I've decided, after threatening Vick for ages, to pop on over to her place and write an entry.
I must say though, that while the decor is lovely, I don't like those brown cushions.
Perhaps a little tarting up of the place could be done while Vick is otherwise engaged.
Well they do say black is the new umm... black, no?
But anyway, enough about her, let's talk about me for a minute.
For those of you who may not know me, I am a 27 year old male hailing all the way from the bright and sunny (!) United Kingdom.
That's right.
That little island somewhere in Europe that gets four teams in the World Cup instead of just the usual one.
Though from Liverpool, I have twice set (size thirteen) foot on American soil, and been greeted with compliments aplenty about my accent, and questions from waiters and waitresses wanting to know if I knew any of the Beatles personally.
It was with deep regret that I had to answer in the negative, and politely inform them that though I wasn't totally sure, I think one of them got shot when I was about three years old.
I have to say that while they were very complimentary and attentive, I did find some aspects of American hospitality a little over-bearing.
You see, we British people tend to like our personal space, even when out in public places.
Waiters and waitresses are expected to make the minimum of conversation and be there only as and when required. If any of them start making conversation with us, we tend to just pick up the menu (or even a newspaper) and bury our heads in it until they've gone.
We still tip well though, you understand.
Unless of course the food and/or service is shite, in which case they get 50p and a scowl as we vacate the table.
And shop assistants? Woe betide any shop monkey come near when we are choosing our shirt/magazine/DVD/scented condoms.
Shop Assistant: Excuse me, but can I help you today?
Brit Customer: No.
Shop Assistant: Well if you just let me tell you about some of todays special offers?
Brit Customer: Thank you, but no.
Shop Assistant: Have you thought about trying that in the green?
Brit Customer: Have you thought about trying lunch at the Intensive Care Ward of the local hospital? Because you'll be getting an all expenses paid trip there if you don't fook off and let me get on with deciding between the mint-ribbed super sensitives and Cherry fragranced nobblers.
Shop Assistant retreats into the back of the shop to gripe with colleagues about lack of commission and what miserable bastards Brits are because it's always pissing with rain in their country.
That said, when we have Americans visiting Liverpool, which is a lot of the time (they seem to love it for some reason) we are very nice to them, I assure you.
And it is especially funny to see them get so drunk in pubs because our beer is much stronger than theirs.
Not that I make a habit of laughing at other people's misfortunes you understand.
But it does rather bring a smile to one's lips when one is sat having a quiet (ish) beer with friends and one hears someone yell:
"Goddammit, man, I am so fuckin' tanked!" whilst trying to hold on to the wall to prevent the pub from nastily flipping on it's head in order to further disorientate them.
