Fonsini

I'm sure that this subject has been done to death over the years in BE, and yes I should definitely learn to use the search function, but as a forum newbie I thought I would share some personal insights on the topic especially as I had a minor "incident" on my last trip back home.

I apologize in advance if short posts are your thing, this one (like my others) is likely to turn into a cathartic ramble before ever reaching the point. Might be best to either put the kettle on or take a nap instead.

During the time that my American wife and I lived in the UK during the 1990s I really can't recall many instances where people were rude or aggressive when they realized she was an American. There were the inevitable jokes and leg-pulling that defines British culture in general but by nature she was sweet, pretty, and very likeable which I think put some people off their game, especially as she was also very slim, not loud, and not from Texas - i.e. good American characteristics - 3, stereotypes - 0.

Once upon a time I was also slim, good looking, and sweet natured - now I am not able to lay claim to any of those attributes, but at least I am now able to earn a good living as a Winston Churchill impersonator, no makeup required. That last part - being good natured, oh dear. I scowl at crying babies and make women cry in the office - twice in the last 2 weeks in point of fact - and I was paying one of them a compliment !! Yes that once sweet natured young lad from the leafy lanes of Cheshire has transformed into Shrek, in both body and mind, if not yet mercifully in terms of personal hygiene.

So it was that I took my grumpy, newspaper rustling self back to Cheshire in November during Thanksgiving for a visit to the old country. I made a huge effort - I hugged everyone, I kissed the pretty ones - even the men, I even kissed my Godson's baby but not in a Jimmy Savile sort of way, I took everyone out for lavish and boozy lunches and dinners (I have already been nailed by people knowing Fishpool Hall, so how about The Spinner & Bergamot, let's see if that slows you down) - I was the very epitome of the happy go lucky bon viveur back from the wars, I even smiled sometimes, when I was sober too.

I always make a point never to boast about America, not even the weather (and I'm from Phoenix), and in turn my friends and relatives never mention America, it's rather like the dirty old uncle who is vanquished to a corner of the room and not mentioned in polite company. Seriously, America is never discussed between us, and it makes the trip so much more pleasant.

Then it came time to visit my dad in his new rest home, accompanied by my (very slightly) more able-bodied mother.

I had been bracing myself in anticipation of this moment for a while, even since before the trip. I brought him some of his favorite beer, he always loved a tipple and I thought we could perhaps have a drink together. The smile I had been carrying around since my arrival disappeared faster than an Italian submarine the moment I crossed the threshold. Rows of dear old things sat there, they looked up at the sound of the door like expectant puppies looking for a new owner, only to have their hopes dashed when they realized the apparition in front of them was not one of their relatives. So there they sat bless them, waiting for a telegram from the Queen, or a text message from God, one of the two. Some were blind, some just mumbled quietly to themselves, off in the corner sat on her own was a lady with a breathing tube in her throat making the most horrific wheezing noise with each labored breath, and I use that word advisedly. They had obviously moved her there because of the noise she was making, the poor thing.

So you will perhaps appreciate that I was somewhat upset at seeing my once proud, strong, and healthy father sat in the midst of this geriatric carnage.

I spotted my dad and went over to give him a hug, simultaneously complaining about the huge bowl of onions that someone had obviously left lying around (yes, I was choked up). My dad smiled at me but his eyes told me he was somewhere else, I proffered the beer I had with me but he didn't show much interest. I had one of the young carers put it in the fridge for him to enjoy later - "much better than 'orlicks" she said with a smile, but I didn't much feel like smiling back.

I tell you all this more to set the stage for what happened next than for any attempt at misplaced sympathy, hopefully it gives you an indication of my mood. In short I was angry with life in general and nothing in particular - but that was about to change.

The couple arrived shortly after us, he was a little older than me, she immediately struck me as the quiet and dutiful wife who I now know has likely endured decades of being married to the boorish oaf she was with.

Not knowing them and not really being in the mood for amiable social intercourse I did my very best to ignore them and focus on my dad. My mother had "seen them before" - a categorization she routinely applies to every resident of the British Isles, but to be fair she had likely run into them in the rest home previously, which may well have been a factor in what happened next.

As cruel fate would have it, their aging relative was sat just 2 down from my dad, which meant that they were pretty much sat right by us with one poor old dear sandwiched awkwardly betwixt us.

Now I don't know what the tolerance level of the otherwise wonderful Jersey Girl is for foul language in these pages, but I will politely ask for a little leeway as we are all grown ups in here.

It began almost immediately.

"Bloody Americans, bossing everyone around, it's about bloody time we told them to piss off".

I let out a resigned sigh, because I knew immediately that I was going to have to kill him, and they had just had the carpets cleaned.

"The bloody government does whatever they say, and we are SICK of bloody Americans aren't we Elsie, aren't we ??"

Elsie seemed somewhat bemused by the entire conversation, perhaps not surprising as she appeared to have mild dementia, at least I'm assuming that was the case as her exclamation of "kitty !" seemed an odd response, especially when it was made regardless of the exact context of the question. Perhaps she thought Americans were cats, sadly we shall never know.

I concluded that this little performance was all for my benefit, the "American" in the room, especially as it went on and on.

I ignored it as best I could, but it certainly did nothing to improve either my demeanor or the fug I was in, but salvation was at hand as we had to leave for yet another family dinner that evening.

As we bid dad our farewells I noticed an ominous shuffling by our side as our dear friends did the same thing. It seems that for homicide, as with comedy, timing is everything, and we found ourselves exiting the home together.

I made for the car as only a man who has seen an end to war or the beginning of Irritable Bowel Disease can appreciate, only to hear the fateful words "oh my son is from America" follow me on the breeze. I turned to find myself face to face with the Arthur Scargill of America haters, his gaunt lifeless face sizing up his quarry before he pulled out his soapbox.

Now I won't bore you with all the details, but I do remember my use of certain phrases akin to "mindless bigots like you make me want to vomit on Churchill's tomb" made all the better by him referring to Churchill as a true Englishman (Churchill's mother was of course American), or my well considered advice that the food provided to a starving Britain during the war should have been denied to the "feral rats that gave birth to a worthless ***** like you".

Anyway, you get the general idea. I wasn't proud of myself, especially as I work so hard to avoid those confrontations, but after that little event I took myself off to watch some good old British telly - not that I had much choice in the matter as my mother was strangely no longer speaking to me. First up was some comedy talk show with constant references to fat, loud Americans, ok so I flipped channels to the new Doctor Who, Peter Capaldi. I couldn't tell you the episode, but I can quote you the requisite line "Oh we don't need any Americans involved in this, they'd probably just start praying everywhere".

Suddenly I was surrounded by anti-American venom, bigotry I believe they call it.

So finally to the question.

Was it me, was my radar just that bit too sensitive, or is the UK turning decidedly anti-American, if not yet in deed, then most certainly in thought ?

Hotscot

http://britishexpats.com/forum/marri.../#post11559629

Fonsini

Fair point, and I can understand why you would see my post in there as conflicting but I was trying to convey that (in my humble opinion) American women matriculate better to the British way of life in marriage. I don't think the anti-Americanism has risen to the point where it would actually drive people out.

But as I said, it's a fair point.

Hotscot

Your stories are entertaining somewhat. Do you have any more?



(Still living on the West Coast of Phoenix?)

Sally Redux

Doubt they'd have any problem if white, quite honestly.

AdobePinon

To those who are tempted to post tldr, he is a rather good story teller.

OP: Yes, the radar is a little sensitive, but that's to be expected based on your other recent posts. What you describe is similar to some of my visits in the 90s. And old grumpy guys tend to push it up a few notches - there have been many TV shows about the sort, yes? The U.S. is a polarizing subject at the best of times. I even got crap at the passport check in Heathrow last time I was there.

If I were you, I'd just let it go. You have little control over the root causes for this kind of behavior, other than trying to be a gentleman yourself.

Hotscot

Imaginative posts indeed

Abeit confused, inconsistent and contradictory.

scrubbedexpat097

I stopped reading after the "not from Texas" comment.

Really??

Hotscot

His posts are designed to elicit reaction.
That's the raison d'etre..
That's what these types do.

As in this one.
http://britishexpats.com/forum/marri.../#post11559629

scrubbedexpat097

Ah...a bridge dweller telling fairy stories

Hotscot

I have no doubt.

Pulaski

That's a pretty sweeping generalization of 100+ million adults!

Mrs P remembers life in London fondly, but has blanked out the irritations of living there. That said people loved her accent. A soft Southern accent definitely stands out from the majority of Americans in London. She was very popular with her boss, who was also American, and his colleagues, including partners senior to him, were jealous that he had managed to snag an American executive assistant.

After my mother (who had met few Americans, but had never met one that she liked) first met the then-future Mrs P, my mother remarked "She's a lovely girl, it's almost like she's not American at all."

md95065

... although one with much more literary talent than one typically finds here ...

Pulaski

Don't say he is an example of the oft-considered extinct "quality troll"?

Hotscot

Multifaceted I believe

But the usual profile...