I’ve been in England for approximately ten minutes and I’m quickly reminded about all the things I love about this country.

*Potato chips are called “crisps”. French fries are called “chips”. I never know what the hell is going to arrive on my plate when I order something.

*I swear the animals here are friendlier. The birds chirp louder. The dogs wag their tails harder. Even the earthworms in the garden had a smile on their face, or their butts. Or whatever.

*I don’t like beer. Or lager. Or whatever the hell they call it over here. Cans of beer are called “tins”. I’ve turned down three dozen tins of beer since I got here last night. I made myself a margarita … now all the lads want me to make those instead.

*It’s brisk out. The Northern England sea air here is crisp, invigorating and intoxicating. It’s like being encased in a Yankee candle called “English Sea Foam”.

*I’m learning countless new British phrases.  For instance, take the term “shattered” (adj.). Apparently, it means to look like exhausted. This is what I heard when I got up this morning:  “Good God, mate, did you even sleep last night? You look shattered. Bloody hell!”

*Massive” is a term used to describe things that hugely popular, like pop stars. “One Direction is massive here in the U.K., are they massive in the States?”

*Piccalilli is a weird English mustard/relish of chopped pickled vegetables and spices. I lather it on everything, including toast. My relatives look at me like I’m insane.

*British women use a lot of potions, lotions, cosmetics and other sundry items. They have day cream, night cream, mid-afternoon cream, tea cream, high tea cream and i’m-so-shattered-I’m-about-to-black-out cream.

*I could live here in a white-hot minute. I’d have to rob banks for a living because everything is super-expensive, but I could do it.