Return to mainland North America and final moments on that continent
19th Sept 2005

Ferry from Vancouver to Vancouver
The good folk of Vancouver help us out
Seattle, city of architecture and flying fish
A few facts and feelings acquired in N America

Vancouver Island to Vancouver City which is an island, mostly. Confused?

As we left we made a loose agreement to meet up for a ‘piiint’ in Granville Island with Simon and Sharon who had flown over for a day trip on one of those jolly seaplanes while we had taken the sedate option of the ferry with Berthette.

Granville Island is a bit of an institution in Vancouver. It has a wonderfully eclectic selection of artisans vending their vendables, glass blowers to shoe makers, wood turners to silk painters, fill the island in a palette of talent. We did not shop. I would have only found it depressing (again). I am actually, finding it harder and harder to shop, I wander around feeling marginally out of place.

We said our farewells and set about the serious business of organising the next lot of shipping for the bike. At the BMW shop they could not have been nicer. They were happy to let us have a crate, in fact they seemed pleased that someone was taking them away. I was moseying around when I looked up and there was Ewan Mcgregor on the TV. Unsurprisingly, since they had used BMWs for their trip around the world, the shop was using the documentary as advertising. He was entering Kazakstan. It was weird seeing someone else talking about shitty dirt roads. But there was something that annoyed me about him. He mithered about a police escort through the country, saying that he wanted to do it on his on, as if he really was on his own with his mate, what about the interpreter, the camera crew and the support van that is travelling with them. I thought of us, there is no-one to interpret for us, no support crew to bail us out. My, we’re tough. No we’re not that’s the point. How come people are so impressed by this guy. OK, he’s famous and we are not.

In that episode a policeman had made space for them in his humble home, and Ewan made a deal about how he was roughing it so much, rather than seeing the gesture of the policeman as the generous offer that it was. They had been fed, watered and housed, him and his crew, and he didn’t have the care to be grateful.

Next stop Mountain Equipment Co-op . We had been managing with a delaminated Thermarest for almost a year now. To those who are not camping geeks like ourselves, a Thermarest, is a wonderful invention - a thin lightweight, self-inflating mattress with foam inside, that expands and literally sucks air in. This only works of course if the material is attached on both sides of the foam, and ours had delaminated, and the mattress was now a very odd shape when inflated and made for an interesting nights kip. They have a life time guarantee, so they say (this was clarified for me as meaning the lifetime of the product i.e. it is guaranteed until it is broken, genius). The nice folk at MEC accepted the old mattress for replacement even though it was ‘well used’ but informed us that this model was no longer made so they could not replace it, but they would refund us the whatever it was last sold for. Fair enough. But better than that, the new equivalent version is cheaper than the original, so now we have cash back. Excellent. I queried the situation that I could be getting a new mattress and a 15 dollar gift in exchange for our grubby old version but none of the staff seemed in the least bothered, indeed they were almost celebrating my good fortune in coming up trumps. One cannot fail to warm to a store like this.

Five years ago we had been in Vancouver for the wedding of our friend Jen, to Wade. We’d met his brother Craig who seemed something of a bon viveur. Now, through Jen, we’d been put in touch with him again and he’d offered a spot for us at the house he’s living in with his partner Anne. Everything was falling into place perfectly. I asked if he knew anyone with a pickup who might be able to help us to shift the packing crate down to the docks for a small consideration. It turned out the Anne’s father had just such a conveyance but he was away on holiday, returning in a couple of days. The bike shop were happy to sit on the crate for us for a couple of days and so it all seemed to be working out.

I went down to the docks to see where all the nailing action was to take place. Everything had been going too well. Now I discovered that the warehouse was not open over the weekend when I’d intended delivering the flat-packed box. The only time I could really ask Craig and Anne to help was when they were not working. I’d arrived at the warehouse just in time to catch the departing office staff who gave me the number of the chief honcho, Jas. He was as helpful as anything. Yes, I could come by at the weekend and the guard would let me in. He gave me his mobile in case of problems. Everything is achievable here. Fantastic. Maybe I am misjudging the US, but I was becoming more and more thankful that we were shipping from Canada. If you remember, we had had difficulties merely changing tires in the US, people so troubled by potential litigation and insurance liability. I hate to think whether they could have coped with leaving a crate in the death of night to construct it ourselves on the premises. But in Canada, everyone was so helpful.

By chance, Craig and Anne’s place is by the beach, so Bob and Carol, Wade’s parents, nipped over to watch the fireworks. That night, it was to be the Chinese entry in the competition. I thought they were spectacular, but they were pushed into second place by Sweden, who had the cunning ploy to set their fireworks to Abba - they couldn’t fail. So even though we were cheapskates when we over in Nanaimo we got to see some of the fireworks after all.

When Bob and Carol came over they brought with them a wee parcel. A parcel we had sent on to ourselves, care of them, before we left in 2001. It was kind of weird receiving the parcel postmarked the day before we left, 14th of Sept 2001. So much had happened between then and now. When we left, Britain was not at war, there had been no Tsunami, the previous Pope was alive, I had not been ill and so we hadn’t had the dilemma whether to continue or not. We had been through record floods, sand storms, been nearly arrested in Zimbabwe, raced by camels in Sudan and been introduced to RV culture. We had seen, deserts, glaciers, smelt orchids at Machu Picchu, drunk Legui with a bunch of Argentine bikers, eaten roasted guinea pig, and shared breakfast with Pat’s hero. There had been pink grasshoppers, psychedelic humming birds, lime green frogs, squirrel monkeys and kamikaze ostriches. We had been woken at four in the morning with the call to prayer more times than we care to remember, frozen in Texas, crashed in Peru, robbed in Chile, Mexico and Poland and harassed at countless borders. We have met so many wonderful people, seen so many beautiful things, that we are changed. Speak for yourself. It almost felt that the parcel had been sent by different people. Two people who no longer existed and we two travellers had taken their place. In 2001 when we had sent these we had intended the trip to be 2 years now it is knocking on 4 and we are only half way. The ‘trip’ has turned into a lifestyle, We in theory should have been back in everyone else’s world and satisfying our protestant work ethic. We had forgotten even what we had sent. It was a set of maps, interestingly, back in the planning stage we had imagined traversing the ‘stans', you know Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan etc. There was no map of India, had we planned on missing it out? I really can’t remember. Now we were going through the Philippines and Indonesia and we are looking more and more likely to pop into the land of Oz. How plans change.

Clearly the Hippy is entering a period of reflection as we end the N American leg of the journey. Have I changed? Probably not as much as I’d hoped. I thought I’d mellow out a bit but I find myself as quick to temper as ever. Maybe I’ll encounter a yogi in Asia who can point me in a better direction for contentment. Then again, maybe I’m destined to progress slowly from angry young man grumpy old git. Stick with what your best at, that’s what I say.

We only nipped out to do a bit of shopping and we got accosted. “Oy”, came a shout from a cyclist coming from the other direction. He was clearly intent on talking to us so I pulled over to let him catch up. Turned out Steve was another long distancer (from Oz) and was in Vancouver waiting to do some repairs. We did the usual exchanging of websites and yer man thought that we might meet up for a beer or two. We started to fret knowing how pricey the beer is in the bars of Vancouver. When travellers start saying these things, I always have two thoughts; either they are on a much larger budget than we are or they don’t really mean anything by the invitation. Take a look at his web site to see how someone more obsessed with covering ground does it.

All was set for shipping (except for the small worry of a dockers strike!) so we decided to bail out of the city for Hips to see Whistler. There was reputed to be some fine walking thereabouts and with all the splendid hospitality we’ve been receiving we were getting a bit porky and in need of some exercise. The road up to Whistler is very fine but for serious biking fun needs a speed limit hike of 10 mph. I dare say when they complete the roadworks to improve the alignment, which held us up for the best part of half an hour, they may well speed it up a bit. I’ve never been there in summer and was quite surprised by the amount of white stuff still covering the upper slopes of the taller mountains. The glaciers were closer to us and at least as impressive as those in the Glacier N.P. Waterfalls cascaded down and gave another good reason why the speed limit would be so low.

I was seeing Whistler for the first time. To me it does not look good in the summer, it just looks like a soulless resort. Covered in snow I could see that it would look picturesque. Bland cafés and bars with equally bland looking hotels. I was pleased we were staying down the road at the campsite.

Whistler itself, may have been a bit drab, but the scenery was beautiful. A short stroll from the campsite was a gorgeous waterfall. A short walk away was a lovely suspension bridge over glacial melt waters. It was a great day, I’d slipped crossing a stream and wet up me boot but other than a soggy foot, I was fine and dandy.

But a couple of hours wi-fi later in a caff, things were otherwise. Ouch, my foot was killing me, I could put no pressure on it and I hobbled pathetically around. Maybe there was more to the soggy foot than meets the eye. This was not good.
Not good at all.

That night in at the campsite, I decided in my infinite wisdom that exercising my ankle would kill or cure. So I hobbled around fetching water and the like, determined that it wouldn’t get the better of me. I tried to get her to stop. I winced every time she did and fretted that she was adding injury to insult, or something like that.

We had planned to take up Anne and Craig’s suggestion of a walk to Cheakamus lake. Just the right kind of walk for an unfit whalla like myself, flatish, with an atmospheric lake at the end for a nice picnic spot. I decided to go for it. My foot was still a little painful, but it was much better than the night before. The exercise would do it good.

Cheakamus lake, is a proper glacial lake, one that I had been hoping to see in glacial National Park, all turquoisy and everything, set in snow-capped mountains. My foot eased as the day wore on and we had such a lovely day.

We left a garbled phone call for Craig and Anne. I’m not very good faced with an answer phone and not much better at holding a proper duplex conversation on line.

Our mission in Vancouver seems a little selfish

Back in Vancouver, Steve and Toni were now enjoying Craig and Anne’s hospitality. Steve and Toni had a more sensible approach to travel. By basing themselves in exotic parts, working in international schools, they can do the travel thing in a bit more comfort than most budget backpackers. After all, usually the greatest cost of a backpacker trip is the flight out and back - if you’re already there, things are pretty cool. They’ve just finished a tour of duty in Brunei and were getting ready for the new term in Thailand.

I felt we were rather raining on everyone's parade as we were trying to get stuff with the shipping done while they were trying to chill for the weekend. If we’d known in advance how much they were going to put themselves out, we’d probably have tried to be rather more independent. Instead, we had poor Craig, hopping around with a splinted leg on account of a nasty tendon injury, organising us all to collect the damned crate from the bike shop, spend an hour or so at the open air pool, whisk us down his parents for dinner and then deliver the crate to the warehouse in the depths of the night. It was all pretty hectic, but it worked wonderfully; everyone got to achieve what they wanted even though due to a huge oversight (mine) we’d left a section of the crate behind when we first called in. When I arrived back to Bob and Carol’s house, an hour after hassling the night shift at the docks, I found Helen in exactly the same position, standing in the hall, chatting with Carol. I’m sure they must have been away and come back in the interim but it did seem a bit odd. Helen had been a bit stressed all day and I’d whispered to Carol before I’d gone out to get her installed in the hot tub. Although she and Carol seemed not to have moved from the spot, the tub had been made ready and we soothed our stresses away.

The morrow brought that emotional moment that we get periodically- saying cheerio to the bike as she gets nailed into her box for ocean passage. I’d bought myself hammer and nails and was raring to go, but first we had to find a quiet corner of the yard in which to operate. We were casually waved over to a spot by a lighting column where years of packaging detritus was gathered. I’ve done it before a couple of times and so it was pretty straightforward, almost automatic - in theory, but using an old crate means that you spend 3 quarters of the time de-nailing. Pat’s a little anal about nails. As the crate was not from an exact same model, a little artistic licence was needed but we eventually got it all nailed down with the bike, camping gear, boots and helmets securely stowed. The odd container on trailer was parked within a few feet of us by enthusiastic truckers while we worked - a little unsettling, but they did seem to know where their corners were. Now we just hope that she doesn’t get thrown about too much on the briney, collapse in a pile of soggy timber and distribute our worldly goods to the four winds.

We had a falling out as usual with Hippy demanding that I hassle the dudes in the warehouse for a receipt. I know that is probably my paranoia but I feel very insecure about leaving Berthette without any evidence in my hot little hand proving it. This was in Canada where honesty amongst organisations and individuals is assumed but the poor guy behind the counter managed to procure a half convincing document for me with a knowing expression of sympathy. It seems that normally the receipt is sent on to the shipping agent who then prepares a bill of lading. Whatever. We left in a very foul mood indeed. I put it down to our worry that our babies welfare was out of our hands for a while. Hmm.

We were cheered up on the way back to Bob and Carol’s by an odd discovery on the bus. People simply got on without paying and when contested by the driver would openly admit they hadn’t paid and refused to pay even then. At this point the driver simply ignored them and set off. It seems that the drivers have been advised that its better to let them get away with it than possibly end up in a violent situation. Another example of where if this policy was adopted in England within a very short space of time no-one would pay at all.

More fantastic hospitality at Bob and Carol’s left us relaxed and raring to get on down to Seattle. Actually, we were a bit confused as to why we had planned such an early passage out of Canada and back to the US when we really didn’t have any plans of what to do with the week before we were due to fly. Mainly, lots of people had said that Seattle was nice, so we thought it only fair to go and see. We called in to see our nice shipper, Edmund Woo, whose office is slap bang next to the airport in Vancouver on our way there to catch the bus. Sounds complicated don’t it? There’s a shuttle from Vancouver airport to Seattle which we were booked on and so we could seal up shipping business and be on our way in a matter of minutes. Just as he had sounded on the phone, he was the model of efficiency and had everything printed off and copied while we drank coffee in the cafe downstairs (little tip for travellers sort of cash, the caff across from the airport for all the shipping agent workers is a lot cheaper for a coffee than the airport). Mr Woo (written thus, I am reminded of George Formby) was very reassuring, we were so, so pleased that we had ended up shipping from Canada and not the US. We had dealt so many helpful people in Canada, that if we had been trying to do this in the US they would have been so anal and jobs-worthy. From the charming BMW dealers to the shipping warehouse and the friendly efficiency of Edmund Woo. Result.

I’ve never seen a more stressed bus driver than the little Korean chap who turned up to transport us southwards. His lack of subtlety with the English language and obvious cultural background of not using too many pleases and thankyous had the passengers either quaking in their boots or crowing with laughter in disbelief. His concern was that he was late but he actually made matters worse by getting stressed up and delaying things even more. It didn’t seem appropriate to take him on one side and explain about keeping cool in a crisis, it would have fallen on deaf ears.

The US border was predictably inefficient and had it not been for my stupidity in opening my mouth, we could have walked away without paying the 6 dollars stapler tax or whatever it purports to be. We’d debated long and hard on our way down to the border as to whether our dried dates constituted fruit under the terms of USDA import regulations. We noted them down on our customs declaration and deposited the form in the appropriate collection box which no one was investigating anyway. Actually I was more concerned that were the dates to be inspected, they were more likely to be confiscated as a weapon of mass destruction owing to their having been cultivated in Iran and covered in a load of Arabic writing.

We’d met a nice Scottish chap on the bus who was understandably somewhat miffed at having had his Scottish poond notes converted at a rate 10 percent below the sterling rate wherever he’d had been on the States. Unbeknown to him the stroppy bag who’d failed to charge us our 6 dollarses had been really rather rude to him too. He’d pulled his passport out of his trouser pocket. Sin of sins! She muttered to her colleague that he ought to put on a pair of gloves before handling it. I’m sorry but did she instantly recognise it as a Scottish passport and have some knowledge of Scots not properly attending to their personal hygiene. She must have been from California where even the drop toilets in the forests come complete with a seat cover dispenser.

Sleeping in Seattle

Arriving in a city that we don’t know on public transport is something of a rarity for us. It’s not something I want to repeat with a stuff sack that is rather unwieldy on a hot day wearing a motorcycle jacket. We found the Green Turtle hostel pretty easily but I was something of a sweaty beast when I approached reception. Good thing we’d booked; this place was Busy with a capital B as you have already noticed, no doubt. We’d booked in for a week to take advantage of a 7 nights for 6 offer and for some odd reason we ended up even cheaper than that ‘cos the internet booking thing made an error in our favour. Top. Free wireless internet all week, too. Toppity top. We are easily pleased.

Seattle is a fairly typical Pacific Northwest city but with a space needle added. This rather dated and decreasingly elegant structure was built for the world fair back in 1960 something. I’m sure I’ve seen it in some film or other, Quatermass or something like that, film boffins may be able to enlighten me. I thought the bronze lifts running up the outside had something of a Flash Gordon air about them which rather suggests they were dated even when they were installed. The city of Seattle though seems to keep reinventing itself architecturally which is amazing for somewhere that is really so young. The library, particularly caught my eye for its bold use of inclined glazing. I would have thought this a nightmare to keep clean but it didn’t really seem too bad when sky-gazing from the inside. The interior, though, betrayed the whole building as a grand design with lack of attention to detail. The odd step that was awkwardly placed, there were columns where columns didn’t ought to be and barriers that just didn’t quite seem to fit. Almost got 10 out 10 but must try harder. It looked to me as if the grand design had run over budget, behind schedule and in a vain attempt to recover the situation they had skimped on all the finishing details inside. It was a bit of a shame.

Down on the waterfront is a market building which is famous for it’s fish throwing mongers. Upon accepting an order from a member of the fish buying public the said pescatorial piece is hurled 10 feet or so to an associate who wraps it in paper and hurls it back for presentation to the excited customer. Lots of jolly shouting goes on and everyone finds it terrifically fun. The whole market was rather nice to wander around in, lots of little nook-and-cranny kind of shops, some of which selling genuine old stuff, others selling novel new stuff. There were proper veg stalls, and flower stalls ‘n’all.

Across the road is the original Starbucks Coffee emporium which has spawned the monster chain of crap coffee shops. I think it would have been better for the world had a chain of fish hurling fishmongers spread as fast. There’s always time.

The sign on the front of the building drew our attention to the art-deco lobby within and so we entered to admire it. I believe the building was an exchange of some sort, I could be wrong. Admirable it was, so much so that we thought a photo was in order. Having shot off a couple, the conciergita (what does one call a female hall monitor?) rushed over to us and berated us for taking pictures of the place. Was it because there are postcards of this beautiful interior elsewhere? No, it was a security issue. I can see that such a large expanse of marble with cast bronze fittings could be a major terrorist target and that pictures of the interior of the lobby would be important in order to inflict maximum damage upon it. Not. It is such a shame that Americans have got this security thing so twisted. How a photo is going to help a potential bomber, when the foyer is open to the public anyway.

I liked Seattle, we went to see all the touristy sites, and I am forced to take back my comment about bland architecture. They have grasped the nettle of developing dynamic architecture, and run with it. So many places in the US could learn from this example.

I am leaving North America with a feeling of ambivalence. I had expected to whizz through the US hating every minute of it. The image of the US portrayed in Europe, of a country of gas-guzzling, ethnocentric, arrogant people - is unfair. Yes, there are of course glaring examples of these things but like any stereotype it ignores the majority. Pretty much everyone we met on a one to one basis was generous and friendly (prime counterexample being those idiots that join the immigration service, who to a man/woman appear to have doctorates in rudeness and inefficient obstructiveness). I had not understood the strength of State identity before travelling in the US. Many States have well used and established recycling services others seem to have none. Some States have had liberal laws regarding homosexual marriage for example other states are stalwartly against it. Unfortunately, the progressive states are tainted by being under the US umbrella, outsiders, see the overt signs of their government’s behaviour and their terribly biased media and judge the nation.

Hippy joins the current craze of listing things ...

There are some great things about the US, that are better than anywhere else with, perhaps, the exception of Canada
1. A tremendous National and State Parks system
2. Free refills on coffee
3. Cheap petrol (yes, believe me it is still cheap)
4. Did I mention great National and State Parks system (it’s so good it’s worth mentioning twice)

Top tips

1. Trader Joe’s supermarkets on the West coast.
2. If you have two passports keep one free of foreign stamps to use at American borders, so that they don’t hassle you so much.
3. All National Forest areas you can rough camp for free for up to 14 days.
4. Buy a National Parks pass for $50 to cover you and anyone travelling in your vehicle.
5. Be prepared for a lot of empty road.
6. Never discuss religion or politics unless either they bring it up, or if they are from the West or North East.
7. Take your own tea bags . We will never fathom why the war of independence was fought over taxing tea.
8. If you do mistakenly order tea in a restaurant, specify ‘hot’ tea. Never expect a pot.
9. Never expect fine dining in a diner.
10. Ask for little or no ice in your drink if you want more than watered down beverages.
11. The west coast we know has good beer, otherwise ........
12. ‘Wendy’s’ baked potato and chilli, from the 99c menu, is the least plastic hot filling fast food, perfect after a cold day motorcycling.
13. The ‘Subway’ chain has great value sarnies.
14. There are loads of reasonable Chinese restaurants.
15. Don’t forget that tax is almost never included in the price and you are expected to tip people apparently for just being there.
16. Most restaurants do not mind you sharing a meal, many will even give you second plate to split the enormous portions.
17. It is OK to ask for a doggy bag, most places will parcel your left overs neatly in a take away box.
18. Get used to people saying; that they love your accent or ‘Say something else, I like to hear you talk’ which is guaranteed to make your mind go blank and make you unable to say anything at all.
19. On a dark street in a dodgy situation, your British accent (affecting a Bertie Wooster is the best ploy) may be the most disarming weapon you have. (But don’t rely on it).
20. Be patient with Harley riders, it’s not their fault they can’t corner. But it is their patriotic fault for buying a pile of junk.
21. Do not expect a compact car to be compact.
22. If a school bus stops to pick up or drop off students, it is illegal to pull out round it.
23. Unless you like sweet pappy bread, expect to pay at least $3.00.
24. Laws on helmet wearing and alcohol selling vary from state to state, be flexible.
25. Your flexible plastic friends, are not so flexible in the USA. You cannot use a foreign issued visa card over the phone or internet.
26. Some places demand I.D. to buy alcohol, we both have grey hair and have had to use our disarming British accents and the cite how flattered we were to blag our way through the checkout.
27. Be prepared for an overwhelming list of dressings for your salad spoken so fast that it is impossible to process.

Things we loved

1. Towns like Charleston, Savannah, New Orleans (we hope it recovers), Lafayette, Austin, San Francisco and Montclair, Eugene, Portland and Seattle.
2. Cajun food and music.
3. Dozens of spectacular sunsets in beautiful places, for free.
4. Many wonderfully generous friendly people.
5. Simply loads of jolly lizards, animals and things.

American dictionary
gas - is not a gas at all, but petrol, unless of course its propane gas
grits - semolina type stuff, served for breakfast, that only has flavour if mixed with something else.
restroom - toilet in a public place
bathroom - toilet in a private home
biscuits - scones
cookies - biscuits
chips - crisps
fries - chips
chicken fried steak - steak fried in batter.
sausage gravy - white sauce with bits of sausage and black pepper often served with the aforementioned biscuits (scones)
smores - “wagon wheels” in miniature
double loaded - baked potato with stuff mixed with the inside and then rebaked, I think, but then again, it might be loaded with a filling of double density or something
ranch dressing - garlicky white stuff to put on salad.
oatmeal - porridge
porridge - a laughable, fairy tale word from Goldilocks
regular - smallest size
links - thin un-linked rolls of sausagemeat
wrench - spanner
sidewalk - pavement
pavement - road
SUV - sports utility vehicle - often 4x4 a pick up, not necessarily sporty
RV - recreational vehicle - a huge bus or a camper van
truck - pickup
semi - short for semitrailer which is not half a trailer but a tractor and trailer haulage unit know to the British as an articulated lorry
mobile home - pre-fab building, often seen behind a semi (see semi) on an interstate (see interstate)
trailer - caravan
realtor - estate agent
property - land with or without a property on it.
bathrobe - dressing gown
pants - trousers
underwear - pants
4 way stop - an appropriate place to put a roundabout, where everyone must stop and seemingly the most assertive goes first.
turn signal - indicator
standard car - manual, when the stardard car is automatic
best - good, nice, lovely, scrumptious, delightful, wonderful, tippety-top, excellent, marvellous, ace.
antique - looks like something that might be old, but probably isn’t
armoire - wardrobe
credenza - sideboard
scrimlins - an oakland-ish word, meaning the tiny bits of something (often food) left in a package after the main portion has been used, that have the best flavour e.g. the extra crispy chips in the bottom of the bag with the most flavour, the carmelised naughty bits of cheese dripped into the grill pan after making cheese on toast.
Blair is a great guy - I voted for Bush
beer - weak lager generally
pissed - angry, annoyed
mean - nasty, cruel
thrifty - mean
continental breakfast - doughnut and coffee
hike - walk, stroll
interstate - motorway
x-rated - film with nakedness, sex scenes or swear words N.B. violence is not apparently something to censor.
N.R.A. - National Rifle Association - a bunch of nutters mostly - oh and Bush voters
all American - ? not sure
wholesome - I think? - trustworthy, protestant christian, conservative in outlook
healthy - wholesome
socialist - communist
historic - of limited historical significance (in the grand scheme of things)
hall of fame - the need to perpetuate the achievements of obscure sportsmen or musicians who are and always will be only famous in the United States
american football - rugby with armoury, lots of rest stops and girls that jump around with pompoms
World Series - sporting event which appears to be rounders for blokes that does not involve any other countries. At one time we believed that it’s name derived from sponsorship by the World newspaper. We have recently discovered that this is in fact bollocks and they really do believe that this is a game of world significance.
soccer mum - slightly derogatory term for a mother who cares about the physical well being of her children. c.f. child abuser - a parent who sends out their child to get decked by someone much bigger in the belief they may get a sports scholarship out of it. c.f. rugby mum - a parent who sends their child our unprotected against much bigger players with nothing to gain from it but the adulation of their peers and the joy of singing rude songs in the shower afterwards c.f. cricket mom - a parent who likes making tea and getting a break from her men-folk for days on end.

Hippy started this unnecessary analysis of the “New English” vocabulary and I’m going to finish it right now.

Good-bye USA, Hello Asia