Quite often when I go to America, people will comment on my accent, usually along the lines of “You’re not from around here, are you?” I take it with good grace instead of replying with something like “Well, duh.”

At the hotel in Myrtle Beach, I got a variant of the question from two different people. When I told them I was from England, both of them nodded, and asked, “London?” That’s the point at which I kept from retorting that, you know, there’s more to England than London. I haven’t quite come to a decision on why the majority of Americans immediately equate England with London. Either a) they’re stupid and they seriously believe everywhere in England is in or near London or b) they want to appear intelligent and name the only place they know of in England. I’m not sure which.

Also when I was over there, Jeremy and Samantha’s boss’s brothers-in-law, Mike and Jesse, taught me to swear in a redneck accent. Fun stuff.

Been back from America for a couple of days now after just under a week’s holiday for the wedding of two friends. I was best man, which garnered a momentarily aghast expression from the Southern minister who presided over the ceremony. A female best man? The horror! The wedding was lovely, though, down on the beach in glorious sunshine. There was two slight hiccups when the minister momentarily forgot Jeremy’s surname, and when he called Samantha Angela before hastily correcting himself, but we didn’t hold it against him. I think we were more amused than anything else!

We packed in more during the holiday than I would have thought possible, with the wedding and reception itself, shopping trips, eating out at places like this (best crab dip EVER), visiting the aquarium, going to a medieval show and banquet, having breakfast on the beach, walking round Broadway and, on my way back, stopping off in Washington DC to see the Lincoln Memorial, Washington Monument, and Union Station. I didn’t bother with the Capitol or the White House as I was time limited. I got back home on Tuesday, and had to be back in work on Wednesday. I really wasn’t at my best. I reckon I need another holiday to recover now!

Over the weekend, in a random conversation with my Dad, he noticed the plush toy dog that sits under my mantelpiece. I mentioned it was called Schrödinger, as a kind of joke about the famous Schrödinger’s cat thought experiment - it’s not a cat, it’s a dog, but it’d be funny if it was called… well, you know. Anyway, my Dad had never heard of this experiment, and I elaborated in a vague sort of way. Pff, said my Dad, that’s easy. If you want to tell if the cat’s alive or dead, just shake the box. If the cat meows, it’s still alive.
That’s a true engineer’s response for you.

Dad came up to Sheffield this weekend, and the two of us went to see Jeff Wayne’s War of the Worlds at the Hallam Arena. I bought tickets just before Christmas after I’d seen it advertised. Both of us love the music, and having heard good things about the show, I was looking forward to it. Turned out my expectations weren’t let down - well, how could they be with two bands conducted by Jeff Wayne himself, lighting, lasers, pyrotechnics, a 100 foot wide animation and CGI screen, and a 70 foot tall Martian fighting machine? Well worth the cost of the tickets. My only gripe would be that the music drowned out the actor/singers at times, especially (and most disappointingly, I think) when Russell Watson came on as Parson Nathaniel. He’s a fantastic tenor, and it was a shame that his vocal was overshadowed by the music.