When a friendship ends (British Style)

peacefulyorkshire

Our post How to make friends and Influence People (British Style!) has always been one of our most visited pages–can you believe it has had over 200,000 hits? But lately I have had the opposite problem: What happens when you decide a friendship needs to end with a person?  And how about if this person is British? I bring it up because  this topic runs parallel to Yankeebean’s latest posts where she has had to ‘unfriend’ some Brits on her FB page … the only difference is that I am trying to figure out this one ‘off-line’.

Margaret was my first official British friend ; I even wrote about the early stages of our relationship because it was such a new exciting experience. Unlike some of my American friendships, we didn’t ‘click’ straight away, nor did we immediately became ‘soul-sistahs’ confessing our deepest secrets about life. Even after 3 years, and even with being a part of her wedding day. I accepted this, but I can’t lie, it did  bother me that we never seemed to get beyond the work we shared into a deeper way of connecting, but I had hopes it would happen— some day.  And  heck, after living in the UK  for 7 years I know that things like friendship have different ways of developing and even fulfilling different aspects of life.

The thing is, after Margaret was married, she started to do some quite strange and hurtful things in our friendship. One day after 6 months of not saying anything about it , I decided it was time, because I was tired of pretending everything was ok.  And I didn’t do it in a round about way either, I just let it spew out, unabashed–everything–how much she had hurt me, how I was worried about her uncharacteristic behaviour, how disappointed that I was that she would act in this manner. Trust me readers,  It wasn’t pretty, and there  was no way it was gonna be. Lump it or leave it, it was honestly how I felt and it needed to be addressed.

Looking back, sure I could have done it differently, might have ‘planned it all out’ in a long letter, might have done it in a way that is more ’roundabout- let’s- not- be- too- direct -about- this’, Or perhaps I could have even just  ‘disappeared’ and ignored her forever. But I didn’t want to play those games.

The result? Erm, well,  she refused to have any contact with me and  ignored me for 3 months.

After a series of  apologies on my end for hurting her feelings in anyway explaining what I was trying to do, I tried to make things right. Offered to meet to chat about it, offered to talk on phone. Offered my future first born son as a sacrifice to show her I wanted to continue. (Ok, you get the point) Despite this she has decided she can never see me again.—- Ok let’s press the pause button here—Yankeebean and I don’t like to share too many  personal stories on this blog , and the only reason I write this here is because it turned into the whole ‘American- British thing’— Okay back to the story…now, then, this was her last email to me:

‘I don’t think that I can ever see you again or forgive you for this. I don’t know how friendships work in America, because I have never had an American friend besides you, nor have even been to America.  In this country (referring to England, of course) you don’t talk to friends about issues like this unless you were intending on ending our friendship, because that means that you do no accept who I am. You need to learn that. You would not have even brought these things up if you were British, we don’t do that here…’

Yikes folks, all of a sudden this wasn’t about me, it was about my nationality. My heritage became the biggest flaw in this horribly awkward situation.
I began to really ponder: Is this really about me being an American or is she using it as a way to insult me and make me feel bad? Is it true that friendships between American and British person might have a set of rules that one needs to follow?

Look, I don’t know the answer to these questions, but I do know that  If  I can’t be honest with my friends then it just isn’t going to work. You know, regardless of nationalities I am proud that I stuck to my guns (oh my gosh, I referenced guns! I really must be American…!! ) by being  true to my self.  And Isn’t that the most important thing anyway? Kinda  reminds me of the lyrics to the song by Frank Sinatra….

To think I did all that
And may I say not in a shy way
Oh no, oh no, not me
I did it my way

 

Americans living abroad: Your chance to be on the telly!

One of the greatest things about running SNFY with Yankeebean is the great feedback we get from our readers. We get all kinds through our email boxes on a daily basis, and we are honoured that you stop by to say hello, rant, and just let us know what you think. So in keeping with the fantastic offers  we receive, I just wanted to take a moment to share an opportunity that might appeal to you lovelies out there looking for your big break– a chance to be on the telly! Have a look:

Hi,

I stumbled upon your blog while researching for potential contributors for the US hit television series House Hunters International. I understand three of you are currently living abroad in the UK. Would any of you be interested in sharing your story with us? I would love to hear some more details on your house hunt, and see if we can make your journey fit into an episode of House Hunters International.

Here is a brief description of our show:
Our hit show is looking for energetic individuals, couples and families to share their story about moving abroad. Participating in our show is a lot of fun and a great way to document your exciting search for a home and new life abroad. We are looking for people that have relocated any place in the world except North America.

If you are interested in participating with our show or learning more, please send an email to [email protected].

To view current episodes of the House Hunters International, you can visit the following youtube links (please copy/paste the links listed):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kh0Q6DYe3QM – London from South Africa
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fLmhKEzm5kg – Dubai from Illinois

HGTV is a top 20 cable network in the US and House Hunters International is one of their top rated shows. At any given time the show is also airing in a variety of other countries.

I look forward to hearing from you and sending you further details.

Best,

Melissa Grassi
Associate Producer
LEOPARD FILMS UK
1-3 St. Peter’s Street
London, N1 8JD
+44 (0) 207 704 3300
http://www.leopardfilms.com
[email protected]

If one of our lovely readers manage to make it on this show, do let us know, we would love to watch! xx We’re not jumping on the offer ourselves because, erm, well we just don’t have any money to buy a property here in the UK. Heck, or abroad for that matter…someday though, someday….

Emotional Americans in England look no further…

 

Yeah, we know us 3 gals don’t always keep a steady stream of posts, and we will raise our SURE underarms to be the first to know we’ve been sporadic lately. But, our goal of SNFY even after 2 years  is still the same– we’re always trying to connect and help and  our fellow Americans living in England. We joyously came across this letter to us the other day in our in-box. So, if you are an expat yourself and are interested in meetin’ a lurvely sounding  American laydeh in Sheffield, do get in touch and we will forward her your email.

Hi! After the the most frustrating Christmas ever wherein my husband, new baby, and I ended up without anywhere to go for Christmas dinner because my Yorkshire in-laws didn’t want to “impose” by offering an invitation, I Googled “emotional Americans in England” to see if anyone else could validate my bafflement. I was taken to your blog! Hurrah! Anyway, I am a 38 year old American woman married to a Yorkshireman and living in Sheffield. I’ve just had a baby here in Sheffield. Anyway, are there any American women living in Sheffield who want to go for a drink? I am dying for American company! I don’t know anybody here and whenever I am frustrated by English culture, my husband looks at me as though I am insane. I am starting to believe him. I need some American commiseration in a major way. By the way, before I became imprisoned in Yorkshire, I was an international teacher. I have lived in several other countries and never have I felt so “foreign.”

What is British for ‘Excuse Me’? Hint: You might be better off being telepathic

peacefulyorkshire

One could easily complain about the extortionate cost. The smells. The urine on the toilet floor and no loo roll. The lack of seats available to rest your weary body.  But note!! None of the above is what this niggly post is about*. So what am I on about? My commuting train to Leeds where some British folk have a non-verbal way of telling you to move.

Can I read these Brit minds? Am I  telepathic? No!! But, It would help because usually I get it wrong. I experience this on a regular basis on my train: There are no words uttered by my seat companion when they would like me to move when I am  in the way. The British native on the seat usually squirms,  shuffles their bum to and fro, and fiddles with their purse. If you are sitting in the aisle seat, you are expected to read these non verbal queues and then act.

One day I was PMS-ing and was blinkin’ tired of having to read minds. This guy could have easily just asked me to move, what am I supposed to read his mind? I know he wants to to get off at his stop but will it kill him to ask me politely to get out?? When the little shuffle dance started I looked him right in the eye and said in my little Yankee accent:

Is that squirming you are doing British speak for “Excuse me, can I get out please?”

Well,  he looked like I just told him I was The reincarnated Virgin Mary telling him I was pregnant with his child.  Thank god he just burst out laughing and said “Yes, I guess it is…. erm, excuse me!”. Case won… and he was lurvely.

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* If you are not in the mood for an expat rant best get outta dodge!!

‘It should be remembered that American women are, from the European view, men’ and other great one liners to cherish.

‘American Women Are Rude’, ‘Visiting Englishmen Are No Roses’

By MALCOLM BRADBURY and GLORIA STEINEM
This article is  from ‘The New York times on The Web’ and can be seen by clicking here

Herewith an English novelist and recent visitor to the United States, Malcolm Bradbury, offers his opinion of American women. It is followed by a riposte from an American woman who has lived in England, Gloria Steinem, freelance and editor of “The Beach Book.”

March 29, 1964

American Women Are Rude by Malcolm Bradbury

One of the deepest traumas experienced by every Englishman who comes to America-and, these days, that’s almost every Englishman-is that of encountering, for the first time, in quantity and in her own native habitat, the American woman. Blind terror, a desire to learn judo, and a willingness to marry any girl who’ll sit at home of nights and sew are some of the symptoms usually associated with this confrontation.

“American women are generally rude,” said one visiting Englishman, still shaking from a recent encounter in a New York drugstore in which he had been hoicked off his stool by one of the breed. Another found American women fickle (“You don’t really know how well you’re doing,” he said).

Others are likely to brood over an age-old mystery that Europeans have never really been able to solve. They will observe that, though they are, properly enough, fascinated by the American girl, they are disturbed to discover that she grows up into the American woman. On the one hand, you have the young American girl, trim, smart, apparently just unwrapped from Cellophane packing, looking as fresh as a Daisy Miller. And on the other, you have the middle-aged American woman, with her shrieking voice and parchment skin, growing money-trees, doing plant-prayer, gossiping about her neighbors and scouring through genealogies for a regal connection.

All these comments are, of course, classical symptoms of the cultural divide that still separates the two English-speaking peoples, and I propose to take this occasion, on the authority of several years’ research, to try to clear up some of the confusions associated with the Anglo-American male-female relationship:

(1) It should be remembered that American women are, from the European view, men. A European visitor is likely, in the early days of his visit, to forget this. Yet, of course, years of emancipation have given American womenfolk personalities, opinions, leisure, money, careers and all the other characteristics of male power. At the same time, male authority has been diminished, male spending power has been reduced, and all fathers have been symbolically slaughtered. Thus the female has a rare charismatic power.

I remember once taking a frightened, hasty walk through the New York offices of Vogue, a central shrine of American womanhood. All over the building, career girls sat at their desks, typing and correcting proofs, smart, svelte, each one wearing a hat. I realized afterward that the hats were like those skulls medieval philosophers kept in their studies; they were momento mori to remind them what they really were.

(2) It should also be remembered that American girls are the product of enormous capital investment. Every country has something that it particularly likes to spend money on. Thus, in Germany it is veal; in England it is dogs; in the United States it is the young American girl. Such girls are a form of conspicuous consumption, like Christmas trees outside office buildings.

Because they are the products of such attention, young American girls can be very selective indeed about their standards, their clothese and their boy friends. In the Middle West, this selectivity is ritualized into something called rating dating; this means that a girl dates with men who bring her more and more prestige until finally, as with a thermometer, the mercury settles and she knows who she really is. This is a form of arranged marriage, in fact, in which the girl herself does the arranging; it would be considered old-fashioned in Europe, where marriage is supposedly for love. This period of choosing is the most important period in any girl’s life, and marriage is a necessary comedown.

Thus all those middle-aged ladies who, fresh from scavenging through Europe, sit in the bars on ocean liners, tipping waiters and apparently grinding their diamonds between their teeth, are really looking sadly into their drinks and wishing they were girls again. And thus it is that whenever you speak to some women’s club-the Daughters of Benedict Arnold, or whatever it may be-on “Africa-Wither?” Madam Chairman will rise, put on her diamond-encrusted glasses and say, “Hi, gals.” To any European woman in the audience, coming from a location where it is more prestigious to be old than to be young, this would be rude. It is, of course, simply politeness.

(3) It should further be remembered that American women have little sense of difficulty. “Very demanding” is what American women are often said to be. But as an English friend of mine, with an American wife, put it to me behind some vine plants at a party, “The thing about American women is they don’t understand what’s meant by ‘difficult.’ For instance, my wife keeps having these ideas. She’ll get up in the morning and say, ‘I’ve had this great idea; I’m going to have my legs plated with gold.’ That kind of thing. I tell her I can’t afford it; it’s too difficult, and she says, ‘But money is a means and not an end.’ I keep saying to her, ‘Do you realize our relationship is an ulcer-syndrome?”

The high expectations of the American women devolve particularly upon her menfolk, of whom the greatest courtesy is expected. A man shows his interest in a girl by performing innumerable ritual politeness-opening car doors for her, carrying such small packages as she has about her, presenting her regularly with gifts, and the like.

(4) It should be remembered, finally, that one nation’s rudeness is another nation’s manners. And so the foreigner is never quite sure whether Americans, generally, are being rude or not. I remember once a New York cabbie said to me, while I was waiting for him to open the taxi door and let me descend, “Whatsa matter, Mac, no legs?” It is quite possible, and even likely, that he was being, in his own way, perfectly amiable. As my English friend pointed out, “The thing about Americans is that they’re so nice. But sometimes it sounds so like other peoples’ being nasty that you have to be very careful indeed.”

Thus it is that the American woman who, at a party, analyzes your psychological make-up, questions all your standards, doubts your virility and accuses you of moral corruption-leaving you finally in a discarded heap by the wall-is not in any way trying to be rude. Quite the contrary: She is being very polite and social, because she is creating a relationship. As an American femme fatale once said to me, “I always think hostility is so much more friendly than total indifference.”

The curious mixture of toughness and hospitality that has the Englishman rocking on his feet is characteristic. My English friend summed it up by saying, “They want you to know they’re hospitable, but on the other hand, they don’t want you to think you can take them for a ride.”

Hence Americans have to be very rude before they are actually being rude. So often they are simply being nice. The interesting problem is that of discovering how to know when they are really, actually being rude, personally rude, to you. The trouble for an Englishman is that finding out means watching, questioning, prying-and that is, after all, very rude indeed.

Visiting Englishmen Are No Roses by Gloria Steinem

I have read Mr. Bradbury’s article with admiration and dismay. My first impulse was to put on something frilly, retire to the kitchen and stop all mental processes, in order to avoid those accusations of rudeness and regain, in his eyes, my femininity. But, on second thought, I cannot believe that a man, even an Englishman, really enjoys being admired by women with no taste. According to his witty novel “Eating People Is Wrong,” Mr. Bradbury doesn’t believe it either: One of his most sympathetic characters turns out to be a young girl with spirit, intelligence and a graduate degree.

So I have some hope Mr. Bradbury will understand that I am not trying to pay him back for 1776, or discourage English tourism, or upset the NATO alliance or, worst of all, be unfeminine when I say that visiting Englishmen are no roses either.

(1) Take their dress, for instance. It isn’t always easy to feel feminine and nonrude beside a man who wears slope-shouldered jackets nipped at the waist, speaks with an Oxonian lisp and says he’s “tiddly” when he means he’s drunk.

Of course, we realize that the fault is in the eye of the beholder, that some residue of our frontier tradition makes us feel the difference between men and women should be accentuated. Moreover, postwar Englishman are as tall and sturdy as their vitamin-fed American counterparts, and that’s a blessing. (It is difficult to feel feminine with a man who weighs less than you do and has smaller feet.) But visiting Englishmen-especially those from, or pretending to be from, the upper classes-might bear in mind that the effete English prototype causes just as incredulous a reaction here as does the loud, cigar-smoking American in London.

(2) A stout refusal to go native may have been invaluable to the British Empire, but times change. A British general once said that, had Americans been the colonial power in India, they would have intermarried and disappeared within 50 years. It’s probably true that our melting-pot culture has made us look upon adaptability as a virtue. That explains why, faced with a visitor who clings to his own customs with the same stubbornness that made him wear a dinner jacket in the jungle, we judge him rude. In fact, Englishmen seem to be constantly complaining (in a very genteel way) that no one here knows how to queue properly, or that drinks have ice in them, or that hotel managers just won’t lower room temperatures to a decent 60 degrees (how did they ever survive the tropics?), or that American girls look as if they interchangeable plastic parts (no wonder we’re so rude about their teeth).

Englishmen also tend to import their highly developed class sense intact without considering that, though we are full of status consciousness ourselves, we like to be less obvious (or more hypocritical) about it. We therefore resent the Englishman’s assumption that a working-class background (his or ours) is a disadvantage in “society,” that “no golf green is decent until it’s been rolled for 200 years,” and that it’s uproariously funny to call charwomen cleaning ladies.

(3) Americans don’t necessarily equate passivity with politeness. While I don’t go along with Mr. Bradbury’s American informant who found hostility charming, I do think that the Englishman’s horror of asking questions can make him seem uninterested to the point of rudeness. In 1955, when Americans stationed in England were still competing with Englishmen for the affections of local girls, a London tabloid ran an exposé called “Yank for a Day.” A masquerading reporter discovered that it was partly the Yank’s ready cash that made him attractive, and partly his un-English habit of treating girls “like real people” and acting “interested in us, not like our boys.”

It’s just possible that, had Mr. Bradbury’s bachelor friend asked his American girl a question now and then, she might not have married someone else.

(4) We know we’re difficult, but we love you. All right, so we have some tribal dating customs (every country has peasants; ours have money); and a talent for asking awkward questions (“Aren’t you glad you’re not a first-class power?”) and even, as we try to figure out how to be women and people at the same time, an alarming habit of overplaying our independence.

The thing is, we mean well, and if we react badly to criticism it is only because our basic Anglophilia makes us take English criticism more to heart than any other. But if our affection for the British has withstood the burning of the White House, the sale of buses to Cuba, Richard Burton, and the Beatles, it’s likely to withstand anything, including a fit of pique at being called rude.

A British man looking for American lady in Yorkshire…

peacefulyorkshire

Meet a British man named Gary.

Gary asked last week on one of our pages:
Where  can I meet an American women in Yorkshire?

Well, lucky man, he certainly came to the right site, eh? With over 10,000 readers a month surely one of you readers would be able to give him some advice.

Honestly. My first thought, when he asked where he could meet an American woman:

Probably in a place where English women aren’t!*

Sadly, us ladies at SNFY know nothing about Gary other than this picture we nabbed off his weebly site. Gary, tell us more about you– perhaps we can play match-maker….hmmmm?

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*KIDDING!! I am KIDDING, just kidding. This flashed into my head momentarily due to the high volumes of comments we receive on a weekly basis about this topic on this blog. I then thought of other places for Gary,  like he could go to Costco in Leeds. Or Starbucks. Seriously!  Starbucks is where I randomly met Mr. Chill, my now fiancée.

When an American in Britain moves to South America (with a British man): a countryless situation.

peacefulyorkshire

We plan on returning to Yorkshire , my British man (Mr. Chill)  and I, but for the next three months  are living in South America. My Ph.D. requires field work study that cannot be done on the fair island. Not that  I am unhappy about a new adventure! We have packed all of our stuff into an overpriced storage unit in Yorkshire (that shockingly costs as much as our rent in South America) and have made the move.

This is Mr. Chill’s first time living in another place besides England.   I can relate wholeheartedly when he misses British things I find true to his nationality (well how can I talk? I missed Swiss Miss cocoa, Fruity Pebbles and Mac and Cheese for goodness sake. Bleh!). Mr, Chill misses the lack of British organisation to keep things running ‘smoothly’. He misses British Leicestershire, Cheshire and Gloucestershire cheeses that are nowhere to be found here and ‘rule following’ people. He misses quality single malt scotch, dark pubs, mega-stores like Tesco and cinemas in English.  As for me, after two weeks the Latin-ness in my blood is rejoicing. England? As far away as a dream.

I won’t lie and say I miss being in England. I don’t. It is refreshing to be away from rules of class and feeling like I am insulting people all the time by just being myself. For the first time in a  long time my awkwardness in social settings is gone. I don’t miss the dreary grey skies (Mr. Chill does…). I love being able to be out at the weekends and not see drunk people puking and wreaking havoc on the streets. God, I now live in one of the most dangerous South American countries and I feel safer here than I do in Yorkshire on a Saturday night.  I like that on average there are 2 protests here a day in the city. I like that because it means people here aren’t complacent and are wanting to be heard. Many care what happens in their often-corrupt government and will not be silent. Having suffered a military coup and then an economic crisis. People don’t seem to have the barriers of polite self-consciousness that I find in England. Directness is always my cuppa anyway so I love this.

But hey, I know that the things I find to be shackles of ‘British living’ come with the package of choosing England. Everything has a price and that is the cost I pay to have the wonderful things there like the great man I have met, a career I have built from nothing , the many friends and lovely family of Mr. Chill’s I have become close to. The clean quiet order of the life I found there.

By contrast, our South American life is not ordered, nor quiet. Where we  live now is ripe with poverty on our doorstep while chaotic traffic zooms past. We can’t ignore the hungry.  People sleep on our doorstep at night and rummage through our trash at night looking for things to eat or reuse. Packs of  dogs roam the streets with no owners to claim them.

When a local asks Where are you from? I answer I am American. But  I am not a clear cut woman identified by habits from my birth nation.  As if living in England has cleansed me  from claiming any nationality outright– and I wouldn’t have realised that until we arrived here. The hardest thing I did not expect is the inability to find a ‘country’ to claim as my cultural identity. Living in Britain I was always ‘the American’. Here, I am not.

And and I certainly don’t feel in anyway British– although the social mores I have learned there stick to me like a rash. Like the unrecognisable reserved nature that has become me when meeting new people, my ability to have patience in lines, my allegiance to the BBC and the way I can  just about master the  fork in my left hand. I said to myself just this morning, who is this countryless lady that is now me?

But, for now I enjoy my confusion and  soak in the rich Latin American culture of my heritage. I will continue to blog as an ex-pat from my new temporary place and —well, just enjoy being  myself, countryless lay-deh and all.

When your American-self lives in England and the World Cup is here: The true test of loyalty?

peacefulyorkshire

I have never seen England so erm, patriotic. England flags on cars? Puhleeeeeze  folks, this is England, one does not normally display such obvious enthusiasm. You might think that it was the 1950′s Queen’s Coronation. Or the English equivalent of the Fourth of July.  But you would be mistaken– because those England flags only come out for one thing in my experience. Dum dum dum dum…………….The World Cup*.

As I write this I am sitting on my Brown Ikea couch (the same one where Mr. Chill proposed) in my own personal World Cup oblivion. The England vs. Algeria game is on and Mr. Chill is in foetal position on the floor and shouting at the TV:

JesusChristweshouldhaveabsolutelyWHACKEthisteam’.

He doesn’t know  that I am watching him writhe in agony over Cappello because he is locked into a dance with the TV screen. (He also just kicked the air (!!!) just in case you needed to visualise body gestures). All I can say is at least my ears are safe because he didn’t manage to buy a zubuzaleh. Wait ….I had to Google that spelling. Whoops, sorry its Vuvuzela.

Thank god America and England were tied because I would have never heard the end of it from all my English mates.  One of our lovely readers wrote in today:

So ladies, who did you cheer for during the USA v. England match?

While I outwardly sported a patriotic red white and blue outfit, I secretly hoped that England would win. I would love to see the celebrations on the street. It is a dilemma as an Expat, isn’t it? One starts to question their loyalties.

Ok Algeria vs. England Game is over now. Poor England not doing so hot with a draw! Even Time magazine writes ‘Is England the most boring team in the world cup?

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* Not in Wales, Scotland or N. Ireland will you see such a plethora of the England flag, obviously. I get the feeling that some Scottish citizens were a bit upset (bitter? under-doggish? jealous?) about England’s participation when I was in Glasgow and saw a popular shirt that read ‘Anybody but England’. Awwww.

PacificBird gives her take on the never ending football season…. click here

American Women’s Clubs in Britain: Do they just eat cake?

peacefulyorkshire

Ok so the blog post title is unfair. I’ve seen pictures of women’s clubs in ‘American in Britain Magazine’* also wearing some pretty adorable fashionable feather-infused hats. Oh, and also daintily drinking tea. You can see what I mean here,where there are some stylin’ laydehs.

Have you ever been tempted to join one as a newcomer, my fellow Americans in Britain?

Have you ever considered shelling out your dough for some ‘instant’ Expat American friends?

I set out to do a little mission to see what it would cost to join. I counted 21 American Women’s clubs listed on this fair island, and two examples:

1)The Chilterns American Women’s Club- “CAWC is a network of friendly faces, all of whom were ready to help with my adjustment to the expatriate lifestyle.” (This will cost you £50 a year). 

  • Newcomer Coffees
  • Holiday Charity Bazaar
  • Trunk or Treat
  • Winter Luncheon
  • Spring English Morning Tea
  • Charity Cheque Presentation
  • Summer Luncheon Cruise on the Thames

2) For a whopping £105 a year you can join the American Women’s Club of London whose previous programs include:

  • Bridging the cultural gap- two lands separated by a common language
  • Christie’s Auction House – Famous women and their jewellery collections
  • Flower arranging ideas for the Fall and Holiday season
  • Chocolate tasting with the official chocolate taster of Fortnum & Mason

But cost aside, and if you can afford this type of thing in these Aldi-lovin’ Credit Crunch times, does being an Expat automatically make you bond foreveh with other Americans? I can honestly say from experience that it is NO for me personally. I mean, although it is nice to chit chat about how damn annoying American tourists can be when they talk loudly and wear fanny packs, and how the weather can suck, and of course raising money for charity is thoughtful. But after that….well,  there needs to be some kind of other connection, right?

    What are your thoughts, ladies? Are you in any paid  ‘American Women in Britain’ clubs? If so, what have your experiences been? Please share so I can stop being so sceptical…


    * One of the benefits of running SNFY with PacificBird and Yankeebean are the perks, like this magazine we get complimentary, thank you very much.