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.