK, trust me, that's nothing!  Pumpkin lantern on your doorstep positively tasteful: whole house dressed from top to toe in fake spider web, complete with several very large fake spiders, ghosties and ghoulies emerging from mock graves on the front lawn; skeletons on the porch; scarecrows, black cats, witches - they're all here! We even drive past a house on  the way to school that has a very realistic looking corpse hanging from a tree in their front garden....well at least I assume it's just there for Halloween.....

So, the power walk is not so much a quest for health and fitness, it's a source of inspiration - I have so many ideas now about what I can do when I return back home.  Okay the wicker chairs and brightly coloured cushions might not weather quite so well back in England - a layer of mould and mildew might lessen their appeal, but with a little imagination, I can take a  bit of California back home with me. And the most impressive house on my walk? The "eco" house - this environmentally friendly homeowner has seen the light and has just ripped up his high maintenance front lawn and replaced it with a collection of succulents and native drought resistant plants.  But the most exciting thing about this home?  Over the side gate I have caught a glimpse of rotary clothes dryer in the back yard - that's almost unheard of over here!  We just need a few more million Americans to follow suit and there might be hope for the planet yet!!

A Charmed Life

So, how do I fill my day? Well some days I simply don't; it's quite surprising how time flies when you have all day to do things, and how easy it is to while a way a day doing nothing.  Life is no longer a mad, frenetic rush, running errands on my way home from work, spending my days off catching up on housework and frantically fitting in family commitments, a social life and getting all the chores done at the weekend before another working week starts all over again. 

I can take my time.  I can easily turn what was planned to be a 15 minute trip to the supermarket to pick up a few groceries into an hour's expedition around town.  I still have major issues with American supermarkets, knowing what to buy and how to cook it, and because all the stores are comparatively smaller and their range of stock is less than back home, I sometimes end up visiting two or three different stores just to find everything on my list.  Whilst supermarkets here are tend to be far less busy than their British counterparts, if there is a queue at the checkout, it can be amazingly slow.  Americans do not pack their own shopping; their patience at standing in line whilst the cashier slowly puts the shopping into numerous plastic bags never ceases to amaze me.  These are the same people who honk their horns at you if so much as wait for one second before moving away at a green traffic light, yet here they stand, calmly waiting as docile as lambs. I'm the one that's chomping on the bit ready to go - why don't you just pack it yourself? Yet what's my rush? I've got nowhere else to be, or a schedule to meet.  I'm the lady of leisure.

And I am at leisure - I'm on quality "me" time.  I'm a lady who lunches - I have enough friends and acquaintances here now who I can regularly meet with for lunch;  I can stroll around town, sit in a pavement cafe, watch the world go by.  And then of course, once a week I go  to "work", to my gardening.  It's great having a job that is only one day a week.  As I make my way through the Arboretum to the Rose Garden, passing a couple of peacocks roaming across the lawn, or some Canada geese paddling across the lake, I marvel at my good fortune.  How far removed is this from that past life I had, driving to work every morning, in the cold, through the rain, to my  local government office in the middle of a dreary housing estate, where the phone didn't stop ringing, paperwork piled up, deadlines had to met, people had to be appeased....Look at me now! Here I am doing something I love, where did I always go whenever I had five minutes to spare, or needed to de-stress? Out to my garden, and I thought I was pretty fortunate to have one third of an acre to play around in; here there's 127 acres.  How lucky am I?

It really is a charmed life and I can please myself! I've tried exercising but the gym bores me; I'd rather be out walking in the fresh air and I do try and walk for at least half an hour every day, most days more (but that's a whole new blog!)  I swim as much as I can, I read - I've found a second hand bookshop and I've even started to read all those classics I thought I'd never get round to in an effort to self improve. I did have intentions of further self-improvement through watercolour painting, sketching, sculpture...but  when can I fit it in?  Then of course there is e-mailing and skyping; keeping in touch with everyone back home, and holidays and travel to plan and investigate, and now there's blogging to fit in too - so time consuming! And what about that novel I was always going to write? Then there is still the dusting and the cleaning, all that boring housewifey stuff - shirts still need ironing, beds still need changing, even in California unfortunately!!

And yet amongst all this luck and good fortune I do sometimes, stupidly, feel guilty that I am not doing something more constructive. Shouldn't I really be tending to the sick and the poor rather than a few plants? After all there's plenty of them here in LA. Why do I still have this feeling that I am "wasting time" when I sit down to take a proper lunch or take half an hour out to read a book, shouldn't I be up and about, doing something else? Is having "me" time shallow and self-indulgent? How useless do I feel - unemployed, unable to make a contribution. I'm not part of  something anymore. I'm on my own, it's just Team Me!

Well go Team Me! It wont last forever, I'll be back in England before I know it and back to that working week again, and then I'll wish I had made better use of my time -  I'll wish I had read more books or written more books (or at least one), why didn't I do a whole year's course in water colour painting or hand craft an entire range of garden ornaments?  That's the trouble you see, when you do have time, you waste it.  Like now you see,  too busy blogging, and what time is it? Time for the school run again, and I haven't even thought about the evening meal, let alone bought the ingredients, sorted the laundry or taken out the trash......Takeaway tonight anyone?

Moving On

We had been in America for 8 months and the lease on the house was nearly up.  It was time to move on.  The house had originally been chosen because it fulfilled the criteria of being in walking distance of a school and a grocery store.  But I was fed up of living in the dark and gloom, isolated in suburbia.  Now that daughter No 2 had passed her entrance exam to attend private high school, and I was confident enough to drive further afield, the world - or at least the world within a 15 minute drive of the new school - was our oyster!

One of Neil's English colleagues and his wife had an apartment in the centre of Pasadena and I loved it.  It was modern, light and airy, everything our house wasn't.  Neil had always been adamant he didn't want to live in an apartment, but we had had a whole string of problems with our "ranch". Yes it was lovely to have our own pool and our own outside space, but having to deal with an absent landlord who was always overseas was proving very difficult.  In addition the house was built like a garden shed - wooden frame, sheets of chipboard and a bit of cladding on top.  It had no insulation; it wasn't double glazed, and yes, although winter days are pretty mild here, winter nights are not.  The patio doors in our bedroom didn't quite meet in the middle and the house got cold.  Very cold.  Two duvets, long sleeved PJ's, bedsocks....wasn't quite how I had planned to spend my nights in LA!!

The house was also too big for the three of us - there were rooms we didn't use, and knowing that our stay was always going to be temporary, we had only purchased the minimum of furniture, which looked rather lost in the vast space. All that dark wood attracted the dust; I was constantly sweeping and mopping, the house never felt clean.  The appliances were old and inefficient; the cooker was either on or off - there didn't appear to be any temperature control; the washing machine was noisy and would trundle merrily across the laundry room every time it was used, having to be manhandled back into position at the end of every day.  The whole place needed "re-modelling" as they call it here (I call it knocking down and starting again).

We started having trouble with the plumbing on Christmas Day - something had gone wrong with the cistern in the family bathroom and it overflowed.  Without access to the usual array of tools that he would have had in the garage back home, Neil improvised with a paperclip, which surprisingly did the trick! When Mr Soon, our designated Chinese maintenance man appeared a few days later he was very impressed with Neil's handiwork and didn't think he could improve on it. (This did make Neil slightly uneasy about a large mechanical equipment order he had recently placed in China if this the typical standard of Chinese workmanship). More plumbing issues ensued; Mr Soon was followed by Mr Lee the dishwashing engineer. They were like a double act and trying to communicate with either of them was extremely frustrating.  Mr Hong, the pool boy had the right idea - if I wanted to speak to him he would get out his mobile phone and call his wife who then acted as an interpreter in a three way conversation.  Effective but not the easiest way to conduct business.

The plumbing problems finally escalated into a series of blocked drains; which culminated in the only usable toilet being the illegal one in the forbidden guest house. We had to spend a day and a night surreptitiously slipping across the back yard to our outside "loo" whilst we waited for the Chinese version of Dyno-Rod to arrive (in case you're wondering if you've missed the part of  this blog where we moved to the Far East, don't panic, we're still in LA, but LA has a very diverse population and our landlord was Chinese  and so was everyone else he employed - it's not just the British who are stuck in a bubble!)

So at the end of the day it proved relatively easy to persuade Neil to try luxury condominium city living.  Yes of course there are disadvantages - it's noisier in town, we are closer to the freeway; helicopters frequently buzz about overhead; police sirens go off all night and you have to put up with the sound of your neighbours  romping in the jacuzzi at midnight.  Groceries have to be carted from the car, to the lift (whoops elevator), up to the 5th floor and along the corridor to our apartment, which makes food shopping a carefully planned expedition rather than a spontaneous gesture. But our apartment itself is light, airy, modern and plenty big enough for the three of us yet there's still enough room for  a couple of guests.  Our furniture fits in perfectly so the apartment feels comfortable and homely, and everything works - and if it doesn't we simply go down to the leasing office and it gets fixed! We still have a great view over the mountains and it's a 10 minute walk straight into town to boutiques, department stores, cinemas, museums, bars and restaurants.  

Pasadena is an attractive city, it does have a European feel, a cafe culture (or at least it would have a European feel if they took out the dual carriageway that runs through the middle of it and pedestrianised the main street....) It's old by Californian standards - some of the buildings date from the beginning of the last century; it has great architecture and a charm and elegance which is decidedly lacking in other parts of LA. It's certainly a different way of living for us, but it's definitely not bad.  I wouldn't want to do it forever, but for a couple of years it will suit me just fine.  Oh and did I mention that there's a lot of other British people here too? Walk down the main street any day of the week and you can catch snippets of familiar accents...close your eyes for a couple of seconds and you can almost imagine yourself back home....

Being (Mis) Understood

I am genuinely surprised by the amount of Americans who do not recognise our English accent. Yes they recognise that we are "not from round these parts", but they don't automatically associate us with being British.  Most frequently we're mistaken for Australians - occasionally we have been asked if we are Irish or Scots - close; I have even bizarrely been asked if I was Russian (to be fair this was from a non-native American).  Apparently I look Russian too - what do think of my secret agent outfit?

Of course there are Americans who will recognise that you're English immediately; others will enquire politely "where are you guys from?", others will just look at you, register that you are an alien species and turn away without further comment.  Xenophobia? America? Surely not?! 

Anyway, when it is finally established that yes, we're from England, you realise that Americans' knowledge of any other culture apart from their own is extremely limited.  In Europe and the rest of the world we are bombarded on a daily basis with Americana - films, TV programmes, celebrities, fast food, American culture is everywhere.  I've watched American films - I know that petrol is gas, I know the pavement is a sidewalk; I know a holiday is a vacation and I put my rubbish in the trash can.  You have a lapse of concentration here and call an elevator a lift and suddenly you're from the Planet Zog.  They have no idea what you are talking about.

I've given up trying to explain I'm from Southampton, a large shipping port on the South Coast of England - "is that near London?"  Well, it's about 70 miles south west of London. Yes, actually I'm from South London. I have managed to bluff my way through questions about the Queen, Prince William and Camilla (whoops Camilla who? was my first thought when I encountered that one!) I have also admirably defended the British weather - after all who needs sunshine everyday - pretty boring if you ask me! Sadly, Americans really do have trouble understanding our accents.  Expect to have to repeat everything at least twice - very clearly and very slowly.  Our great sense of humour is wasted; Americans tend to take everything you say very literally so by the time you've repeated what you've just said, then explained that you were in fact only kidding, you really do end up wishing you hadn't bothered.

It really is a question of having to think before you speak - not exactly a good recipe for relaxed, spontaneous conversation.  I'm flippant, I'm sarcastic - that's just who I am, or who I was, when I socialised with people who understood me.  Now I've become very conscious that my sense of humour and throw away remarks can easily be misconstrued and worry every time I speak that I am about to offend someone.  I once made the mistake early on of trying to make what I thought was polite conversation with a neighbour - contact with our neighbours had been extremely limited and whilst out for a walk I spotted this particular neighbour tending to her garden.  I saw this as an excellent opportunity to become better acquainted - common ground - same street, gardening, the ideal conversational opportunity! I remarked how nice it was to see someone doing their own garden for a change rather than employing a gardener.  "Actually I do have a gardener" she replied rather haughtily before turning her back on me.  What had I done, what had I said? It wasn't until later that it occurred to me that she might have thought I was implying she couldn't actually afford a gardener....Had I actually been rude??  A few weeks later she appeared at the door, with her cat, which she informed me had recently started to go missing.  She was sure someone was luring him away so she had decided to follow him.  Guess where he had ended up? Not that I had ever seen the cat before in my life but as he playfully wound himself around my legs, I realised I was doomed....catnapper...worse than that, rude, alien, catnapper!

So, how do you stop being misunderstood? Stop speaking? Start talking with an American accent? No that would be losing my heritage. Find some British friends and stick with them, they'll understand.  We'll have our own social enclave like all the other groups of American immigrants.  Back to our bubble again...oh, only kidding. No I said ... B..A..C..K....T..O....O..U..R....B..U..B..B..L..E....A..G..A..I..N... It was a joke...it doesn't matter, forget I ever said anything!

How (Not) To Make Friends

 Making new friends was never going to be easy.  I had already decided to grasp every hand of friendship that was extended in my direction; I knew I would have to break out of my quiet British reserve and get out there to meet people. I wasn't going to be working; and daughter No 2 was at the age when she wouldn't want me hanging around the school gates chatting to the other parents, so how I was I going to meet people?

The gym perhaps?  Do people talk to each other when they are running on the treadmill? No they stick in their earphones and get on with it.  Obviously I was hopeful that I would get to meet the wives of Neil's work colleagues.  After all it was a big project and there was a large team of mostly American and Saudi workers, with a few Brits stuck in for good luck.  The new Health & Safety Manager and his wife (Canadians who had emigrated from the UK over 20 years ago) invited all the project team and their families for a welcoming BBQ. A great opportunity to get out there and make some new friends! The Saudi team members did not bring their wives or children - not totally unexpected - but neither did the Americans.  These colleagues who had all been very quick to advise on housing, schools, doctors, dentists etc, were obviously not going to be quite so forthcoming on the social front.  It was a great disappointment, but a valuable lesson learned. You soon realise in America that an abundance of "hi how ya'll doing"s and "have a nice day"s are not indicative of the beginnings of a lifelong friendship. Americans can and will talk to anybody about anything.  You will have heard somebody's life history in the five minute wait for the pizza takeaway; they are certainly not backward about coming forward. But don't expect things to go any further.  These are people with full and busy lives - they don't need any more friends - you do, and that's the difficult part.

It's not until you are "friendless" that you realise how much you rely on having familiar company around you; people you've known for years, people you have something in common with and you can chat effortlessly to about work, schools, kids, or even just the street where you live.  You have history together.  All of a sudden you have to start from new, so what do you talk about? The weather? Well the weather here is always the same so that's not going to grab anyone's attention.  There's no salacious gossip to whisper about - you can't moan about the relatives, or a teacher, or a colleague because you don't know theirs and they don't know yours. There's no talking about last night's TV because with 400+ channels available every night there is very little likelihood that anybody's actually watched the same programme; current affairs and local politics are in another league; American sport - far too complicated to even think about joining in a conversation and sounding remotely intelligent.

So what do you do? Another of Neil's more sociable colleagues - a well-travelled American couple in their 60's, decided I needed taking under their wing.  I was invited to go on a trip with a "Ladies Group" - I really should have known better - my mother is in a Ladies Group back in England and she is in her 80's.  We went on a tour of the LA Metro system - actually a very useful introduction to the public transport system of LA; then came a tour of a Bhuddist Temple - not quite so useful but interesting all the same.  But then came the coffee morning, and invitations to lunches, and there I floundered.  I'm in a room full of elderly American ladies, all lovely of course, but where was the common ground? How could I sustain a meaningful conversation? I had no grandkids, I hadn't done a Caribbean cruise; as much as I wanted to "grasp the hand of friendship" I found myself politely declining invitations to play golf, join the bridge club, the sewing circle....

I'm shy, I'm British, I don't like being the centre of attention.  I only needed a very small group of friends...there had to be another way to meet people.  Volunteering.  That was answer.  Volunteering is huge in America and it's taken very seriously; I would find a voluntary job to fill my time and keep myself occupied.  Neil took great pleasure in suggesting possibilities - volunteer administrators were being recruited by the local council - I could do for nothing what I had been paid to do back home! No way - if I was going to have to work for love not money then I was going to find something I enjoyed, and so I did. I  found a "job" gardening.

I now have joined the ranks of America's great non-paid workforce and one morning a week I go and pull up weeds and dead head roses at the LA Arboretum.  I see the same small group of people, week in week out, we lunch together; we have common ground; and the conversation flows quite easily.  Yes of course my fellow volunteers are all retired, but I too have prematurely reached retirement age.  I  can no longer fool myself I'm a career girl on a sabbatical. I do wonder though, what do people my age do in America? Are they really all out at work? Surely not here in this affluent neighbourhood - I thought I would be surrounded by other "stay at home" moms and desperate housewives.  So, where are they all? Perhaps they are all at the Country Club playing tennis,  or at the spa, having a manicure, or are they stuck indoors, baking cookies? I'll let you know when I have found some, meanwhile, pass me my slippers, it's time to take my afternoon nap.....

Hitting the Road - and anything else that happens to be on it!

One thing you quickly discover about America is that the car really is king.  Americans do not walk - yes they might go on a power walk at 6.00 am every morning or yes they might walk for half an hour on a treadmill at the gym, but walking somewhere to do something? Walk to school? Walk to the store? It just doesn't happen. 

I had insisted on a small car - after all there might be parking issues - stupid idea really as most of Los Angeles has been built since the invention of the car and there are car parks everywhere - individual spaces are at least half a size again bigger than back home. Parking was never going to be an issue.  A small car would be more economical - another fallacy - gas is so cheap driving a bus would be economical!

Neil had already bought his car and knew the process was extremely longwinded. We spent three hours in the car showroom completing the necessary paperwork, and came out, ten pages of disclaimers and documentation later, proud owners of a silver Ford Focus (oh didn't I have one of those back home?!). We had offered to sign everything in blood if that helped to speed up the process but unfortunately, American humour doesn't extend to sarcasm, and we were told that wasn't necessary.

So, I now had my car.  I could go anywhere.  I could go on the freeway.....maybe not.

Driving in America is a whole new ball game - you really do take your life in your hands everytime you get behind a steering wheel.  I'd never driven an automatic before - Neil's helpful advice of "it's like driving a dodgem" is pretty accurate - "dodge them" is also a pretty accurate description of driving in LA full stop. Never mind small car, I think an army tank would probably have been the wisest mode of transport.

But I persevered.  I read my highway code.  I knew the etiquette at a four way stop.  I knew I could turn right on a red light and run a couple of pedastrians over who had been told by the walk sign it was safe to cross.  I knew I could only drive at 25 miles an hour in a residential area or outside a school - but only when there were children present.  I was ready to take the Californian driving test!!

And if I passed my test then I might feel confident enough to take the freeways...maybe not.

So I joined a long queue at the Department of Motor Vehicles, took my test and passed.  I could now have official "Californian" ID (I could apply for a store card!!!). However, I do wonder why I even bothered.  I don't think half the population of LA has ever passed a driving test - the standard of driving is atrocious.  Don't ever expect anyone to ever let you in when you get stuck in the wrong lane and want to get out; don't ever expect anyone to let you out of a junction, or a car park, or to wave you on head, or even indicate before they turn.  It just doesn't happen.  Do expect traffic to come at you from all sides, undertaking as well as overtaking is perfectly acceptable here; do expect a car to come and fill that safe gap you left between you and the one in front.  Do expect the driver behind you to beep their horn impatiently if you don't move forward the minute the traffic signal turns green.  Do expect moms on the school run to aggressively compete to park as close to the school gates as possible (they double park on the dual carriageway here rather than let their kids walk the extra 100 yards to school) and do expect to see tiny little girls of 16 driving daddy's brand new SUV into the parking lot.

But don't expect me to the drive on the freeway.  I'm not that stupid!

Learning to Live the American Life Part 2

America loves to shop! And shopping in America can be good fun - we furnished the house in a day - it's amazing, you go to a shop, choose your furniture and it's delivered that same evening. I  did my best to make our house as light and airy as possible - keeping the patio doors wide open was also an option but it did get surprisingly cold in winter! I also did my best to fill up my closet! Shopping for homewares and clothes is easy - there are a multitude of TK Maxx style shops selling household items at remarkably low prices.  Clothes are also generally cheaper - sometimes the quality seems a bit lacking and there is a surprisingly high amount of polyester and spandex but shopping for named brands and designer labels is a positive money saver!

So, shopping for household items is good.  Shopping for clothes is good.  Shopping for food is bad.  Very bad.  No - I must remember our mantra - not bad, it's just different.

On my first trip to an American supermarket I took over an hour and a half to fill the trolley with less than a week's worth of groceries.  We could have been in and out of pizza hut for five nights in a row in less time than that!  It was very depressing  Food that looks the same, isn't the same.  Everyone knows that a biscuit is a cookie, and that sweets are candy, but a kitkat is a kitkat - it looks like a kitkat, it's in the same wrapper as a kitkat but it doesn't taste anything like a kitkat.  Talk about disappointing.

Americans have an incredibly sweet tooth (I am still convinced that food production is generally financed and sponsored by the American Dental Association - rot their teeth, send them to the dentist, collect the check!  It's a win win situation!).  Shop bought cakes, desserts and cookies are unbearably sweet, and  as for  sliced bread - try finding a loaf on a supermarket shelf that doesn't have tons of added sugar.  Jars, cans, and packets of all manner of processed food and ready meals line the shelves - literally you just have to add  hot water!  It's amazing I need never cook a proper meal again. Who said anything about being tasty?!

Organic and free range produce is not widely available - you have to seek out specialist farmer's markets or visit Whole Foods stores - lovely shops but expensive compared to the regular supermarkets.  Fresh fruit and vegetables are also surprisingly pricey - I could pick a grapefruit out of my neighbour's front garden but it would have been cheaper to buy it after it had flown half way round the world back to Tesco than it is to buy it here in the local supermarket.  How does that work? And of course, everything comes in very large packages. America doesn't do small. Great if you are a family of Mormons but when there is only the 3 of  you.....wastage seems prevalent. 

So, the house was furnished, the cupboards were finally stocked.  So what next on our learning curve? School. Daughter No 2 braved the inoculations and had her health check.  Once declared germ free she was eligible to be thrust into the American education system.  Again several mornings spent chanting  "it's not bad - it's just different"  as we experienced the wonders of public (state) school.  And then? Well I was home all day, by myself; I'd gone from being a working mum of two, to a "stay at home mom" of one.  I was lonely, I was bored.  It was time to get out there and start exploring.  It was time to buy that second car and learn to drive American style.

And this where the mantra definitely changes. Trust me - IT IS BAD AND IT IS VERY DIFFERENT.

Learning to Live the American Life

So, what do I like best about living in America? The weather is the obvious answer.  It really is wall to wall sunshine; it's warm - even in the winter we rarely needed a coat during the day - it doesn't rain, there's no wind - the met office here release a "wind advisory" if the wind speed is more than 25 mph - that wouldn't even get your washing dry in the UK! I love having the opportunity to get out and explore new places - we've had weekends in San Diego and San Francisco; we've driven up the Pacific Coast Highway, been to the Napa Valley, had a week in Hawaii. We're an hour to the beach and an hour to the ski resorts.  Of course we've done Beverly Hills and Hollywood - but they are probably the least exciting places we've been to.  There's so much more to see - America is vast!

And so are walk-in closets.  Now that is one thing about living here that I really will miss when I have to return to the UK.  My walk-in closet.   My first walk-in closet came with our first US home - a 1950's 3 bed detached "ranch" (large bungalow) complete with swimming pool, and a one bedroom guesthouse which had been built in the backyard without a planning permit - basically it was illegal and we had to sign a disclaimer in the lease promising not to use it!  Our house also came complete with a poolboy and a gardener.  It had looked great on the internet and we were very excited! It was situated on one of those attractive, wide leafy avenues you see in American TV programmes, beautifully manicured lawns - very desperate housewife-ish.  I imagined the neighbours popping in with their welcoming boxes of cookies....

It was all fantasy of course.  The neighbours barely acknowledged our existence.  The poolboy was a 50 year old Chinese man who spoke no English; the gardener was Mexican, and although he was very friendly, his command of English was just slightly above that of the poolboy.   He wasn't  actually gardener either - he was a "mow and blow man"- ie he was only paid to mow the front lawn and walk up and down the drive with his leaf blower. It was all a great disappointment.

The interior of the house was depressingly dark - dark wood flooring (Americans love their hardwood flooring), dark wood panelling, original dark 1950's fitted kitchen, and an original 1950's bathroom, with, yes you've guessed it "dark" green tiling. Yes all this darkness made it cool and shady- but I'm a Northern European on a two year holiday - I don't want cool and shade, I want light, airy and sunny!

Depression set in.  There appeared to be only one solution - I had a large walk-in closet and I was going to use it.  Shopping - bring it on! Oh yes, we were quickly learning how to live the American life!