What’s the British equivalent of “Deliverance”? It’s the Pub I went to this weekend love.

Bullet Tooth Tony: You should never underestimate the predictability of stupidity.

I would be remiss if I didn't start with the almighty British Pub (short for Public House) but I REALLY have to start with Pub culture because this weekend I experienced a real honest to goodness Pub Fight!! Replete with shattered glass, lager sprayed everywhere and a very dangerous pool cue stick.

Now, I’ve been to an English pub before but never one like this.  This was truly a proper “common-folk loiter”.   And honestly it was entirely my idea to go there.  Must get the full experience mustn’t I?

We started the evening in quite the normal establishment.  Apparently George Orwell took a dump and thought of “Animal Farm” right on this very spot… when I mentioned that I saw another “REAL” English pub in my day’s wanderings that I thought would be good to go to (you can’t just do one pub’ on Friday night, its just unheard of).  I mean it was called the “Old Crowne”, it had a picture of AN OLD CROWN on the sign…  I mean it HAD to be authentic didn’t it, …  I almost wanted it to have “ye olde crowne” and then it would have been perfect.  Right… off we go “To The OLD Crown then!!’  I damn near said “Tally Ho and actually jaunted over there.

The first thing as the door opens I see… is that a … uhmm yah that is a little blonde child no older than 6 years of age – Riiiigghtt oh and 2 of her little friends, gingers both complete with freckles and like I said, no older than 6.  Ok so its about 10:00 PM but then I saw the “Happy Birthday” sign so I thought “Oh it’s a private party, no experiencing a traditional pub this night” but ah trusty Mr. G says to  try to get the barmaid’s attention and see if she’ll serve us.  Lo and behold, she’s serving, “certainly love, what would you like?”  “A Pint of Stella for the fella and a double vodka for me please”.  ( BTW the whole measuring of spirits is whole other blog – lets just say tiny swallows of liquor just doesn’t quite describe it)

A couple of double vodka’s in and I’m beginning to actually enjoy the Karaoke man screaming “Insert Unintelligible English Song Title Here” and am over how small (I mean compact) the pool table and cue balls are. I’ve even made new friends with some of the local “tarts”.  I even begin to think its normal that toddlers are running around at half 11PM  requesting Justin Beiber (god he’s infiltrated everything hasn’t he).

Then everything goes suddenly awry – there’s a hard working proper geezer (40-something run-of-the-mill blue collar worker for us yanks) and a young-ish “tosser” who apparently has tried to skip the geezer in the turn of the game.  “You bloody saw my pound there” “Ah I’m not the one, mate”

Then there’s a smash of pint glass on the ground and a brandishing of a cue stick, a grab of my arm “Natty we’re going NOW” and a scream of “Leave my Daddy alone”… and then… a pause… and the music starts again and I shit you not the whole bar goes back to business as usual in about 2 minutes flat.  With even my newfound tartlet friends ordering a round of sickly sweet pinkish tequila shots “C’mere New York girl and join us” and the geezer has mysteriously disappeared and all is right in the Old Crown. 

I fancy this is how the west was won and I still have no idea how everything happened so fast but all that “its proper and polite” here was definitely disproven or... maybe I’m looking at this the wrong way.  Maybe it IS that they take manners way more seriously than I thought and I’m just the rude American who is sitting in judgment on my lofty “oh kids shouldn’t be in bars and tequila should be clear and definitely NOT pink” high horse.   

Soooo... you've decided to move London huh... uh Why?

Avi: Yes, London. You know: fish, chips, cup 'o tea, bad food, worse weather, Mary fucking Poppins... LONDON.
"Snatch" 2000

I'd like to say I moved to London because I got a high powered job that required me to move half way across the world...
I'd like to say I moved to London because a Duke (or even an Earl) swept me off my feet and carried me away to his drafty castle...


But.. I moved to London on a whim (love that word, comes from whimsical which is also a fun word).  No job, minimal friends (total of 3 so far), and no idea of exactly where to live except that dammit all I'm moving to London.


Truth is London was the only logical place to go.  Coming from New York (the city so nice they named it twice - by way of Long Island - don't judge me) I knew it had to be a place where I didn't have to learn another language (I was wrong on that end... ever try understanding a Geordie accent and you'll understand) and it had to be as cosmopolitan as New York.  


I'd been born in Brooklyn, raised in Jamaica and Long Island, went to school upstate - GO ORANGE!! - and almost all of my career was in NYC. It was time for a change.  Same bar, same trains, same people... I needed a change.  I needed to get out of a rut.  


I have to admit, I kind of cheated.  I'd been a self professed Anglophile for years without the luxury of ever visiting the place.  Read Charles Dickens since age 6 and the Lord of The Rings every christmas since age 10 and then ... the almighty Guy Ritchie entered my life.  Or should I say the almighty Guy Ritchie introduced Jason Statham into my life by way of "Snatch".  Good god... IS THAT WHAT LONDON IS LIKE??? Hot accent, hot men, dry sardonic humor... Love is the only word that could describe it.  Ah people could say James Bond or even a childhood obsession with Mary Poppins would have had the same effect but... Have you SEEN "Snatch"? I dare you, double dare you to watch it and not book your flight on Virgin Atlantic (really the only way to travel to the UK) within 5 minutes.  and then there is Idris... ahhh Idris Elba.  Watch "The Wire" seasons 1 & 2 and you too will be expecting to walk off the plane smack dab into some of the most beautiful men in God's creation.  Funny thing is... I've managed to pick up a proper English bloke... looks nothing like either of them... Such is life but the search continues.


Sooo here I am... 5 days into my new life - my tea drinking, pub crawling, chip eating new life.  With not a clue of where this new chapter is going. I hope if you take a gander at my pitfalls and ventures you'll get a good feel of what its like to become an expat.  Any advice you take from this definitely take it with a grain of salt.  Because would you really trust a person who has picked up sticks on the sole reasoning of "gosh that accent is sexy".


 And really, that's the fun of it isn't it? So I guess next will be to debunk some of the myths - bad food (true) - bad teeth (not so true) - and on to hunt Jason Statham down in the streets of Central London.  (Shhh.. don't tell the boyfriend)