Introduction to my Observations

Warning:  What I say, I say in love and jest.  Get bent if you don't like it.

I remember reading O Henry's short stories when I was young(er) and impressionable(r) and thinking, 'wow, this guy:  he watches, he observes, he shows us ourselves in his words. . . .'  

This blog will be nothing like that.

Well, I do observe.  And I'll be doing that in my annoying, snarky way.  Welcome to Bodell-world, SUCKERS!

Now, here's the thing.  I moved to Britain on 15 September 2011.  Previous to that, I had lived a quarter century in the United States, primarily in Western Kentucky.

But now, I call the West Midlands home.  I guess.   I dunno.  I'm pretty peripatetic as it goes.  Got no roots, and all that.

Anyway, on 15 September 2011 I bought a phone.  Over the past two odd years I've jotted down notes about things I've seen on this bloody weird island in my phone.  I've recently acquired a new phone, so I gotta write this faeces* down right-stat-now or else risk losing its genius forever.

[*I employ British spellings.  I kind of have to; I'm a PhD student in History.  British history.  Kinda gotta do as the Romans do.  Though I have to say, why are they so scared of the letter 'z'?  They're so scared of it they can't even call it 'zee'--they call it 'zed'.  THESE GUYS!]

So, here's the first little nugget of weird Britishness for all you outsiders.  

The Rag-and-Bone Man

What is that you ask?  Well, we do have a sort of equivalent in America--the junkyard.  Except that's a stationary place.  The rag-and-bone man comes to you!  Except, here's how he comes to you:  by shouting some weird chanty chant (does anyone know what he's saying?) and squawking a loud horn while endlessly driving around your neighbourhood in a purpose-built truck (lorry?).  Have a look:

I saw one of these fellows on the first day I moved to Britain.  My landlord quickly pointed it out keen to play cultural interpreter to Outsiders.  

Yeah, so, that's about it.  It's just such a weird yet excruciatingly British occurrence.  Or at least it is to my eyes and ears.  Maybe they exist everywhere EXCEPT the bit of American where I lived.  If so, piss off.  I don't really care.  THIS IS STILL HILARIOUSLY ODD. 

Next time:  I complain about yarn.  Or what the British would (annoyingly) call 'wool'.

Warning:  What I say, I say in love and jest.  Get bent if you don't like it.