The Great British Pub, R.I.P? - England 2010 Part 2

As many of my friends know, one of the things I miss most about living in England is the traditional local pub. One I remember fondly is The Britannia, located just opposite the flat (apartment) I lived in for a while before moving to the US. Just as in any good "local," I knew that whenever I visited I'd find friends, and the bar-staff would be pouring my beer without needing to be asked.

After I moved here, my visits back to England would always include a trip or two to "The Brit," seeing who was still around, and catching up with the local gossip. Sadly, on my last visit, about eighteen months ago, I found none of my friends in residence. It was being run by a West Indian family and had a large West Indian clientele. Even so, they made me feel very welcome, and we spent a lot of time chatting about life in the States.

Some time ago, I started hearing that pubs around the country were closing at an alarming rate. I saw evidence of this for myself, including one pub near my parents' house that was being demolished to make way for flats. Just before my most recent visit, my Father told me that he had heard that The Britannia had closed. Determined to find out for myself, I discovered that it hadn't actually closed, but when I looked in, there was one patron and no sign of the bar-staff. I decided to check another nearby pub, The Biscot Mill, to see if any of my friends had started drinking there. After some good beer and conversation with some regulars, some old friends did walk in, and we spent some time catching up over a few pints. Unfortunately, I found out that The Britannia was indeed about to close, and was going to be turned into flats.

Later during our visit, we took a side-trip to Swansea, in South Wales. On a bitterly cold Sunday morning, we went along the coast a little to a village called Mumbles, a popular tourist attraction. Sheltering from the weather, we went into a pub to get some hot drinks. Looking around the place, which had some antique wood-paneling, stained glass, and some interesting looking beers, something seemed a little "off." The menus on the tables looked very generic. We started to suspect that the place was a cleverly-disguised "chain-pub," and a barman confirmed this.

Why are traditional British Pubs disappearing so rapidly? Many blame the ban on smoking in public places. I've never been a smoker myself, but I still find it strange being in a smoke-free pub. Recently, I've noticed much of the media criticizing the wide availability of cheap alcohol in the supermarkets; some are calling for a law setting a minimum price. Another aspect may be the perceived rise in crime and so-called "antisocial behavior" making people feel less safe outside their homes. Then there's the poor economy. Brits are not going to the pub like they used to; instead, they are sitting in the safety of their homes, in front of their big-screen TVs, where they can smoke while drinking their cheap supermarket booze. Britain is losing both a piece of its cultural history and a valuable avenue for social interaction.

Do you have any thoughts about British pubs or pub culture? How do you feel about these establishments disappearing so rapidly? I'd love to hear your feedback.

Flying!

I love flying! However, I never flew until my early thirties. While many of my friends flew to popular Brit holiday spots like Spain and Portugal, I never did. So my first flight was with my then girlfriend to Athens, from where we were going to take a catamaran to the island of Spetses,

I was very excited. I loved every part of the flight, even when we hit a little turbulence!



We were due to get to Greece in the evening. I sat near the window, so I could see everything, and I'm glad I did, because as we approached Athens, we banked, and I had a beautiful view of lights up in the mountains. We actually had to walk across the tarmac once we'd landed, and I got my first experience of the Summer heat in Athens.



The arrival at Athens was less thrilling, since there was some mix up about where our party was meant to be going. The plane had arrived a little late and we were not going to be able to move on until the morning. Some of us started sleeping on the floor in the airport, until armed police moved us out! Our tour guide was able to get us to the city center, where we relaxed in the lounge of a hotel.



I have to say I still love flying, even though it's more of a chore these days with the family. Our flights to England are about 7 hours, the planes are not as comfortable, and the services are more limited. When I first started flying to the US, there was plenty of complimentary alcohol. Not so much these days. But for some reason, I still enjoy the turbulence!

Warm Beer and Other Beer Fallacies

It was my birthday recently, and like any good Brit, I had a few beers. In fact, I posted photos of them in an album on my Facebook page. A friend of mine (Hi Tina) said in a comment about one of them that she hoped I drank it warm, since I was English. This reminded me that a blog post about the "warm beer fallacy" was long overdue.

British beer is mostly brewed to be drunk at "cellar temperature." Most pubs in Britain have underground cellars, where the kegs of draught beers are kept. The beer is therefore cold, because it is kept underground, but it is not chilled. If UK beer were to be chilled to the degree that American beer usually is, it would lose most of its flavor. One notable exception is Guinness, which is usually a little colder than most other British beers, and is a lot colder in its trendy "Extra Cold" variety.

On the other hand, American beer is brewed to be chilled. Sometimes the heavy "mugs" that are used in bars are actually frozen. You see signs outside bars saying "Coldest Beer in Town" which is meant to be attractive. To me, "Tastiest Beer in Town" would be more likely to get me through the door. If you drank most American beers at "cellar temperature," they would almost certainly taste bad, something like cereal in water.

Having addressed that fallacy, I would like to talk about another one. That is the assumption that American beer is bad. True, the very popular beers such as Budweiser, Coors and Miller are what I like to call "Beer for people who don't like the taste of beer," especially in their "Lite" versions. I was disappointed to hear that President Obama opted for Bud Lite during the recent so-called Beer Summit at The Whitehouse. However, there are many fantastic American-brewed beers. Most come from small independent breweries, often referred to as microbreweries. Some of these are made in the restaurants in which they are served, and others are bottled and distributed in some of the better liquor stores. Major breweries have tried to cash in on the trendiness of microbrews. Blue Moon, a Belgian-style beer that contains orange peel and coriander, is brewed by Coors. Keen to try to keep its microbrewery look and feel, Coors started by putting "Brewed by CBC" (Coors Brewing Company) on the bottle, but that has recently been completely removed, and it is currently advertised as being made by "The Blue Moon Brewing Company."

One beer that I am enjoying these days is Samuel Adams Boston Ale, which is available quite widely. On my birthday, I managed to locate Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA, which was wonderfully hoppy to these British taste buds. If you saw my series of blog posts from my recent vacation in San Diego, you'll probably recall that I found some great local beers, including Red Trolley, Stone's Pale Ale and Firehouse American Pale Ale.

I have been helped in my quest for good beer by my recent discovery of the Beer Advocate website. Operated by Beer Advocate magazine, one can join free, and gain access to many reviews of beers and establishments serving beer. One neat feature is that you can enter a beer that you particularly like, and it will suggest some excellent examples of similar beers you might enjoy.

I love talking beer! Please do share some suggestions with me and your fellow readers by posting a comment.

Rumpole of the Bailey

When I think of the British Justice system, I cannot help thinking of a TV show from my youth, Crown Court. This was a daytime show that showed the British courtroom in all its glory, wigs, gowns and all. I should imagine many other people think of the long-running TV series, Rumpole of the Bailey, when they think of British courts. That is no doubt true even in the US, where the series was shown on PBS (Public Broadcasting Service).

Rumpole started life in a BBC Play for Today in 1975. It evolved into a series, which ran from 1978 to 1992. Leo McKern played the part of Rumpole throughout. The screenwriter of that show, author and ex-barrister John Mortimer, died recently, as covered in my blog post John Mortimer - A Great British Treasure. I had only read a couple of Mortimer's non-Rumpole novels, and barely remember the TV series, so I thought it was about time I read one of the Rumpole books. The books were based on the TV series. I chose The First Rumpole Omnibus, which contains three books: Rumpole of the Bailey, The Trials of Rumpole and Rumpole's Return. These cover the first two series of the show, plus a special.

Horace Rumpole always acts for the Defense, and believes strongly in the foundation of British law that one is "innocent until proven guilty." He never pleads guilty. He prefers to appear at the most iconic of all courts, The Old Bailey, and wears a wig "bought second hand from a former Chief Justice of Tonga" in 1932. An older gentleman, he often mentions winning The Penge Bungalow Murder Case, in his heyday. He is an expert on bloodstains and typewriters. He often appears, much to his chagrin, before Judges Bullingham (who is usually sympathetic towards the prosecution) and Vosper. He frequently quotes passages from The Oxford Book of English Verse (The Arthur Quiller-Couch edition). He usually visits Pommeroy's Wine Bar for a glass or two of "Chateau Fleet Street," before heading home to his Wife, Hilda, who he refers to as, "She who must be obeyed."

The first part of the anthology, Rumpole of the Bailey, contains short stories, each describing a case. Some cases Rumpole wins, some he loses. The same is true of the second book, The Trials of Rumpole. However, the second book comes to a climax with Rumpole, seemingly railroaded into retiring by his family and colleagues. The third book, Rumpole's Return, sees Rumpole and his Wife living with his son, a professor at the University of Miami, Florida. This follows an unlucky run of ten losses before Justice Bullingham, and a decision to retire. After receiving a letter from one of his ex-colleagues, Rumpole decides to return to his old chambers, where he takes on a seemingly unwinnable murder case. The accused and the victim were seen on a platform on the London Underground, and the accused was found in the possession of a note seemingly written in the victim's blood.

The book is a tremendous read. Rumpole is a very sympathetic character, and the wonderful stories are written very well. Clive James, writing in The Observer, is quoted as saying, "I thank heaven for small mercies. The first of these is Rumpole." I could not agree more!

Do you remember Rumpole? Are you familiar with the books? Please post a comment and let me know what you think.

An Englishman in San Diego - The Home Stretch

Once we had moved to the Sheraton Hotel and Marina for my Wife's conference, my daughter and I were alone during the day. I decided it was time to relax and not try to do quite so much each day. The first day (the seventh of our vacation), we had a lazy day at the hotel, watching TV, reading, playing and so on. We went down to the hotel lobby for a while, so I could take advantage of the free Wi-Fi there (it was $12 per day in the room, despite the entire marina area having a free Wi-Fi service, which the Sheraton blocked).

In the evening, once my Wife had finished for the day, we headed out to San Diego's Old Town district. This historic area has lots of restaurants, many of them Mexican, and many interesting places to see, especially in its Old Town State Historic Park. The park contains period buildings, some in their original locations and some that were moved in. Old Town also contains The Whaley House, supposedly the most haunted house in the United States. We were in the area to soak up the atmosphere and eat Mexican food.

The next day (Tuesday), my daughter and I spent time at Balboa Park. This beautiful and expansive park contains 15 museums and many other attractions. Many of the buildings in the park were originally built as temporary structures for the 1915-1916 Panama-California Exposition, and have since been rebuilt. Upon arriving there, we discovered that the day you visit is extremely important, if you have specific things you want to see. I had heard about the narrow-gauge railway and the carousel, and hoped to take my daughter there, but upon arrival, I found that they were only open on Sundays. A local Mom I spotted there suggested that my daughter might enjoy The Reuben H. Fleet Science Center, so that is where we went next. This museum, with its many interactive exhibits, was a lot of fun, and I highly recommend it. After we ate lunch, we headed for the Marie Hitchcock Puppet Theater, which we discovered closed on Mondays and Tuesdays! Still, the park has a lot to offer and it is worth spending the entire day there.

My daughter and I spent the day before we were due to leave, relaxing in the marina area and the hotel. We had breakfast at Papanani's Deli at the marina, where we discovered the antidote to the hotel's expensive offerings. The food was delicious and the people were friendly. They put on children's TV for my daughter and I had unblocked access to the marina's free Wi-Fi!

In the evening, the family went down to Seaport Village for our final San Diego dinner, this time at Buster's Beach House & Longboard Bar. This fun bar and restaurant has a Hawaiian theme, and the food and beer are both great. I ate (and thoroughly recommend) the Pork Luau and Macadamia Nut-Crusted Chicken. I enjoyed Firehouse Pale Ale, brewed by firefighters who use the proceeds to support the widows and families of firefighters and to provide equipment to local firehouses.

That wonderful meal marked the end of our San Diego vacation. By six the next morning, we were reluctantly on our way to the airport, for the smooth and trouble-free flight back to New Jersey. Thank you San Diego, for making us feel so welcome.

I hope you have enjoyed this little series documenting the wonderful time we had in San Diego. Are you familiar with the area? Would you like to visit? Please do post comments or questions - I would love to hear from you.

An Englishman in San Diego - Birthday, Beasts, Burritos, Backstage and Beer

The fifth day of our San Diego vacation was also the day my four-year-old daughter turned five. This day was all about her. We spent the day at the world-renowned San Diego Zoo. I remember being excited to visit this zoo the last time we were here, because I had heard so much about it. I also remember being very slightly disappointed, perhaps because my expectations were set so high by what I had heard. San Diego has been at the forefront of many advances in zoology, such as breeding programs and animal enrichment (providing enclosures, items and activities to stimulate their minds and bodies). The facility itself seems just a little old-fashioned compared to some of the other zoos I have been to. Nevertheless, I do recommend a visit if you get a chance.

For my daughter's birthday dinner we went to Fred's Mexican Cafe in The Gaslamp Quarter. This area of San Diego, with its bars, restaurants and trendy shopping, is full of activity, especially during the evenings. Fred's Mexican Cafe is a lively bar and restaurant, offering Mexican favorites with a healthy California twist. It is also the place that my daughter, then two years old, first discovered a love for Mexican food. During our first visit here, I remember her asking our server for "Mexican Food" when asked what she would like to order. When pressed for what kind of Mexican food she would like, she got quite agitated, asking for "Mexican Food" again. We ordered for her that time. This time, there was no such confusion. My daughter confidently asked for a black bean and cheese burrito as we sat out on their front terrace, watching the world drift by. Fred's combination plates are a good way to sample a range of different Mexican items, and they have draft Dos Equis Ambar, which is always a good thing. The food is delicious and ideal for the budget-conscious.

That marked the last day of our stay at The Dana Hotel on Mission Bay. On Sunday, the sixth day of our vacation, we had to move hotels. First, we went to SeaWorld again, this time for a behind-the-scenes tour. We visited areas not usually seen by the public, including the medical facility and places where they rehabilitate sick, injured and orphaned animals. We saw pregnant dolphins, kept in quiet areas away from the public, and we saw birds such as flamingos and parrots, which have jobs as "animal ambassadors" for SeaWorld.

We went straight from SeaWorld to the Sheraton Hotel & Marina, where my wife's conference was being held. It is a lovely hotel, with luxurious rooms, and our room came with a balcony overlooking the marina. However, it is also on an artificial island (built on the by-product of dredging the shipping channel around the San Diego Coast), which means they have a captive audience for their overpriced restaurants and bars. Guests either pay inflated prices, or pay for a taxi to take them to a more reasonably priced location. While the bar offered a good selection of local brews on tap (I greatly enjoyed Stone Pale Ale), I was paying nearly twice as much for the pleasure than I was at our previous hotel.

An Englishman in San Diego - Football and Beer

The family and I are currently vacationing in San Diego, California. My Wife was due to attend a conference here, so we decided to extend the trip and make a vacation (or a holiday, for the benefit of my British friends) of it.

One thing that may surprise some is how long it takes to get from one side of the USA to the other. We live on the East coast (New Jersey), and San Diego is on the West coast in California. It takes almost as long to fly from Newark Airport, New Jersey to San Diego, California (about 6 hours) as it takes to fly from New Jersey to London (about 7 hours).

There is also a three hour time difference, so while we arrived at our hotel at about 6pm local time, it felt like 9pm to us, so we were feeling pretty tired and hungry. The first thing we did was head for the hotel’s bar and grill, known as The Firefly.

I have written before about some of the responses I get when people hear my English accent. I got a rare one at The Firefly. The greeter, a small Mexican man, sat us at our table and after a bit of small talk while he was making us comfortable, turned to me and asked if I liked football. I had assumed he was talking about American football (which I generally refer to as “rugby for wimps” due to the wearing of all that body-armor), and thought he was going to offer to change the channel on the television to some big game. However, he had noticed my English accent, and was asking me whether I followed what they generally refer to here as soccer. I hated to disappoint the poor chap who, it turned out, was a big Manchester United supporter, but I have never really cared much for that game either. I figured that he probably did not get many opportunities to talk about British soccer with a real live Brit, so I tried my best to fake it a little. He seemed satisfied when I told him my home team was Luton Town, a team that once was moderately successful, but who I believe have not done that well in the years I have been in the US.

If this Englishman knows embarrassingly little about football, I do know a good pint when I taste it, and I was not disappointed with the selection of beers on tap. The Firefly prides itself on offering a good range of beers from local microbreweries, small independent companies handcrafting their own brews. If you are ever out here, I thoroughly recommend Red Trolley Ale, a red ale that I would describe as “hoppy and hearty.”

O'Halloran's Irish Pub, Fords, NJ - an Irish Lament

I went out last night in search of a beer or two and some adult conversation. I had planned to visit "In-Laws," which stands where O'Halloran's irish Pub used to be. I discovered it had closed down. Several bars have been and gone there since O'Halloran's closed its doors. I ended up going to The Liberty Tavern, also in Fords, NJ, which was ok, but it reminded me of how much I miss my favorite local pub. If I could write lyrics, I would probably feel inspired to write a song.

It would seem appropriate that any song about a lost, lamented Irish Pub would have to have an Irish flavor to it!

They knew how to keep their Guinness in great condition. The food was good, even though for some inexplicable reason, they made round, flat, fried potatoes instead of authentic chips. The jukebox had a great selection, and the live music was always good. The staff were always friendly.

Above all, what kept me going to O'Halloran's was the people it attracted. Intelligent, friendly folk, who enjoyed stimulating conversation as much as a good pint.

O'Halloran's Irish Pub - Gone, but not forgotten. Sadly missed.

Ten Years

Today is my tenth wedding anniversary. Sometimes it seems like I have been married forever, and other times it seems like yesterday. It is true that many things have happened during the past ten years, and I hate to admit that many have slipped out of my sieve-like mind. However, my parents' fiftieth anniversary is coming up later this month. I can only imagine the things that they have experienced and forgotten.

As I described in one of my first blog entries, the date we were to get married was largely down to what was then known as the INS (Immigration and Naturalization Service), what is now USCIS (US Citizenship and Immigration Services). I was in England and B. was here in New Jersey. We had no idea how long it would be before the INS approved our Fiance Visa, but we knew that we only had 90 days following approval to get married. We got our approval in December 1998, slightly earlier than we had expected, which meant that with the holiday season just around the corner, I had to make travel arrangements, and we had to plan a wedding.

Fortunately, B. and I had similar ideas for what we wanted from a wedding. We did want an occasion, rather than a simple official marriage. However, we wanted a wedding we could enjoy ourselves. We had heard all too often about couples who had big weddings and who had not enjoyed the day themselves, because the event was geared towards other people.

We agreed on the venue we wanted. The Palmyra Tea Room in Bound Brook, New Jersey, was a great place that we used to visit together. It had a wonderful Bohemian feel to it, with mismatched chairs, tables and china. It had an adjoining art-gallery, lots of books, tasty food and great people. Fortunately, although they had never done a wedding there before, they agreed to do it for us. We were to have the wedding in the art-gallery, and then we would move into the tea room itself for the reception. They would close for the day and provide the food.

The other preparations seem to have disappeared in a blur from my memory, but one thing that we were proud of was that B. and a friend actually made their own paper for the invitations. Since both B. and her Mother suffer badly from allergies to many flowers, we were to have artificial ones, and again, B. and a friend made the arrangements.

I do not have a large or particularly close extended family, and my parents don't fly, so my Brother was to be the sole family representative - and my best man. On the other hand, B. does have a large, close family, so the Brits were a little outnumbered. Fortunately, B's family are a lot of fun, and a rehearsal dinner ended up with most of us sitting underneath the tables, playing with kids. My stag night consisted of My Brother, a friend and I at our house with a bottle of Power's Irish whiskey. It was more fun than you might imagine, and we even managed to break some furniture!

The wedding itself, as planned, was a lot of fun, even for us. We had friends there who we had met on the internet-based music community where B. and I first met, so that did balance out B's huge family a little. One of them acted as DJ for the ceremony and reception, so the day was filled with the music we loved. The local Mayor presided over the ceremony, we drank "champagne" from a local winery, and a singer-songwriter friend performed for us.

The one sad part of the whole thing is that The Palmyra Tea Room is no more. It fell victim to Hurricane Floyd in 1999, when much of Bound Brook was completely submerged. Because of the huge cost of repairs, and apparent disputes with the landlord over responsibility for those repairs, it never reopened its doors.

One day, I'll write about our honeymoon, because, like our wedding, it was a little unusual, but so "us." For now, I want to take this opportunity to wish my dear Wife a happy anniversary. The first song to play after our wedding was "Love is the Ride" by Lucy Kaplansky. And it has been a ride. Sometimes, a joy-ride, sometimes a little bit of a white-knuckle ride. But I could not imagine sharing it with anyone else.

In Search of the Perfect Pub

English Diarist Samuel Pepys apparently wrote that the pub was England's heart, while the church was its soul. Not being much of a churchgoer, I can't say a lot about the state of religion in England, but I do know a good pub when I see it!

Pubs have been part of the British culture for hundreds of years. Most Brits are used to having a local pub within easy walking distance. We usually call this our "Local." Whenever we walk in, we know there will be someone there who knows us. We can "put the world to rights", drink to celebrate, drink to "drown our sorrows" or just be with friends. We'll meet our neighbors, old school-friends, and a selection of pub-poets, pub-politicians, and people who will help you fix your car, paint a room, or offer to get you anything you want, no questions asked.

When I first moved to the US, my dear Wife B. told me she'd spotted a place called "Polo Pub" on her way to work that might be worth checking out. I think she had visions of English gentry in jodhpurs talking about horses. Actually, the people who owned the Chinese restaurant next door also owned this particular establishment and there was even an open doorway joining the two places. It was not particularly British!

On a walk down to the nearest strip-mall (small arcade of shops), I discovered "VW's." In front, it was a liquor-store (off-license); in the back was a bar. A little rough-and-ready, it did however contain an array of regulars, and the bar-staff were very friendly. I spent quite a few evenings there. I even took my brother when he came over on a rare visit. When they stopped selling the draft beer I enjoyed there, I started going less frequently.

We moved to a different area of town and I discovered two pubs within walking distance. One was quite close but a little unfriendly, the other much friendlier but quite a hike.

Then, a wonderful thing happened - an Irish pub, "O'Halloran's", opened up within easy walking distance. Catherine, a Dubliner, ran the new pub, in what had once been a restaurant. It was a magical place. They had good live music, and the regulars were the kind of intelligent people with whom you could have interesting conversations. The food was tasty too. You could have real fish and chips with malt vinegar, or bangers and mash (sausages with mashed potatoes), for instance, and wash it down with great draught Guinness. There was rarely any trouble there.

Unfortunately, the business began to struggle financially. It's traditional in our area of New Jersey for people to go to the "shore" at the weekend during the warm months, and a quiet summer put the final nail in the coffin. Catherine, very embarrassed by the failure, said little before the closure, although a fine party took place on the last night!

The pub became a "sports bar", and encouraged the very young. I have been there a few times since O'Halloran's closed, but it's not a patch on its predecessor. There is one other place reasonably close by, and a local band I knew from O'Halloran's plays there sometimes, so I pay a visit occasionally. Now there isn't a good bar within walking distance, so these days I am content to stay in with my family on a Friday night, and they are glad that I no longer come staggering back at 3 O'clock in the morning.

Do you have or remember a favorite bar or pub? Leave me a comment and tell me a little about it.

Farewell Patrick McGoohan and Dai Llewellyn

We hear news today of the deaths of two characters, the loss of whom leaves the world slightly less colorful.

Firstly, Patrick McGoohan, who died at the age of 80 after a brief illness in Los Angeles. I first remember McGoohan in the British series Danger Man, known in the US as Secret Agent, but it was as "Number 6" in the cult TV series The Prisoner, for which he became most famous. Produced by McGoohan, who later contributed to the writing and directing of the series, and filmed in the Welsh village of Portmeirion, The Prisoner was thought to be "too philosophical and difficult" by many critics. The final episode, deliberately ambiguous, and containing a lengthy section completely without dialog, was considered so controversial that McGoohan and his family left Britain for the US and relative anonymity for more than 20 years. He continued to appear in movies, famously appearing as King Longshanks in Mel Gibson's Braveheart, but turned down many parts recently due to ill health. Here's a treat for those who have never seen The Prisoner, or those who dearly remember it, for whom this clip will bring back many memories:



Known primarily as a "Bon Viveur", Dai Llewellyn has also died aged 62. I find the contrast between the obits from British newspaper The Daily Telegraph and the BBC to be rather interesting, "The Torygraph" presenting rather a heroic story, while the Beeb seems to be less sympathetic somehow. Sir Dai (sometimes referred to as "Dirty Dai" by the tabloid press) was certainly notorious for chasing women, and for drinking a huge amount. Talking about his huge appetite for alcohol, he once said: "I do recall one particularly heavy night on my own when I consumed eight bottles of wine, one bottle of vodka, one bottle of rum and one bottle of port. People look unconvinced when I say this, but at 6am I was totally lucid." He became most well-known for revealing to the press his brother Roddy's affair with Princess Margaret.

Although aware that it was probably his own excesses that resulted in his recent ill-health, he nevertheless said that he had "no regrets" about the life he led.

Passions (oo-er Missus!)

Now that I've been writing this blog for a few weeks, perhaps I should take you into my confidence about why I'm doing it. At first I felt driven to start writing about some of my experiences before I started forgetting about them. But there's more than that, as I've discovered as I've felt my way around.

I imagine that you and I are sitting in a pub, and that you have engaged me in conversation. You discover that I'm English, and that piques your interest a little. You may be a bit of an anglophile. You may be curious as to what I miss about "home." I'd love to share some of my experiences with you.

You may be another Brit in the US, and over a pint we could exchange some funny tales, some probably at the expense of America and Americans. But only a gentle bit of fun, mind you. Like me, you probably really like it over here, even if some things frustrate you from time to time. We might chat a bit about stories in the news in Britain.

Or you might be a Brit, one of those I meet when I pay a visit to England, probably in a pub, amazed at some of the things "those crazy yanks" get up to. You might want to find out if what you see in the newspapers, TV and movies is true. You've heard that "in the US everyone carries guns, it's really violent and Americans are arrogant." You might suspect that this is not the entire picture, and I'd be happy to paint a bit of a better picture for you.

But wherever we have our little chat, I'm going to be talking - and blogging - about things that I'm passionate about. I love politics, both UK and US (when I can fathom it out), but only certain aspects of it. I'm what they call over here a "bleeding heart liberal", often with a sneer, but I wear my bleeding heart on my sleeve and I'm proud about that. I love people, and I want us all to live in peace with each other and with the earth, to be healthy and happy and well-fed. I like to do my part to help that happen.

I love food. I love eating and cooking it. I enjoy all types of food. I feel driven to dispel some of those cliched views that "all British food is bland." While I don't have much time for it these days, I derive a great deal of pleasure from growing something myself, then cooking and eating it. And I love drinking good beer, wine and spirits (hard-liquor).

Books make me very happy. Since I was a child, I've always read. Whether it's vicariously living the life of another, or learning a new skill, I find comfort in the written word. Film and TV too.

Music has always been part of my life. I learned to play as a child, considered teaching it at one point, but now prefer to preserve my passion for it by not making it my career. At its best, music is an international language that we can all understand. Music was what brought my Wife and I together, even though thousands of miles separated us.

And like many people, I love a good gossip. I love to poke fun at a celebrity's expense. But I can also poke fun at myself - heck, I might as well join in with everyone else who's doing it!

Christmas Controversies

Having enjoyed a wonderful Christmas at my Mother-in-Law's house in Michigan, with my Brother-in-Law's family as well as my Wife and Daughter, I felt the need to write a little about some of the differences between Christmas in the US and Christmas in the UK. I think it's important to state that I find there to be more similarities than differences, especially with my Wife's family, who go out of their way to embrace British traditions as a way of making me feel welcomed. In addition, I've discovered (as is often the case) that what I've been accepting as UK/US differences are often simply differences between families. More on that later.

I guess one of the biggest differences is that, generally speaking, the big guy with the red suit and white beard is referred to as Santa Claus in the US, while most of the time Brits refer to him as Father Christmas. My American family was eager to try the British tradition of Christmas Crackers, complete with awful jokes and paper hats we all had to wear for extra humiliation at the table. And the meal we had yesterday was a lovely joint of roast beef, while British Christmas dinner, again generally speaking, consists of turkey (Turkey usually being consumed in the US for Thanksgiving). In England, I'd also usually be eating Christmas Pudding, that gloriously fruity, alcoholic, heavy steamed sponge, and a slice of Christmas Cake, just to ensure that I was incapable of movement the rest of the day. And I'm writing this article on what in Britain we'd call Boxing Day, December 26th, traditionally the day that employers would give leftover gifts to their servants and employees. Yes, "re-gifting" is nothing new!

So, on to more controversial stuff. What do we leave Father Christmas/Santa Claus on Christmas Eve? In my house it was always a mince pie (a sweet pastry filled with what is called "mincemeat", which these days contains no meat), together with a glass of sherry and a carrot for the reindeer. My Wife's family believe that milk and cookies are the generally accepted gift in the US. But a rather unscientific poll I conducted showed some rather interesting results. One old schoolfriend from England was a little conflicted on the matter. Since drinking and driving is such a big issue, her family had started leaving out a cup of hot chocolate; however, another schoolfriend had advised her that Rudolph was now the one who drives, so Father Christmas will once more be finding a glass of brandy. And then there were three American friends of mine who in turn were leaving:

1. Freshly baked sugar and chocolate chip cookies and hot apple cider with spiced rum
2. Sierra Nevada Celebration Ale
3. Baileys Irish Cream

I'm not sure whether this says more about globalization, or my friends! I do know that my Mother-in-Law bought mince pies, sherry and a huge carrot, so we could do things the way I had always done them. My daughter was also delighted to discover that everything she'd left had gone on Christmas morning, apart from the last bite or two of the carrot; according to the note Santa left, the reindeer each took a bite, but it was so huge, they couldn't manage it all.