I Love Your Accent

In a comment she made about an earlier entry, my Wife said:

"When people hear Graham's accent generally one of two things happen: 1) They ask if he's from Australia; 2) They ask where he's from and he deadpans... "New Jersey. Can't you tell by the accent?"

Those are definitely common reactions that people have when they hear my accent. There are others too.

My accent is both a blessing and a curse, as they say. Mostly a blessing. Occasionally a curse. In true British fashion, I'll start with the negative. I recall chasing a "sales associate" around Target trying to get him to understand what I meant when I said I wanted "batteries." Again and again I carefully said the word. Again and again he said he had no idea what I wanted. I wondered whether there was a different word that Americans used - I was sure there was not. I pronounced it carefully and slowly. Still no luck. In the end, my Wife took pity on me, and said the word "batteries" - I swear she said it exactly the same as I had done, but magically, we were shown where the batteries were kept. This kind of thing happens from time to time, and it can be frustrating.

But mostly, my accent is a good thing. It gets me noticed, and in a good way. It opens doors, and sometimes gives me an unfair advantage. For some reason, unlike many other accents, an English accent sounds very attractive to American ears. They seem to think it indicates sophistication. For the record, my accent, from my home town of Luton , is quite similar to a London accent, and to English ears is more likely to be associated with lack of education - certainly not sophisticated.

But over here, many people go to great lengths to tell me how much they love my accent, and I've heard similar things from other expat Brits I've encountered here. I've had people in stores - and before my Wife chimes in and points this out, probably pretty equally divided between women and men - cooing over my accent, telling me they could listen to me talk all day.

When I first moved over here, I often would pick up on an English accent if I heard someone in the vicinity. One of the first expats I met over here was a gentleman who has made a career out of recording talking books for the blind. Apparently, they really love their stories read with an English accent. I remember him recommending that I try doing this myself some time.

But these days, my Wife is more likely to hear a British accent than I am. I've become quite deaf to the differences between American and British accents. As for my own accent, people over here say that my accent has not changed. My Wife thinks (and I agree) that whenever I talk to family back home, which I do most Sundays, my accent gets even more pronounced. Occasionally, the folks back home think that I'm sounding more American.

As an added bonus, I thought I'd share this lovely resource with you: How to Speak in a British Accent

Waiting For The Other Ball To Drop

Anyone with family in a different time-zone will be familiar with my situation last night, New Year's Eve. I ended up celebrating New Year twice, firstly at 7pm Eastern Time, which is the equivalent of Midnight in England, then at Midnight Eastern Time. At 7pm I attempted to call my parents. International calls, especially using a calling card (which I use to reduce costs) can often be tricky at major holidays, because of the sheer volume of people attempting to call at the same time. My call was certainly a little confusing, because while I was attempting to call my Father, my Father was trying to call me. So, I got a busy tone (we call it "engaged" in England) and my Dad was leaving me a New Year message on my voicemail as I was trying to call back. Eventually I got through and my Dad picked up immediately, since he was right by the phone. Dad has sometimes been so sweet as to wait until 5am his time to call us to wish us Happy New Year also, but last night he said he was exhausted, so wouldn't be doing that.

Shortly after the call, I headed off to my computer to check on New Year stories from the BBC. I discovered that it had been very cold across Britain, but frozen revellers in many parts of the British Isles still went out to party. In London, there were fireworks, Elton John performing in the O2 Arena (formerly the Millennium Dome), and actor Michael Caine said that while he would usually wish for a "prosperous" New Year, "This year I think what we really need is luck, so good luck everybody."

Those of us Brits of a certain age will remember New Year's Eve on TV used to consist of Andy "Donald Where's Yer Troosers?" Stewart with a traditional Scottish Hogmanay show. The last time we were in England, I greatly enjoyed Jools Holland's "Hootenanny" New Year's Eve show. Not a kilt in sight.

Of course, here in the States, we have dear old "Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve." Dick Clark, who for years has hosted this live show watching the giant illuminated ball drop in New York's Times Square, had a stroke in 2004. Regaining his speech and movement somewhat, he's returned to the show, although his slurred speech does unfortunately give him the delivery of a drunkard, which I guess is somewhat appropriate for the occasion.

But I can't leave this subject without talking about The Ball. This huge illuminated orb, built from Waterford Crystal, has been redesigned using Light-Emitting-Diode technology designed by Philips to use 20% less electricity. Let's hear it for green technology! In fact, instead of turning the ball off once it's done its job, let's leave the ball illuminated all year round so that people can see how green we are! It's the American way.

Happy New Year!

How Much?

Many of you will be familiar with the early days of a "serious" relationship. It can be quite an expensive time, since you have not yet settled into the humdrum routine of spending nights watching TV, getting the recycling ready to go out, and so on. Instead, you're going out to restaurants and doing lots of fun stuff. Now imagine what this period might be like for a long-distance relationship.

When B. and I figured out that yes, we were dating, there was certainly some sticker-shock involved. We both, of course, made quite a few transatlantic flights. B's parents and one of her sisters came to Ireland for a vacation with some genealogy thrown in, and B. came with them for part of the trip, so one of my cheaper flights was to Dublin to meet the family. I discovered it pays to complain about poor service. On one of my trips to the US, there was not only a delay followed by a cancellation, but it was handled terribly by staff; a letter to head-office resulted in a free flight.

One of my regular trips was so we could go to the Falcon Ridge Folk Festival held in July in upstate New York. This festival is very special to us. Along with many other wonderful artists, we got to see Dar Williams, who was responsible for our relationship in the first place (she did find out about it, and has been very good to us over the years!). We became festival volunteers together, which not only made it a relatively cheap date, but also brought us together with a wonderful "family." Falcon Ridge was so dear to us that it also became the place where I proposed to B, in a solar shower stall in our campsite (yes, were were fully clothed, and yes, I got down on one knee, even though it was wet). Despite the surroundings, B. said yes!

And then there were the phone calls. Advice to anyone embarking on a long-distance relationship: Make sure you get on a calling plan QUICK! B. and I were calling each other just about every day. B's first phone bill after we started phoning each other regularly was enormous. But she got monthly bills. Mine came quarterly! Once we got onto sensible international calling plans, things were not so bad. I'm an early-morning person, and B's a night-owl, so the five hour time difference worked well for us; we'd call each other at Midnight Eastern Time, which was 5am in the UK. We'd talk for a while before I got ready for work.

Any idea how much it costs to import a husband? The story of our dealings with the INS will wait for another day.

Coins, Candy and Calls - my first visit to the US (part 1)

It started with getting a bus from my home town of Luton to Heathrow Airport. That was tiring enough, but follow that with a 7 hour flight, plus the time it took to get through passport control and pick up my luggage, and by the time I got to the lobby of Newark Airport, I was tired and crabby. Not to mention anxious, seeing as I was to meet up for the first time with a woman who I had previously only communicated with via the Internet or phone.

It should have been so simple. I just needed to find a payphone, call the aforementioned woman, who would then come out and pick me up from the Airport. One problem: I didn't have any US Change - only bills (or notes, as we like to call them in England). It shouldn't be too much of a problem - right?

So I started by finding an information desk and asked if they could break a bill for me. No, they weren't allowed to do that. OK, still no problem, I'd go to one of the stores and buy something, getting some change in the process. I worked out how much I'd need, then found some kind of confectionery that would result in me getting enough change. The storekeepers had been so kind as to put a price label on everything - how helpful! What they don't tell you is that sales tax isn't included in that price! So the change I'd carefully calculated was less than I needed! I tried the same procedure again, and found I still didn't have enough. In fact, by the time I had enough money for the phone, I also had pockets that were positively bulging with tooth-rotting candy!

But I had enough money for the phone. That was the main thing. I found the piece of paper with my friend's number on it and dialed. But here's the thing - when an American tells you their phone number, they say "My number is 123-456-7890." They forget to tell you that you have to dial a "1" in front of all numbers. I kept dialing the number I had, wondering briefly whether I was the victim of an expensive variation of the old "call me, here's a fake number" ruse, then thinking that perhaps I'd just copied the number incorrectly. Either way, I'd somehow managed to lose some of my change in the process, so it was back to the store to buy more candy.

I went back to the information desk to see if they had a directory. They did, and so I was able to look up the number. Of course, it was the number that I already had written down. So I went back to try again, with the same result. Eventually, and I can't recall where I found the small but all-important snippet of information about adding a "1" (after all, it was eleven or twelve years ago), I finally managed to get through and let my friend know I'd arrived...oh...over an hour previously.

(To be continued)