North America

So my friend Dave (not that one) says he’ll give twenty quid to my favourite charity if I pretend to be, like, this sardonic guy who types flippant, whimsical things about a subject of his choosing, and this week he’s chosen ‘North America’.

It’s for charity, people! How could I refuse?

So let’s see what comes out…

1.

People are always asking me, “what’s the difference between England and the US?” – to which I reply, “you can pretty much sum it up like this: in England people hang their washing on a line outside, even when it’s cold and wet and grey, and in the US people dry their clothes in a tumble dryer, even when it’s a hundred degrees and scorching.”

There may be other differences, but that’s the main one.

2.

And what’s the difference between Canada and England? Well, if you stand near the edge of a Canadian kerb/sidewalk, all the traffic stops, regardless of whether you want to cross the road or not, and also regardless of the inconvenience it causes to other drivers. It’s as though they’re saying, “you’re not smart enough to cross this road; here, let me help you as though you’re a feeble old lady or lost child” and it’s pretty annoying.

In England, you can cross the road whenever you want, and if you do so with a car coming towards you, it speeds up and maybe swerves in your direction.

Much better.

3.

You see a lot of people walking around Leeds wearing shirts that say ‘California’ and ‘Los Angeles’ on them. I don’t think it’s ‘cos they’ve been there and brought them back; I think it’s a fashion thing. The words have a certain aura, I guess, and project an image.

Studies have shown that people in the American mid-west believe they’ll be much happier if they move to California. But when they do it, they find out they were wrong.

Likewise, when I tell people I was in California they almost always say, sort of incredulously, “why’d you come back?” The implication is: you must be mad. Look at our weather. Isn’t it a sunny and wonderful paradise out there?

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know some awesome people in California, and there are some lovely spots – but, wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such poverty, such degradation, and such mental unhingedness. It got a bit much after a while.

4.

When you’re on your way to San Francisco everyone says, “oh, it’s great there, you’ll love it.” I think what you’re supposed to do is just agree and smile and move on. But if you take it a bit further and say, “well, what should I do when I get there?” you hit a snag – ‘cos all anyone can think of is, “go see the Golden Gate Bridge,” and suddenly all the air’s let out of the balloon.

A bridge. You can look at a bridge. You can walk across it. You can look at the water beneath it. You can check it out from angles and stuff.

Who’s never seen a bridge before?

Oh, but there’s a tower as well. That should fill another twenty minutes.

5.

A man says to me, “You know why Americans love San Francisco? Why all the young people come here and have their minds blown and can’t get enough? It’s because they’ve grown up in god-awful places where ‘culture’ is defined by strip malls and grid systems and farmers in pick-up trucks shooting things. You’re from Europe; this is all normal to you; you don’t understand.”

6.

There was a moment when it seemed like half the people I met were either stoned or drunk and the other half were on medication. Everyone seemed totally flippin' crazy.

Then again, I could’ve just been projecting.

7.

Favourite town: Grand Junction, Colorado
Favourite hot springs: Orvis
Best beach: Mendocino (also most expensive gas, by a good $2)
Best place to hitch-hike: the 300 miles surrounding Kansas City
Most beautiful women: Santa Rosa and Bakersfield
Favourite nature: Colorado National Monument (and the 300 miles surrounding)
Best place to referee soccer: Sebastopol
Most hospitable people: Kansas City, Grand Junction, Boulder, Guerneville
Favourite food shopping: City Market, Grocery Outlet, Andy’s Produce
Best cheese in Canada: There is no good cheese in Canada

8.

Bloke: “Did you meet anyone in Colorado that didn’t smoke pot?”
Me: “Two people, I think.”
Bloke: “Wow, that’s two more than I did.”

9.

Do I miss America? I guess I do. Or, at least, I think about it a lot. It’s weird ‘cos, for the best part of the last few months I was there, I was desperate to get out, and convinced that my future lay in England. There were things I wanted to get back to, crack on with, and America just seemed so bonkers. But now I’m here, the things that lured me back don’t seem so important, and I’ve realised America probably isn’t all that bonkers – not intolerably bonkers, anyway – it’s just that my lifestyle was. I went too long without a job. I missed the routine of work, and the break it gives you from thinking too much. A bit of a job sorts a lot of things out.

Then again, it’s probably been good to come back and realise these things. Look at the reasons I’d told myself I needed to be in England. See them for what they were.

I dig refereeing – that’s the main thing – and want to see where I can go with that.

Sort of mental, though, to let my life choices be dictated by an occupation that’s basically running around a field, making decisions about whose leg touched a ball, and being shouted at.

(I’m underselling it massively, by the way, in this whole ‘pretending to be sardonic’ thing I’m pretending to do; it’s much more than that. It’s man-management and psychology. It’s inner-strength and confidence. It’s maintaining your head and sense of humour when everyone around you has lost theirs. It’s a helluva lot of fun.

But, anyway, back to the pretence…)

10.

Bloke: “If you’re so talented and smart, how come you just sit around all day in your pyjamas doing stupid things on a computer?”
Me: “Cos I can’t think of anything better to do.”
Bloke: “What about helping people?”
Me: “I tried that. It doesn’t seem to work.”

11.

Will I go back to America? Will I leave England again? I don’t know: I just want to get through Christmas and New Year, and my birthday at the end of January – that month always seems to change things, a time for reflection and endings and beginnings – and see where we’re at after that. I’ll be turning forty; I guess that has some sort of significance – even though it seems fairly ridiculous. Forty! It makes no sense at all…

Six months ago I was thinking I wanted to really go for it and be married by forty. Knuckle down, get myself normalised, bite the bullet – which is of course an interesting turn of phrase to use in a paragraph like this.

Now it feels like the last thing I want to do. Such a contrary Mary! wink emoticon

12.

I had a dream a few weeks back: I was in the mountains in Colorado and I couldn’t work out how I’d got there. How had immigration been skirted? Why didn’t I have any memory of being on a plane, or another cross-border hike?

But it sure felt good. And the feelings lingered once I awoke, and before I realised where I was. Before the brain kicked in and the slight sense of disappointment at coming back to reality.

I hesitate to type these things, of course, knowing full well certain friends will read that and be tempted to write, “come! throw off your shackles! skip wild and free and do the mad thing and…”

To those friends I say: hush. Control yourselves. There are other things to consider. And saying those things won’t help anything.

13.

Like I say, strange to be thinking once more of a country I went so bonkers in; disliked so much; couldn’t wait to get out of; and seriously thought I was done with the whole three months I was in Mexico..

But I guess I must like something about it – or rather, something about it suits me, beyond all the fascist cop stuff and mental instability. At least people are interested in life. Talk about things. Explore ideas and experiences. Same old stuff I always liked, really: America the innocent child, petulant and prone to tantrums, but at least curious and eager to grow.

14.

Oh Dave, you’re a wise one – I see what you’ve done now. Bravo.

15.

Do you know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen an angry person in Mexico, or even heard anyone raise their voice – unless it was a gringo, that is.

Likewise, I think the only place in Mexico I’ve ever seen stressful, unhappy faces was at the airport, watching Brits and Yanks and Canadians.

Here’s a sore sight for an Englishman eighteen months away from home wondering whether he should go back or not: a sunburned Brummy family complaining about things that just don’t matter in those godawful accents while becalmed Mexicans look on placid and grinning.

16.

Did I ever tell you that weird thing in Cancun? Where I was sitting on the beach just after buying my plane ticket, totally unsure whether I’d be allowed out of the country ‘cos of my water-damaged passport, and those two girls walked past?

Girl 1: “…you’re not going home…[something something]…we’ll see you tomorrow…”

It right shit me up.

17.

And what about the weird thing in Armstrong Woods back in March? When I woke up in the middle of the night, looked around at the darkness of the giant redwoods, and then found myself suddenly transported to an English pedestrianised shopping precinct, surrounded by scowling faces pulling on cigarettes, and all the concrete and grey materialism.

Unlike my other visions, it was bloody horrible. But still, all the next day I decided I needed to get back there and sort my life out.

Was it a sign of direction, or a warning? Or possibly something else…

18.

You know that thing where you hear a word for the very first time, and then you hear it again immediately? S’happened to me a lot; I imagine it’s probably happened to you too.

Well, not long after I got back to Yorkshire I came across a word I’d definitely never heard before, and it was a good one: prelest.

Thing is, I decided – being on the ball this time – to test the phenomenon and proper had my ears peeled [sic]. And you know what? I never heard it since.

Though I suppose it’s not really the kind of word you’d expect to come across on the streets of Leeds, or watching those shows about traffic cops in County Durham I’ve come to love so much.

19.

Funny thing about writing – though I’ve definitely said this before – is, no matter how weird or embarrassing the content of the expression, I always leave the keyboard feeling jolly and singing songs and wanting to do a little dance. I mean, this one got me so upbeat I decided to make a pot of 8am soup, just for the fun of it.

Like I say, you’re a wise one, Dave – you send a man down a path he thinks he knows the direction of, but you knew all along I’d end up somewhere completely different, and right.