What's this blog about then...

I am an Englishman living in California, specifically in Los Angeles. My move here was recent enough that everything still seems exciting and new, but long enough ago that I know my SoCal from my NorCal, who Kobe Bryant is, and what to do in an earthquake.

So this blog will be a stream of anecdotes, stories and observations on life in California - through the eyes of an Englishman. Why CalEnglishman? Just because there seems to be a belief here, particularly within government, that putting "Cal" in front of any project or department identifies it with California in a zippy way.

We have 'CalFresh' 'CalBar', 'CalCPA', 'CalGrant', Cal this, Cal that. You may not know that, before California appended its omnipresent prefix, you got fat if you ate too many "ories" and the chemical element "cium" gave you strong bones. So while those facts are not true, I felt that there was only one thing I could call myself in the face of this state-wide consensus.

I am the CalEnglishman. Good to meet you. I hope you will read on.

Monday, July 1, 2013

A first ticket

Not one but two police cars were gliding ominously behind me as I drove home the other evening. I was not worried - my brake lights were working, my speed was a shade under the limit, and, to top it all, I had plugged headphones into my phone so that incoming calls could not distract my hands from their rightful position on the steering wheel.

I was so pleased with my hands-free solution that I think I turned my head side-to-side slightly, so that the menacing convoy behind me could see the ear pieces and appreciate what a responsible motorist I was. And then a strange thing happened. The police car directly behind me turned on its lights and siren, and its driver gestured for me to pull over.

How odd, I thought. Maybe he wants to give me a gold star, or enter me into the LAPD's 'best driver of the year' competition. "Good evening, officer, what can I do for you?" I said to the face that appeared at my window. The expression lacked warmth, sending my voice an octave or two higher than I would have liked.

"Do you know why I pulled you over, sir?" I honestly could not imagine. For a chat? To see if I had any spare donuts? 

"You are not allowed to drive wearing earphones in both ears, sir. Only in one ear. License and registration, please." I think I countered with something forceful like: "I....I....I...diddennothat...officer...s..s...sorry", and flapped about in the glove compartment.

The officer retreated to his car to write the ticket. I stared glumly at the passing traffic. It does seem to perk up people's commute, seeing police lights and a hapless miscreant brought to justice. Eyes widen a little bit, some with amusement, others with pity. I could not complain, since I have a good old look whenever I drive by such a scene.

Eventually I was allowed to go on my way, ticket in hand, an earphone in ONE ear, and a slight sense that I got what I deserved for being a goody-two-shoes. My first traffic ticket - I suppose it's another  step in the journey to feeling like a local.