Where in the World is Garry? |
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Home for the Holidays - Preston, England, December '06
Dee-Preston
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My lack of Christmas cheer has nothing to do with location. Although I joke about Preston actually being called Dee-Preston it does actually feel a lot friendlier than Southampton ever did. The bands of marauding townies seem less prevalent. However, with my new found knowledge that I am not twelve anymore (thanks again John Craven), it could just be that we are no longer on each others radars. I am stealth man now and can walk tall without fear of ridicule or harassment since I am a middle aged guy and pose no threat to their well being or to their street cred. Still, I cannot help but feel completely displaced here. I can get easily lost. The locals (especially the woman for some reason), never cease to amaze me when they open their mouths and this strange language spills out. My only solace is that I think it sounds wrong rather than "oh so quaint" which I fancy most Americans would say. My parents live about 15 minutes drive outside of Preston. Their
house is in walking distance to a busy round about and nothing more.
So, most days I jump in the car and drive into Preston for lunch
and a nice cup of coffee. Those who know me wont be surprised to
hear that I go to the same place each day and order the same thing
for lunch. Café Moka's Lemon Grass chicken. I have been doing
this now for three years and recognize all the wait staff and as
hard as I have tried to engage them in conversation ("Merry
Christmas") I must just exude mediocrity. So, after my sojourns
to exotic locales there isn't even a glimmer of recognition. There
must be such a huge disconnect between my perceived self image and
the real me. |
Welcome to Preston |
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