Jumping the Pond

Growing up with English parents I was always raised with subtle hints of British formalities. Where most kids would wake up to a bowl of cereal I would savor the delicious taste of beans on toast to start my day. As a source of fiber it's a great alternative to a sugar rush of Fruit Loops...although your friends may prefer a sugar high over the occasional scenting that tends to fill the room post-bean consumption.

Evening entertainment consisted of a single character who barely spoke a word throughout the entire show, yet always captured my attention along with his beloved Teddy. Yes, I am speaking of the phenomenon that is Mr. Bean. Physical humor at it's best. Combine that with Red Dwarf and a little Faulty Towers and you have my childhood influences in a nutshell.

But how British am I? According to my housemates I am definitely a "Bloody Canadian." Yet I can't deny the small yet significant influence of British culture that has constantly lingered throughout our household. I still say rum instead of room and still look forward to a traditional Sunday roast...which may explain going to bed on an empty stomach at the end of each week. So when I heard the news that I would be jumping the pond for a year exchange at the University of Nottingham I naturally assumed a smooth transition. Fish n' chips with mushy peas!? Why not?

Despite my upbringing I can't say I was fully prepared. In the end, things just aren't quite the same in jolly old England. Don't get me wrong, so far it's been absolutely brilliant... or totally awesome... depending on what side of the pond your coming from. But here's the snag. When moving into a culture that in the broad scheme of things is not too different from your own, it's those fine details that start rearing their ugly head. Some may be positive and others negative, but the most annoying ones are those that are just plain unnecessary.

Like driving on the left hand side of the road.

Seriously, I know England's population is three times that of Canada but are they trying to kill off all the tourists? Unless you're from Australia the chances of looking in the right direction whilst crossing the street are slim to none. If a double decker doesn't get you, there's always a minicab speeding up round the corner.

Either way, I am slowly adapting to the British formalities that my parents gladly left behind. I may never become accustomed to saying football instead of soccer or try and comprehend a Brummie accent but I'm getting there. Even if it is just one cross street at a time.