You can stand under my Umbrella... (difference 3)

Mention to a New Yorker that you are from London and their line of small talk will inevitably turn rapidly to their perception of Britain's inclement weather. It never ever stops raining in London, so they will say. They watch Wimbledon every year. "How do you poor people cope? It must SUCK!"

There is a kernel of truth to this: GB has a tame Maritime climate; and the price Britons pay for innocuous winters are cool lame summers, where it tends to rain, steadily.

That being said - and London's rubbish weather notwithstanding - I think it worth pointing out the fact many people find surprising. London has less than HALF the annual precipitation New York has.

According to Wikipedia, 22.95 inches of precipitation fall each year on London, while on average, in NYC, it is 49.7 inches. That is a big lead. Indeed, New York has more rain/snow than Glasgow. Counter-intuitive?

The reason for this is that in New York it tends to come down all at once. In Winter, large "Nor'Easter" blizzards dump their Mid-western load with feet of NY snow. In the Summer, heavy heavy rainstorms (often jazzed up with thunder and lightning) conclude long periods of intense humid heat. In the UK it is far less dramatic and exciting, rain hangs around all year. It IS probably more boring - BUT, all being said, in London it does not rain as much.

This year has actually been a very extreme of this...New York has had one of the wettest June's in its recorded history whilst London began its first decent heatwave in quite a few summers.

...So Britons and Americans both use Umbrellas to shield themselves from the elements. There is a vernacular difference though. Americans don't recognise the term "Brolly". Not a big difference, I guess, but I do feel they miss out on the most appropriate term. This is also further evidence that British-English speakers use the language in a fuller, flexible more alacritous fashion than Americans, who merely seek to ape it.

Barack in Philly

It was often said during the Presidential election campaign that rallies for Barack Obama were like Rock Concerts and, from my experience, that was exactly right.

It was mid-October, and with about 3-weeks of two long years of campaigning remaining, I arrived in Philadelphia after a Friday night MegaBus ride from New York City, just a few hours before the Democratic Presidential nominee was due to speak in the city.

I had only come for a weekend of tourism, a look at the Liberty Bell and a photo on the Rocky Balboa steps, but soon found out about the city's guest. When I arrived that evening, my hostel dorm was peppered with fliers announcing his visit; people's excitement was pretty palpable with the details of his morning rally in the Northern part of city kept rolling off people's lips with enthusiasm.

It would be wrong to claim Obama zealotry was universal and I'll avoid being cheesy about it. After an obligatory Philly Cheese-Steak, I visited a couple of bars trying to impress people with my exotic accent; the first guy I spoke to - apparently reasonable and sensible-sounding - spent fifteen minutes railing against Obama AND McCain for being "super-Socialists". Something about the bail out. He then complimented me on Thatcher. After eight years of Bush, and despite some bizarre things he had to say, he proved in my mind, that intelligent Republicans actually still exist. He didn't put me off Obama though.

Though I got to bed not too many hours after midnight, I got up so early I felt like I had never slept. Unaware of public transport, it took me an hour to cross from the relatively salubrious historic centre, into some of America's roughest neighbourhoods and arrive at the end of a long queue for the rally, half an hour before sunrise.

Somewhat belatedly, I realised it was not a wise area to travel through solo: on each corner were offers for drugs, sex and not-so-subtle attempts to lure me off the sidewalk for some kind of mugging. Half a dozen blocks from where the future President would speak, the queue for the Methadone service was already snaking round the corner, in the pre-dawn darkness, hours before its 8.30 opening.

I arrived in line at 6am-ish, but two and a half hours before Obama was due to attend, the line of people was blocks-long and swiftly growing. A group of peppy, preppy, BudLight inebriated college students behind me reflected the common sense of incredulity: "dude, I thought we got here early!".

Ahead of me was an energetic Jersey Mother who was proudly boasting about all the previous Presidential candidates she and her apparently long-suffering ten year old daughter had hob-knobbed with during previous campaigns (Bill, Kerry, Cuomo etc). Not ALL American liberals are hyperactive and annoying, a few are relatively normal and others in our queue looked as lethargic as I felt, but the energy was almost overwhelming for my fragile British tastes.

So we waited for an hour in the darkness as the clock moved toward Seven.

Soon, as nigth music could be heard - a Stevie Wonder recording blaring from the still unopened auditorium told us that "Superstition aint the way". As I say - it felt like we were about to see Metallica. It's not just the crowds that give the event a Rock 'n' Roll feel. There were T-Shirt sellers and other merchants selling a full range of all kinds of memorabilia (official and unofficial). There were Porta-loos . There was the speculation of which catch phrases he might come up with: like the anticipation for the possible "Otherside" and "Under The Bridge" before a Chilli Peppers concert, so we wondered if he would come up with the "Audacity of hope" or "Yes We Can" (incidentally, we would hear neither). More sinister, a sense of nervous anticipation about getting in to such an event. Clearly no one wanted to think about the possibility of Obama's assasination, but I can't help feeling the attitude reminded me a bit of all the people who wanted to see Pete Doherty a few years ago, before any untimely cult-creating death.

Tickets or payment weren't necessary, but contact details and cell numbers were taken diligently from those attending, so that as many as possible could be persuaded to join in the massive canvass of the neighbourhood, later on in the day. The long crowd was ultimately squeezed through a surprisingly simple security check, aided by a ban on bags.

Though I was far from the front of the queue, the large platform area meant that I was able to get relatively close to the left of the stage. In the square I bumped in to two Obama volunteer friends from University in London. One I half expected to see, the other a total surprise, showing I suppose, the great deal of excitement for the election, even from the UK.

People had traveled from far and wide and represented a range of demographic groupings, but still, the vast majority were black and were relatively local. Philadelphia has a large, poor black population and is overwhelmingly Democratic. The rest of the state had in previous recent elections tilted perilously close to Bushite Bonker-tude. The campaigning goal in Philly was therefore simply aimed at boosting turnout as much as possible so as to neutralize as many Sarah Palin-voting red knecks in the rest of state as possible. It worked: 76% of Philly ultimately opted for Obama on November 4th and Pennsylvania's crucial twenty-one electoral college votes went with them.

There were numerous warm-up acts for Obama. Pennsylvania Governor Rendell talked about previous nearer misses and electoral agonies. A local Irish-American Congressman - oozing corruption - stood up to join the fun. A large Baptist choir sung and a local preacher made a prayer (skillfully timed to coincide with the the magma-coloured sunrise) and spoke of the redemptive possibilities of "Jacob's Son" Barack Obama. The religious element was obvisously a contrast from godless British politics, but the undeniable fervour it induced in people was exciting to (almost) be a part of.
I couldn't help feeling a slight sense of irony, half an hour after the same crowd sang along to SW's refrain "when you believe in things you don't understand you suffer".

Then Obama arrived. I had a good view as the silver Jeeps of his motorcade swung in from the street and in to a large tarpaulin placed behind the stage. Then came a 10 minute high-anticipation wait as his Secret Service agents got to work scoping out the square. The Mall Parking lot - revealed in the rising sunlight - covered a massive area, Obama's lectern was surely visible to rooftops and windows a hundred metres in all directions. Vantage points of this kind were closed though and agents equipped with super-sized binoculars kept an earnest eye on them. Ominously, behind the stage was a stretcher, just in case. Like in the movies, the secret service were super-slick and dapper-dressed; unlike in the movies, they were not needed and Obama walked forward safely.

The next thing was delirium. Though there were dozens of people in front of me, he probably came within 10-15 meters of me. He was a bit taller than I expected and even skinnier, but looked as fit as anything. If you had not been aware of who the most famous man in the world was, you would have thought he was a 28-year old recent college graduate, all set to run a marathon.

So what did he actually say?

Well he kind of promised everything. Britons are more cynical and wouldn't have allowed Brown or Cameron to declare they could "change the world". However, the current (inept) and future (oleaginous) British PMs aren't Barack Obama and our cynicism is (IMO) a big part of the reason for what we are stuck with.

Obama went on to wheel out some of the usual platitudes with things like: "together", "hope", "progress" and stuck together with Ziegler-worthy three-part lists and negative-positives. Given the uncertain problems of the world and the realities of politics, a lack of specific solutions was sort of understandable I suppose, or at least, deserving the benefit of the doubt.

On the specifics, he did actually say some slightly concerning Protectionist things about "keeping jobs in America" and leaving Iraq-asap. Overall though, his speech was largely agreeable and he talked about affordable healthcare, support for the old and a realisation of the higher education "dream". Amen to all that (as the crowd responded).

Well intentioned, but deliverable? We'll see...

Wearing my new Obama T-Shirt, soon after, I walked through Philly and thought about some of these things. Looking perhaps uglier in full daylight, it did feel hard to imagine how four or eight years of BHO could fully solve the injustice of this corner of the city of 'brotherly love'. Nonetheless, the city was obviously right to view him as the most likely person to give it a helping hand. For me, personally, I felt for one of the first times in my life that a dream, even with flaws or even possibly without foundation, could be an intrinsically great thing in itself, simply for the joy in invoked in people: "bliss it was to be in that dawn alive".

# 2 Difference: If life gives you lemons

Okay, the first proper difference that I will mention between the two countries is the existence / non-existence of this (at first sights) apparently humble and unexceptional brand of fizzy drink.

My first can of Mountain Dew was late one evening in the Summer '07, when I first visited New York City. It was an epiphany.

Growing up in GB, I came to know lemonade as the ever-sweet, ever-reliable, but ever so slightly boring soft-drink staple. The kind of thing to have at a School disco when you're 13 and want to get to sleep by 11pm by avoiding the caffeine of coke. It bubbles benign and transluscent in bottles of Schweppes, Tesco value, 7-UP and Sprite etc. That was what I thought.

Mountain Dew is also a "lemonade" in name, but really closer to a form of rocket fuel. It seems to contain a tonne of sugar and gives a powerful kick of caffeine. So much so, the caffeine version is banned in Canada. If spilled, you will notice that it has a luminous greeny-yellow colour, similar to the radioactive stuff that oozes out of Mr Burn's Springfield Nuclear Power plant. A bottle of it - the true the blissful saccharine, with yellow stained mouth and beaded bubbles twinkling at the brim (as Keats might say) - is enough to give quite a buzz and a night of insomnia.

Though Britain doesn't have Mountain Dew - parent co Pepsi withdrew it after 2 years of poor UK sales in 1998 - it seems (from wikipedia research) that it may be re-launched next year, or even this year in GB.

Though Britain lacks Mountain Dew, it is one lemon-flavoured drink up on America: the ever-reliable sore-throat analgesic, Lemsip. My throat was a little painful the other week and I was forced to trek across Manhattan to Brit-themed shop Myers of Keswick, which is apparently the only shop in town that sells the stuff (also where New Yorkers should go for their Weetabix, Marmite, Tea, Chocolate Hob Knobs and Cornish Pasties). Americans have a range of their own elixirs for colds, as well as various soothing drinks, but they are not quite the same. Lemsip is somehow a cult symbol of Britishness I feel ; something to do with our stoic attitude to dealing with chilly weather and colds. After all, our erstwhile Poet Laureate Andrew Motion used to drink it each morning he sought a satisfactorily grim muse to express the feelings of the nation.

Outside Britain, it is sold in Australasia but apparently not used in most / any of the rest of Europe (I remember my German exchange friend being very impressed by it when he had to deal with a cold on his trip to England) . If any of my US colleagues are ill later with a cold, later in the year, they can have Lemsip protection, as I've put my left-over sachets in our office kitchen cupboard.

From Dark Water (and difference #1)

*FURTHER CLARIFICATION* In case you're worried, I don't use "Dark" Water because of some kind of residual teenage angst.

My name (Douglas) comes from the Scottish Gaelic Dubh-glas which means "Dark Water".

When I was younger, my charming elder brother would often refer to me during my formative years with reference to "Muddy Puddle" - a sobriquet he incorrectly considered synonymous with the Celtic root of my name.

Douglas seems to be relatively common in this part of the world, compared to southern England, where it is very rare.* Apparently it is particularly common amongst the "older' generations (I've noticed quite a few lawyers have it).
Despite its relative lack of novelty, I still meet New Yorkers who INSIST on telling me the man with / without a spade joke (as if I've NOT heard it One Hundred Thousand times before). I also get the Doug theme tune sung to me occasionally and I also get inquiries about my girlfriend Patty Mayonnaise and dearest pooch Pork Chop.





*US v UK difference #1, More people called Doug/las*

Greetings from New York

Six months of business, procrastination and rarity of muse killed off my previous efforts at putting together a blog about what I've been up to since I arrived here.

However, I have decided to try again and to put some things down on a (relatively) frequent basis.

Just so it's clear, I am aware of the potential pit-falls of these kind of travel / life abroad blogs. For example, I've previously read those that use very flowery and pretentious language to over-state the excitement of a self-evidently interesting experience. I have also seen those that assume people will be interested in every tedious waking activity a person might undertake, simply because they are in an interesting town several Time Zones away. I'll try and bear these dangers in mind.

With these thoughts in mind, I'll try not to talk too much about what I had for breakfast (except to describe my Bagel addiction), my trips to the Pharmacist (except to say its called 'Duane Reed', not 'Boots' / 'Superdrug') how many hours sleep I might get (except to repeat cliches that this is one thing that supposedly never happens in this city) and I will leave it for the MSNBC website if you want a daily NY Weather update (except to say how erratic and strange it seems for someone used to Southern England's temperate climes).

Though the idea of being in New York seems like a good "theme" for a blog, without a clear structure, it's possible I might end up
I think I will structure it around a list of the differences between New York and London /GB. The British like to think that they're just like their cousins across the Pond, this isn't exactly true and I will try to explain why with a list of differences between the two. Will attempt to update it every day and build up a list of a hundred examples. Shouldn't be too hard to put that together! I will also try and fill these in with a few posts on specific interesting things I have been doing.