The 'Britionary'

Note to self: When talking to American friends/colleagues, never, EVER say: “I’m just popping out for a fag…”

While my English friends will understand the true meaning of this sentence, people here will take an entirely different meaning from it.

And believe me, it’s not good.

Not a day passes when I – as a Brit – seem to say something which is deemed to be a). ridiculous; b). hilarious; or c). just plain weird.

For the past nine months living and working here in San Diego I’ve been a constant source of entertainment – which probably explains why I’m on TV.

Language is the very glue which holds society together.

Without it, things break down, so you have to adjust.

And I, hosting not one but two TV shows to an American audience, have had to adapt to survive.

It’s no good looking the part if no-one actually understands you right?

I must admit, I rarely get recognized out and about in San Diego but when I do those people often say something along the lines of “that’s that guy on the TV that talks weird...”

I can’t tell you how annoying it is, day-after-day, to be told that the way I talk, write or spell is “wrong”.

I’m a journalist – an award-winning one at that. I’ve been writing articles for like 16 years so I’m used to having my copy edited for print.

I’m not ‘wrong’ in the way I communicate, I just do so differently.

And I’m not just talking about the way I communicate in work. It’s at the supermarket, it’s in the phone store, it’s on the bus, it’s in a bar or in a Subway. It’s everywhere.

Sometimes I feel like pointing out that the ‘English’ language originally came from… (I’ll give you a clue – it wasn’t Mississippi).

But then of course I’d come across as being a typical Englishman thinking I’m better than the rest.

*swimming against the tide here pal.
Anyhow, like I said... I've had to adapt and incorporate certain 'Americanisms' into my own language.
So if you do notice me stumbling from time to time while reading the news, you'll understand that it's because I'm saying words I've never said before, in an order I've never said them!

It seems even my keyboard which I’m typing this very blog on, is against me.

With each new sentence or word it wants to correct me because it thinks the English words I’m writing are meant to be spelt in the American-English way.

Grr.

Living and working in the U.S. is just not easy for a foreigner.

The British and the Americans are very similar, but we’re very different at the same time.

Everything I’ve ever known is almost the same… it’s just called something different or it’s labeled differently.

Here they have ‘T.J. Maxx’, not ‘TK Maxx’ as we know it.
'Nike' is pronounced 'Nikee'.

Firefighters ‘put down’ flames rather than ‘put them out’.
A house isn't 'burgled' here, it's 'burglarised'.
'Bangs' is a 'fringe' (as in hair).
A 'gas station' is the equivalent of our 'petrol station'.

An 'ATM' is a cash machine. 'ATM' is also... oh... never mind.
A 'cell phone' is a 'mobile phone'.
The date is written in a way that has the month FIRST rather than the actual day's date.
More often than not the Americans seem to pronounce them ‘vee-hickles’ rather than simply ‘vehicles’.

The term ‘scrummage’ in rugby is called ‘scrimmage’ in American football.

A hashtag, or ‘#’, is known as the ‘pound sign’ when of course we British know the ‘pound sign’ as being !@#$%^&*()_ - nope, my keyboard doesn’t actually have the pound sign installed as a key.

Another thing I’ve learned about our U.S. cousins is that they simply don’t understand the concept of ‘mushy’ peas.

“So… they are peas that have been flattened and ‘mushed’ up right?”

Um, yes… I guess.

“Why not just buy normal peas and flatten them with a fork?”

They’re not the same.

“Why?”

You know, I just don’t know.

In the States people also measure weight in pounds.

This led to a rather bizarre, but funny, conversation last month when someone asked me what we British weigh ourselves in.

“Stones,” I said.

“You actually weigh yourselves in STONES?!”

Er… not the stones you’re thinking of mate… we have progressed a little since the Stone Age.

I can imagine that the move to the States a few years ago suited David Beckham more than most as he never really had a grip on the English language in the first place...

Oof.

"Our problem is our ignorance," an American colleague told me.

"Living in the 'United States of America' we don’t really need to adapt. Generally we all talk the same… We're just not really used to looking anywhere else but within.

"We don't generally deal with anyone else. And that makes us ignorant."

We laughed and joked about it, but he's ultimately right.

And the same can be said for the English.

In one of his celebrated shows the British comedian, Eddie Izzard, made light of the fact that the English are known to travel abroad to places like Spain and France and simply talk ‘English’ expecting the local people to understand and reply.

Of course when the local people don’t understand, the English response is typically “well, you’re just not trying are you…?”

In a bid poke a little fun at my own expense, and to educate a few people over here, I invented the ‘Britionary’ a little while ago.

We did a whole series of them on U-T TV.

Here are a few:
- www.youtube.com/watch?v=znjs_lkw_Ho
- www.youtube.com/watch?v=hSF_8110DQU
- www.youtube.com/watch?v=d6De7kWlIEk
- www.youtube.com/watch?v=wR7kpqlQZBE

As frustrating as this language barrier can be, it is - like I said - a constant source of amusement as I and my American pals learn from each other.

There is also no end to banter, especially after a few drinks.

Cheers!

Or Salute!

Or bottoms up!

Or whatever the hell it's referred to here.

Happy new year everyone.

Twitter: @tristan_nichols

De-stressing a wedding

THE DICTIONARY definition of 'marriage' is the 'legal union of a man and woman as husband and wife' (depending of course on the state or country you live in).
What the dictionary fails to mention is all the bits before and in-between which threaten to de-rail your life like a horribly expensive runaway train.

The stress, the chaos, the planning, the intricate delicate flower button holes…

Our take on our wedding – sod a lot of the usual bullsh*t. It’s about us, it’s our turn to be selfish, and to enjoy our moment as we want.

No stress. No bullsh*t. Just smiles.

Yes, by now our plans for the wedding are in full flow.

Date set (Friday 13^th September), venue booked, honeymoon paid for.

*cue brief sigh, content expression and placing of feet on foot rest*

And... relax

It’s funny how men and women differ in terms of their mental state for such an occasion.

(And I know full well that female readers of this blog will roll their eyes and consider me a 'typical' male).

But given the unusual nature of how we came together, I feel like any stress on my side leading up to such an event has already been expended.

Quitting the comfortable lifestyle in the UK, moving continents to be with the ‘one’, adapting to life in a Mexican home, spending seven months trying to get the U.S. visa to allow me to accept the TV job, finding and buying the engagement ring, planning the proposal etc etc.

All THAT was stressful.

The wedding for me is a walk in the park!

Stress: Banned

Simply agree and say ‘I do’ with everything that the registrar asks right?

Well, I’m trying not to let it stress me out in any case.

By now I’ve been to, and experienced, enough weddings in my time to understand how NOT to do it.

In this case less is not more in terms of stress.

Not the image we want associated with our wedding!

Wedding ring shopping a few weeks’ back in Tijuana…

Me: “That’s nice, that’ll do.”

First jewellery shop, first ring I looked at. Job done.

Jacky: “What do you think of this one? Or this one? Or this one?! Shall we get them engraved?”

Yes, Jacks is taking the lead on this one.

Whatever she wants, I’m happy with. I’d tattoo my finger, or wrap a lollipop stick around it if that’s what she wants.

Thankfully I’ve not been a part of the search for the wedding dress.

Jacks spent the best part of a month in two different countries, as well as online, searching for THE ‘perfect’ dress.
Of course a month isn't that long given the seriousness of the dress situation.
No stone left unturned. The Holy Grail would have been easier to stumble across I'm sure.

Despite the obvious stress it was causing my future spouse, I couldn’t help but sit back and feel lucky I wasn’t allowed to be part of it.

So now she has the ‘perfect’ dress.

And what does Jacks want to do now? Make ‘adjustments’ to make it even more perfect.

I have no idea what to expect. But suffice to say, she’ll look amazing even if she wore a bin liner.

Note Jacks… this is an expression NOT a suggestion!

It’s her moment to be a princess.

And I’m just happy she’s finally, nearly, happy. Nearly.

My mum has also been going pretty crazy with the idea of it all – among other things designing and making flower button holes, and then skyping me simply to show me.

Note mum, for the record… they look fab.

My brother has also been asking if we should be “co-ordinated” in what the men are wearing.

Pfah.

I may sound pretty nonchalant about everything and it’s fair to say I’m pretty laid back about the ‘big’ day.

I’m organised, I’m determined, and I’m feeling good.

My cameraman joked – to the horror of his girlfriend – that he wouldn’t wear a suit to the occasion. Would I care?! No way! We’re in California man!
You want to rock up in boardies and flip flops - do it!

My mum doesn’t quite see it that way but give it a few days over here and she’ll fit into the groove I’m sure.

I’m just giving myself a big old personal high-five that I’ve found the most amazing girl in the world, and that she wants to publicly state that she wants to spend the rest of her life with me. I mean… ME!

Eek.

So yes, getting married away from our normal ‘homes’ allows us some amount of freedom and peace.

I mean, we don’t have to go to church; attend marriage guidance classes (that was the scenario if we opted for marriage in Mexico!); organise a huge stag/hen do; or pay for a hundred people we really don’t care that much about to be fed and watered!

Instead we have a simple theme, a lovely setting, with people here who have helped us along the way. And we have more money for the honeymoon.

The setting for our wedding (the building faces the ocean)

It will be stripped back and perfect, allowing us – to a certain degree – to be selfish and let the hectic world revolve around us for a single moment in time.

Our moment is made by us, for us.

San Diego and TJ are, by their very nature, transient places.

So us, as foreigners, getting married here seems to be the perfect set up.

And we can’t wait!

Actually I have to tell you all a pretty funny anecdote from a couple of months ago.

So after deciding to get married downtown at the administration building, we popped down to get our license for the occasion.

While we were sat there most (it seemed) of Southern California’s news networks, presenters and photographers rushed into the office in a frantic rush.

In a bizarre moment of fate the woman registrar dealing with us looked up and asked “are these here for you…?!”

We couldn’t help but laugh.

It turned out, that on that very afternoon, a ban on gay marriage in California had been lifted.

We walked out of the office after getting our license feeling like we were on the red carpet at Cannes with – I’m sure – many of the presenters wondering if I was actually there to book my ‘civil’ wedding to my ‘partner’.

I hope they’re reading this now just to clear up any confusion!

So yes, all systems go…

A month to go and I’m still pinching myself, as is Jacks, that we’re not actually living a dream.

That’s how it feels. A dream, within a dream.

Oh, on a side note can I also just say a quick thank you to all you lovely people who have been reading this blog over the past year.

We’re now well past 10,000 page views in 30+ countries.

It seems ‘Crazy Beautiful Madness In Mexico…’ is really popular in Germany, Russia, Latvia, South Korea, Canada and Hong Kong… as well as Mexico, the UK and the US.

Who’d have thought it! I can't believe it!

Each and every one of you is a part of this magical story.

Thanks for lending me your eyes!

Sending you all much love x


@tristan_nichols

That's entertainment...

“SOMETHING nice for your lady...?” the make-up shop assistant asked with a genuinely pleasant and helpful smile on her face.

“Um... no.  You see, well, er... I’m on TV... and I’ve been told to get make-up... for, well... me...”

I don’t think I need to describe anymore how weird and awkward this moment was.

I’m pretty sure Macy’s doesn’t usually see many men asking for make-up. Let alone English ones.

“You’re on TV now, so you need make-up,” my producer told me last week.

“You’ll look shiny under the studio lights, go and buy make-up,”

So there I was, on the bosses orders, visiting Macy’s in downtown San Diego to get some sort of the foundationy, blushery, concealery stuff. Whatever you call it.

“Can you make me less, um... shiny?” was my plea to the young shop worker.

“Sure,” she replied.

She then began talking in some strange foreign language that only girls understand, mentioning things like ‘tones’, ‘skin’ and ‘shades’.  I just nodded politely like I knew what she was talking about.

Jacks, at this point, was no help at all – unless of course I wanted my very own hysterical audience for this production.

I sat down in the make-up chair feeling the way you do when you visit the dentist – unsure, apprehensive, and definitely out of my comfort zone.

The shop worker left us for a moment to get kitted out, and Jacks and I discussed what I would need.

I’ll never forget the next 10 minutes of my life. The girl returned and began ‘painting’ my face with so many different shades I looked like I’d had a very VERY bad experience on a sun bed.

“What do you think? Which one is better,” she eventually asked handing me a small circular mirror.

“I think I want to crawl up into a ball and die,” is what I wanted to reply.

But, being polite, I smiled, looked at Jacks, and diverted the question to her instead.

“Are you likely to get a tan on our face?” the make-up girl then asked.

“Because if you are we don’t want anything too light because you’ll look weird.”

Oh dear god. More and more people then began entering the store and glancing over.

My face’s ‘shade’ quickly turned to red in embarrassment and my hands became clammy.

“You know what... that’ll do,” I said, now in a semi-mad panic.

“That one with the... er... the one that... yes the... er ....  Lancome Paris 300 Bisque mattifying silky pressed powder?! – THAT one. The translucent one!

“Sorry? Oh, do I want a brush to apply? Um... no... yes... *panic-stricken glance at Jacks...* yes!”

“And SORRY... How much?!” Wow.

Job done.

Does it feel weird to wear make up?! Hell yes.

Will I ever get used to it? Hell no.
I have to admit that I have worn it before once or twice for catwalk shows and shoots and things but NEVER on a daily basis.
It's always been applied on/for me.
I've never really taken note of how girls do it.
And I've sure as hell never gone shopping for it.

You see, once again, I have no term of reference.

Too much application and I look like the Satsuma-skinned English antiques expert and TV presenter, David Dickinson.

Too little and I look greasy.

WARNING: Too much application is bad for skin, and popularity

And how do you do this?!

Nope, haven't a clue...

And I have to put it on myself which, I can tell you, has been met with some hilarity from co-workers.

But my producer’s right, if it’s a choice of wearing this stuff and temporarily rescinding my man card, or looking like a greasy weirdo under the bright and hot lights, (yes if you didn’t realise from the above verse, I’m vain!) I know which I’d prefer.

So yes... it’s been an interesting couple of weeks.

The ‘training’ for my new job consisted of me doing my first ‘live’ in the studio.

Nothing like being thrown in the deep end eh? But it’s the best way to learn right? Sink or swim.

Within two days we established some silly habits that I have.

When reading the tele-prompter I seem to occasionally clap my hands, tap the desk in front of me, or lean my head to one side – or do all three. Why? Not sure, it’s weird.

I’m working on it, and I think it’s just down to gaining confidence in this new role.

But hey, I couldn’t do it without giving people the chance to rib me about something right?!

I’m just glad I didn’t say “sh*t” and “f*ck” live into the camera on my first day like an American anchorman did on his first day – which bizarrely happened to be the same day as I started.

Anyhow, as far as first weeks go, it's been awesome. It’s stupid amounts of fun, and we’ve got an amazingly talented and super lovely team at U-T TV.

I finally realised the meaning of the word ‘promotion’ when I opened up the paper last Sunday to see a full page picture of me staring back at myself.

Promotion

I tell you, I nearly choked on my cornflakes.

My mum’s response...? “Nice tan, or is that make-up?!”

Thanks mum.

Anyhow aside from the new career on the box, I’ve also had to deal with beginning my new life living here in San Diego.

Starting from scratch doesn’t even remotely cover it.

I felt like a Bob Dylan-type character arriving in California with nothing but a bag of clothes and a guitar.

Still, it’s all rock and roll right?

California dreaming

PINCH me I'm dreaming.
I mean, I must be... Did I really quit my job, house and life in the UK to land a Latin fiancé and a TV career in California?!

In San Diego? An ANCHORMAN in San Diego...?!
I'm sorry but that shit doesn’t happen.
Normally.
I currently find myself in the somewhat enviable position of having realized a dream.
A dream I guess I never dared to dream before.
Now, I'm not going to kiss my own ass and make out like “everything’s amazing, isn’t life great... la dee da...”
(Because everyone knows how the English hate someone who's found success and happiness), but wow... what a ride it’s been.
Today I can finally reveal the full detail of what the hell has been going on with me for the past 10 months.
As you all know I quit everything I’d known in the UK last June after meeting the beautiful Jacky.

I moved to Tijuana without even a hint of a plan, safe in the knowledge that ‘I’ had become ‘we’ (TJ team).

After two months of sitting in the house doing relatively little I dropped an email to the U-T San Diego (neighbouring San Diego’s biggest newspaper) asking if I could pop in to take a look at their set up.

The U-T had, at that time, just launched its own web and US cable television channel and as a result, fully integrated itself with web and TV.

It was something my previous employers at The Herald in Plymouth, had talked about doing but – for one reason or another – had not quite achieved.

So, out of pure curiosity, I popped over the border and visited the U-T.

And the conversation went something like this:

U-T: “So... um... remind me again why you’re here...?”

Me: “Well, see I met this Mexican girl and...”

*cue startled glance and paper shuffling.

U-T: Wait, wait, wait... hey... HEY GUYS... have you heard this? We’ve got a crazy romantic Englishman here... can we get him a job?! Do you want a job?!”

To cut a very long story short I met the U-T’s TV guys who asked if I could pop back the next day for a screen test.

I guess they must have seen something they liked because moments after the test I was offered a position.

And then came the visa application. And seven months of being in limbo.

Annoyingly everyone who has ever got a tourist visa stamp abroad thinks they are experts on immigration law and, at times, my head was spinning with conflicting information.

“You should have done this or that...”, “you should have changed lawyers...” “you don't need that visa you need this one..."
Jeez.
Okay... how about we play a game of f#ck off... and you go first.

So after seven months of providing US Immigration with everything they needed, about a month ago we finally heard that my O-1 visa application had been approved.

For a moment I was afraid that Piers Morgan’s views on US gun laws, and the resulting calls for his deportation from the US, had scuppered any plan for an Englishman ever to be shown the green light.
But thankfully not.

Three weeks ago I flew to Canada to get the visa stamp, which was an unexpected treat in itself. It also afforded itself its own hilarity.

On greeting me when checking into the Toronto hotel the guy on the front desk (who later turned out to be Argentine) said: “Ahhh... you're from Plymouth?”
Me: “Yes.”
“Aha, yes, your team is not very good...”

This man clearly knew too much about Plymouth and it’s football – or is that ‘socher’ team.

Anyway, sorry I digress... after a week in Canada I flew back to TJ, two days later I crossed over to San Diego, and a few days after that I started work officially.

“What the hell have you been doing for nine MONTHS in TJ?!” a lot of people have asked.

Well, I learned a bit of Spanish, became an expert in immigration law, got a bit of a tan, oh... and I got really good at playing Candy Crush.

So fully charged, SUPER excited, and still pinching myself that this is all actually real, I find myself sat in a downtown coffee shop having just completed my first week as a ‘show host’ at U-T TV.

Being in limbo for that length of time wasn’t good for the soul, but it just goes to show that sometimes you’ve got to leave your comfort zone to see what’s possible in life.

I mean, ME... a TV presenter?!

Crazy huh?

So now it’s a case of ‘ding ding’ round two.
I now need to source an apartment, a social security number, a car, a bank account, a phone (or is that ‘cell?’) contract or SIM, a TV, sofa, bed, other home furnishings, oh and of course a kettle... (that’s got to be easier this side of the border right?!)
Oh and I need to retake my driving test (theory and practical) because Californian state law doesn't recognize the international driving permit). Grr.

So I’m a British citizen, engaged to a Mexican girl, who is now living and working in America. Oh, and I flew to Canada to get the visa.

Officials on the Mexican/US border ask a few questions let me tell you...
We’re still working out the details of what exactly my new show will be about for U-T TV and it’s in development.

This week I’ve been finding my feet, explaining to my co-workers what the hell I mean when I’m saying things like I’m ‘cream-crackered’ (i.e. knackered... i.e. tired), and doing news reporting slots on U-T TV’s PrimeTime show.

A few members of the PrimeTime crew on set

In the next blog I’ll bring everyone up to speed with some of the crazy antics this past week has witnessed.

Where the magic happens...

Do you want to check out what The U-T San Diego and U-T TV is all about?

Those people that aren’t in the US can watch U-T TV live online by visiting http://www.utsandiego.com/tv/. Click on the ‘Watch Live’ link and you’re all set.

For now though I’m going to order another latte, breathe a little sigh, sit back in my chair, and carry on (California) dreaming.