British Bona Fides   Leave a comment

SID device and juvenile humour

Things slowly seep in when you move to Britain.  Not things like tea with milk (never without it) or calling a sidewalk ‘the pavement,’ or wrong side of the road travel, or the superfluous ‘u’ added to words like neighbour.  These are things that are less natural and in a lot of ways more subtle (and humourous in the broadest of fashions).

Take the surface induced dissociation device (top) I installed in an instrument this week.  Developed in America, it has unambiguous labeling on the technical drawing that, in adolescent British parlance (that is, all of it), is [ahem] naughty.  It was especially amusing to ask an American colleague to describe the entrances to the ‘front bottom’ in front of Englishmen.  Fnarr fnarr.

cornershop brimful sleeve

I count this as part of my Resume of Britishness, which grows ever longer.  I can already say, “that’s very helpful” in such a way that only the British ear hears, instead, “you are a useless sack of shite” or “you’ve fucked me again, arsehole.”  Along with that is the sort of social discomfort one has here that is entirely different from the sort of social discomfort I’ve lived with most of my life (the ‘cornershop’ near-miss last Saturday described in my Tram Stop chip shop post being an example).  The pods are working on me: Invasion of the Cultural Identity Snatchers.

Drunken Bunny UK

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