I am writing this a little hungover, just being honest, because I spent last night pub racing around St A. Yes, in Scotland you apparently Pub Race, not Pub Crawl. Basically, you see how many places you can go to in one night and how fast you can drink while there. They love to do rounds here and you have to keep up with your fellow drinkers. I must say people are quite talented at holding six drinks at a time.
While we are playing this game I am also meeting new people every five minutes. Some I recognize and desperately try to remember their name. However, when in doubt, I just shout out Dave. I grew up with one of the most popular names of my generation in the states, but Daves in Scotland are like Jennifers in Hollywood. You can’t ever get enough.
Once I have mumbled something resembling a name its time for that awkward moment when I don’t know if they are going in for one kiss or two. I thought the Real Housewives were bad, but I have kissed more people in this country than my entire adult life. And I haven’t lived my days in a convent, don’t worry Scott they were all frogs! Not only do I get a side kiss from my hundreds of new BFFs, but also a nice embrace. My personal space is never going to be the same.
And hundreds is not exaggerating. Scott grew up in this town and there isn’t a pub we walk into that he doesn’t run into someone he knows. Everyone seems to be in shock I would move from the states to Scotland. I smile and go into my spiel. I have it down to about 20 seconds flat. But people are still amazed by this “Yank” in the UK. Yes, Yank. Because apparently the entire United States of America is in New England. Americans over here are affectionately called Yanks. And by affectionately I mean it’s usually used in sentences like, “Those damn Yanks!” or “It’s so loud in here with all these Yanks!”
My heart explodes with love for this term. Instead of trying to go into a geography lesson I think I will just start calling everyone English.
Yankee Doodle went to town, a-riding on a pony…
Come on, you know you were humming it.
Everyone here is pretty friendly. Being an east coaster my whole life this isn’t something I’m entirely used to. And no offense DC, but we aren’t the happiest-go-lucky of people. But here, people genuinely want to know about your life and will buy you a drink without wanting to get into your pants. It’s weird.
At the end of the night, instead of jumbo slice, you get these.
Yes, those are cheesy fries of perfection.