Turning American
John Lennon once said: “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” Well, it’s also happens when I’m not writing this blog. That’s why I haven’t written anything for ages. I’ve been far too busy being a full-time Dad. It has absolutely nothing to do with the hard fact that I’m bone idle.
There’s a nagging fear growing inside of me. I think I’m turning into an American. Like most fears, it’s entirely irrational. It can’t be controlled. I just have to run with it and try not to worry. But wouldn’t you worry if you thought you were turning into an American? It’s a tough one. There’s nothing wrong with Americans… if you take Bush out of the equation, that is. But I’m British. And my current ex-pat life makes me cling to this sense of ‘Britishness’ (whatever that is) like a drowning man holding on to a life raft. So what makes me think I’m turning into a Yank? Well a number of things really…
Last night one of my new mates from acting class rang me with some questions about our reading list. We had a brief conversation. It ended with him thanking me for my help. I replied, “no worries dude.” What is wrong with me?!?!? I hate the D word. To make matters worse Clare heard me say it and has been taking the piss ever since. And now I’ve used it once (and with no sense of irony) I’m bound to do it again. And again. And again. Before I know it I’ll be referring to everything as “super nice.”
I went to the gym this morning and after my workout I went to buy a protein shake (an American beverage if ever I came across one). As the girl behind the counter handed me my change I said: “Have a nice day.” It was unprompted, in a sing-song voice and followed by a power smile. Once again, it just slipped out. It’s starting to enter my psyche. I’m powerless to do anything about it. It’ll be the accent next… that weird mid-atlantic hybrid. There’s nothing worse… apart from Brummie.
My gorgeous daughter has already succumbed. She no longer pronounces T as Ta. Instead it’s Da. So water becomes wader. And so on. It’s cute on her (and inevitable). It’s not cute on me.
We have a UK return scheduled for April to start pre-production of Adrian Mole (writers strike permitting). It can’t come soon enough as far as I’m concerned. I can iron out the American creases and return to LA resplendent for the post-production. I’ll once again know who I am. And where I come from. At least for the first few months before the fear starts creeping up on me again. I’ll fight it though. Oh yes. I’ll never give up. I know it’s a pointless battle. But it’s my battle all the same.
