Moving to England
As I write this on a beautiful winter's day in lovely San Francisco, I wonder if I'm mad. The cherry trees in Japantown are blooming, the sun is setting later -- and casting a lovely pink glow over Twin Peaks, and the scent of carnitas (my ode to those California boys: The Eagles) is wafting through the still Mission air. I know that I will come to love and cherish so many things similarly in Eng-a-land. I already love sitting in a pub nursing a pint of lager -- reading the Guardian. I love their tele more than ours. I love TopShop and Indian food. I love drinking endless cups of tea with the H. I adore how everyone from the local tea shop to the deli to the posh resto wants you to know where they sourced their ingredients ... almost going as far as to name the Guernsey who supplied the milk. And I know definitively that I will write in a few months of the things that drive me mad about England – just as I complain about the homeless problem, the drug dealing, and the graffiti here on York Street – but for now, I’m going to enjoy my last few months of San Francisco as I haven’t in years.