Pretty Good Britain? Is that ironic?
You decide. We chose to live here rather than arrive via a
British birth canal, so it's likely we're fond of the place. On
the other hand it's not all green and unpleasantly soggy land, picturesque
villages blighted by traffic, bustling high streets filled with
the same chain stores, historic castles advertising a bloody past,
stunning country houses still standing as testament to a nasty class
system, a colourful royal family still standing as testament to
a nasty class system, proudly independent politicians
kept in line by the Sun and party whips, with leadership
marching in lockstep to Washington, etc. Get the picture?

Who
are you?
We – that's the Lady & I, not the royal We – arrived
in London in the autumn of 1995 after nearly a decade living in
the New York metropolitan area. My childhood was spent listening
to Bob Seger and REO Speedwagon in Ohio; she grew up in one of those
pesky Commonwealth countries that was invaded by Jim Reeves.
I'm
involved in the writing, photography, and web sectors of the economy,
while the Committee of Ways and Means keeps the Exchequer somewhat
happier. We're settled in rural East Sussex near Burwash, the village
Rudyard
Kipling called
home for the last 35 years of his life.
My
research partner and I have seen a good bit of Britain, and are
probably able to answer most expat and tourist-related questions
if any should find their way to us via email
or little
birdy. We're also a valuable co-database on matters relating
to tax, immigration, cycling,
legislation
which
affects cyclists, [New] Jersey
City politics, surviving as a vegantarian
among omnivores, and getting hit
by cars and trapped
in laundromats.
I'm
not particularly fond of Rupert Bear, spiders,
or Lucy.