I went to England for the first time last week, and in the run-up to the trip, it became very clear that I am one of those Americans.
Whenever anyone suggested doing something nice in London—a “roast”? a trip to Piccadilly?—I tortured them with my Cockney accent, “Wright mate, fawn-cee a point wichha fuwl Engwish?,” which prompted one of my colleagues to offer to call a paramedic. Going through customs, I asked Bari if the Hundred Years’ War was real or pretend. I’d also heard that in the UK—and I have no idea if that means something different from Great Britain and if that’s different from England—private schools are called public schools, and mushy peas are something adults eat, too. Maths is plural—isn’t math bad enough on its own? Also: What the hell was Brexit?
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