Being back in the colonies, I suppose I should make some observations. You know, foibles and differences, all laid out with wit, verve and acute insight. I suppose I should, but I won’t. Although, to be fair to them, not all of them are scumbag wastrel losers. Not all, mind, just most.
Then we have the drivers. It is the middle lane owners club taken to extremes. On my first venture back up the M2 out of Belshaft, there was the usual people hogging the outside lane, with no-one in the inside lane. (You can infer from that that there are only two lanes on most Norn Iron motorways. Glorified dual carriageways.) OK, so I can forgive that, as it means I can pass them all on the inside, horror of horrors. However, the other issue with NI drivers is that they drive far, far too close. (Editors note: Cassandra says I do so as well, so nature versus nurture and all that.) But really, it is quite endemic. Although at least they don’t go through red lights, like Cantabrigians. Which, erm, would be me. At the first red light I came to. sigh Nature versus nurture. Again.
Then we have the speech. It is a well-known fact I don’t overly like the accent(s) of the place of my birth. And it gets more pronounced the longer I am away. But here, like, people, see brother and mother and other words with th in them? Well, they have th in them. Not ll. Bother, not boller. Yes indeed, get me.
But friends are good. Meeting the great and the good and remembering how everyone is cleverer than me, and how much I still have to learn. Family is good. Seeing them was great, as it had been a while.
Will I ever move back? Not a mission. South America, I am looking at you…
