cheese on everything

The familiarity of America means:

Cheese on everything.
Went out to a sushi restaurant last night with my Brit team, because we think we might be getting scurvy.  Expected a layer of cheese to arrive on top of the sushi.

Like breakfast. Ah eggs. Perfectly nice. But yet, some clown has dumped a kilo of cheese on top of the eggs.

Cheese can be swapped for bacon, especially in terms of pancakey meals. Pancakes, topped with syrup. Oh and three rashers of bacon.

Genius.

I have only been Stateside a week and definitely feel I might have a heart attack at any second, which gives everything a nice, unpredictable edge.

But the icing cheese on the cake, on this particular trip, were the deep-fried mac 'n cheese nuggets that were being passed around the party last night.

Perversely, macaroni and cheese, in a nugget, is strangely erotic. They are both genius and shameful.

Shouty.
Americans find it really difficult to talk at a normal deciballed volume. Usually this is funny, and a little bit endearing, and you kind of get swept up in it all and even though completely disingenuous, you secretly like it. Well this has worn off completely. I've Britified. Americans are just way too loud.
Calm. The. Fuck. Down.

One guy left a party saying it "was just way too shouty."

That's one way of putting it. Why are you shouting right into my ear, dog? It feels like a power drill is chiseling it's way into my brain. Sometimes this is strangely pleasant, other times I want to kill myself.

Cold.
We come to San Francisco every year during the 'fall.' It's beautiful and it's also cold. Why we don't pack for such a scenario is beyond me, but it turns out that myself or any of my work compadres packed for autumn. We all have silly little dresses in our bags.

We shop anyway (dollar to pound cash-lash ratio is awesome), but this time it was a matter of survival. Had to go out and buy four jumpers. And shoes. And other stuff.

Pity the bank blocked my card twice, I needed to puke in the Bloomingdale's bogs due to a funny smoothie, (probably had cheese in it), and Visa being down, so I tried to shop about three times, but only really came home with he winnings on the fourth try.

That's how badly I needed some jerseys. I had to try and shop four times. That's some dedication. Dogged ability finally prevailed, and while I'm thinking it's a sign that I shouldn't be shopping at all (wedding in 6 months. Fuck), I still eventually managed to.

Good trip, but am knackered with a capital K and quite excited to fly first class back to London.
Horizontal.
Where we will all meet at the bar and have a few gin and tonics in our PJs.