Full Disclosure, it was my first week in the UK. I had just bought a little red British car and it was a manual transmission, so I had to practice shifting with my left hand (because the British drive on what they call the “correct” side of the road). So, I spent the morning driving down some beautiful English country roads. After an hour or so I was feeling pretty confident, so I drove to a nearby village. Soon I was cruising past gorgeous buildings that were probably built in the 1500s. Windows down, enjoying this beautiful new and amazing experience.
But as traffic picked up, I approached an intersection that consisted of what is called a double mini-roundabout. Now I had experience with regular roundabouts, but a double mini-roundabout was even more foreign to me than I was to the village. So, as I approached I was thoroughly worried and I did my best but very quickly I saw that I was in over my head. Long story short, I ended up driving in the wrong direction and bumped into another car. The damage was fairly minor, but I knew I was in trouble.
So, as an American, I am fully expecting to get into a very tense situation with the other driver and probably a ticket (on my first week of driving!). The driver of the other car got out and was walking toward me. This was going to be my first interaction with a British driver and the American in me kicked in and I got out of the car quickly, not wanting to have him lean into my window, leaving me defenseless. But I saw as he approached me, he was smiling. With a kind wave, he asked if I was ok. The tension immediately disappeared. We chatted and I apologized, which he waved off. Soon the local police arrived. The American in me said, “Ok, here we go”. But the police were even nicer and gave me directions, sending me on my way without even a warning!
I was starting to think this was some kind of crazy dream.
As I left to slink back to my apartment and die of embarrassment, the other driver (a man in his 30s with a child in the backseat) insisted that I follow him to his “local” (a pub near his home). Somewhat reluctantly, I followed him. We ended up in the pub’s back garden, enjoying some cold drinks while sitting in the shade of a large Elm tree.
As we sat there, surrounded by colorful flowers and children playing on the swings, I felt relaxed for the first time in a long time. I remember thinking that I had finally made it.
I had spent years dreaming of moving to the UK. I had stressed and second-guessed myself. I had spent hours listening to all my friends and family tell me I was crazy. But I knew my dream and I followed it. I had pushed off convention and had taken the leap and I loved it!
Did this story make you interested in living in the UK?
Good, this fictional story was written as an example of my writing style.
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