Oh, no it isn’t… oh, yes it is - the panto!

OH, NO it isn’t… oh, yes it is.

It’s a blog about the annual British pantomime – or ‘panto’ for short.

This past weekend saw my Mexican wife’s latest induction to her new life in England.

For those of you in the US and overseas, the dictionary definition of pantomime is this: ‘a theatrical entertainment, mainly for children, which involves music, topical jokes, and slapstick comedy and is based on a fairy tale or nursery story, usually produced around Christmas’.

After sitting through the hour-and-a-half performance at Plymouth’s Theatre Royal, Jacky’s definition of a pantomime is simply this: ‘It’s crazy’.

The Christmas panto is a British tradition. It’s as British as you can get – and its roots reportedly go all the way back to the 16^th century.

Men dress up as women, women dress up as men, they sing songs, tell rude jokes and just have a laugh.

It’s bonkers, bizarre and quite brilliant in its silliness.

I hadn’t been to the panto since my mum won tickets in a newspaper competition when I was about seven or eight.

And boy did I NOT notice the sexual innuendos back then.

The kids love the audience participation, and the colour and ridiculousness of it all – not least the songs and chorus of ‘he’s behind you… oh no he isn’t, oh yes he is…’ lines.

The adults love the clever (but silly) jokes, the double entendres, the forgotten lines and mistakes, and the occasional glances from the stars referencing how ridiculous it all is.

I couldn’t help but glance over at Jacks throughout the whole ordeal, sorry show, to check that she wasn’t horrified by what she was seeing.

The expressions on her face spoke volumes of her enjoyment of the show.

Panto selfie

Huge credit has got to go to the entertainer (and true star of the show) Bobby Davro who – on greeting the audience and revealing how happy he was to be back in Plymouth, went on to he’s the only entertainer of his age left who “isn’t in prison” (referencing the ongoing sexual abuse scandals rocking the British entertainment industry).

Fair point.

And if the panto itself wasn’t crazy enough, the annual panto after show party made for a pretty wild night.

Here, on the top floor of the venue, saw a mix of panto stars and theatre employees, footballers, journalists and city businessmen – with a large shot of something very alcoholic.

“You’re hungover…?” friends asked us the morning after the show with a look of equal part disbelief and horror.

“You went to a kids pantomime and got drunk?!”

“Have you been to a panto recently…? Wow…” I smirked.

“Times have changed…”

A journalist colleague of mine told me recently that one year one of the previous stars of the Plymouth panto asked if he could do his interview “lying down”.

The interview just so happened to take place the morning after the panto party.

Anyhow, watching the Christmas pantomime is another tick on the list.

Now we’re set for our first Christmas together in the UK.

Oh, yes it is… it’s CHRISTMAS!

Merry Christmas everyone!

Twitter: @tristan_nichols

Traditions, and the war against the cold

Meet 'Teddy'.

This 8-inch-tall furry fellow is my Mexican wife's latest weapon in the war against the British winter.

If having three duvets on the bed at night isn't enough (with Jacks more often than not wearing her down coat to sleep), we now share our space with a cute Teddy covered hot water bottle.

Naked Teddy

And winter has only just begun.

Since arriving from San Diego/Tijuana seven months ago it's fair to say we've invested heavily in combating the onslaught of a traditional British winter.

Jacks has never experienced one before.

This time last year we were preparing our Thanksgiving meal in board shorts and t-shirts whilst contemplating heading to the beach at the weekend.

This time last year Jacks had never heard of 'central heating' or 'hot water bottles'.

This year, right now, we're donning hats and scarves in the house, and seriously contemplating hibernating until the spring.

In the last month my wife has well and truly discovered the joys of shopping – notably in charity shops.

So much so that I'm also contemplating buying a bigger house just to accommodate her new 'wardrobe'.

Jacks arrived here in the UK in May with one thin San Diego-style jacket/coat (i.e. a cardigan).

By my count she now has eight 'proper' coats. Oh, and enough scarves to shake a stick at.

In the last few weeks we've properly experienced some very English traditions as a couple – Bonfire Night being one.

Our friends in Mexico and San Diego have been asking us: "What the hell is going on in those pictures?! "

Bonfire Night on Plymouth Hoe

Simple, that is to someone from these shores.

Guy Fawkes night.

Traditions are weird right? I mean, when you're from a different area of the world experiencing something for the first time.

What one culture thinks is perfectly normal, another finds completely weird – bordering on bonkers.

In Mexico they have the ’Dia De La Muerta’ (’Day of the Dead’) during which dead people’s lives are celebrated.

At first I thought that fairly weird – not least wandering into a Mexican supermarket in downtown Tijuana to be greeted by a full-sized altar complete with skulls and cobwebs.

But after being told what it’s all about (celebrating the lives of those who've passed) it didn’t seem so sinister.

However, you try explaining the tradition of Guy Fawkes night…

"Well, you throw an effigy of a ’man’ (or 'guy') onto a fire, and everyone stands around watching it slowly burn generally while having a good time. "

Cue confused, (almost frightened) look.

"It's a real family occasion," I said now desperately trying to convince Jacks that it's not really that weird.

"People come from all around... thousands in fact. They have fireworks and everything!"

Plenty of 'oohs and ahhhs' going on here...

They even have sparklers!

"Remind me of the story of Bonfire Night," Jacks asked me by now looking more perplexed.

"Well… some guy called Guy Fawkes (who apparently was a bit of bastard), tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament in ffuuuussssbvvvvv um… – anyway, the date doesn’t matter.

"They caught him, and they burned him alive, thus creating the reference throwing a 'guy' on the fire."

When you consider it, our tradition is much more sinister-sounding than the 'Dia de la Muerta' right?

So anyway, it's cold here and it's only going to get colder.

I keep asking Jacks if she's still 'happy' here.

She hasn't said 'no' yet so I think I've found a keeper.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Twitter: @tristan_nichols

Money talks

“ARE you trying to come across as a bloody Mexican drug lord?!” an American friend asked the night before we left the US bound for England.

My smug grin quickly turned into a desperate frown.

“Let me get this straight… you’re going to carry nine THOUSAND dollars back in your pocket…?! Flying from San Diego… which is next door to Tijuana – one of the most notorious drug havens in the world…”

Cue friend pretending to put on rubber gloves.

Sometimes good ideas become quite the opposite.

You see, my plan was simple.

To avoid being charged by Bank of America and my English bank for wiring my money back to the UK, I decided to draw it all out and simply carry it back on my person.

With Bank of America charging $35 for every wire transfer of $1,000 (with a $1,000 limit to each transfer) I was facing the possibility of paying over $300 to wire the contents of my US account.

F*ck that for a game of chess.

I’ll just take the money out and carry it, I thought.

Money talks

So this ‘good’ idea was just that… until this particular moment sat around the dinner table for our last supper.

“You like the idea of cavity searches then?” my friend asked with a wry smile.

In hindsight I have to say that after catching three flights, stashing and then re-stashing the cash in various pockets and bags – I wouldn’t do it again.

I’d checked the legal customs limit for the amount of dollars which can be taken into the UK, and I was fine. It was legal and above board.

(Oh, and worth pointing out that the money was our savings fund for a car in San Diego).

But for that 20+ hour return journey I was terrified of the prospect of misplacing the wad of cash, or being jumped in the men’s toilets – or both.

End result… we arrived in the UK complete with cash (although nerves completely shot).

Of course dollars are useless in the UK until they’re converted into British Pounds.

And that was an experience in itself.

I stood in the queue at the busy Santander branch until it was my turn to speak to the bank representative.

With hushed tones I said: “I’d like to deposit some dollars into my account…”

“How much,” the representative asked.

“Um… a lot…” I replied trying to give off hard-man vibes to the people assembled behind me.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to get them changed at a currency exchange and then bring in the pounds to deposit,” she said.

So off we went to Thomas Cook for act two.

“I’d like to change up some dollars,” I said defiantly.

“How much would you like to change,” came the reply.

“Um… (cue hushed voice again) nine thousand dollars please…”

“I’m sorry, nine THOUSAND dollars?” the woman replied.

“Yes, that’s right… well, you always come back with change right?!” I said.

Unfortunately despite my attempt to make light of the situation, I somehow still came across like a money laundering drug baron fresh back from a profitable score.

Her response…?

“I’ll just get my manager”.

To cut a long story short, the manager arrived and bizarrely asked me – somewhat bizarrely – whether I had a ‘figure’ in mind.

“I didn’t realize this was open to negotiation…” I said.

“Just give me the exchange rate…”

So, ultimately I avoided bank wire transfer fees. However, doing it this way I think I lost more money in this transaction that I would have done doing it the other way.

Bastards.

Hindsight is a wonderful thing eh?

Anyhow, for the past couple of weeks since getting back I’ve been busy sorting mine – and Jacky’s – ‘admin’.

You know, all those things which we take for granted once they’re in place.

House insurance, bank accounts, phone contracts, health cover, DVLA (driving) documentation, blah blah blah.

Most of it has been fairly straight forward, but there have been one or two annoying discoveries along the way… car insurance for example.

Did you know that if you’ve been out of the country for two years or more, most (and I mean MOST) car insurers automatically wipe your No Claims Bonus (NCB).

Before I left the UK two years ago I had built up in excess of five years NCB.

So when I bought my new car 10 days ago I thought I would – at least – have those five years’ bonus, plus arguing rights over the past two years when I’ve been overseas.

With no insurance claims in the US or Mexico in that time I thought I had a chance of adding those years to my previously accrued five years.

Wrong.

It was only after finding and agreeing a good insurance quote online that my chosen insurer – esure – told me that a). not only do they effectively wipe No Claims Bonus years if you’ve been away for two years or more; b). they also then don’t insure a driver who has zero years No Claims Bonus.

Great.

It doesn’t matter if those NCB years are protected or not, they’re deemed ‘invalid’.

After a lengthy search, again online, I found that Admiral do recognize the previous NCB years, however, they knock a year off that amount for every two years you’ve sent away.

Not the best, but not the worst.

In 12 months’ time, if I decide to switch to a different insurer, I’m guessing I’ll be having the same argument.

It seems that it doesn’t matter who or what you are, insurance companies and banks have you by the balls and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Still, I guess ultimately it’s a small price to pay for happiness.

It’ll take more than this to wipe the smiles off our sun-tanned faces.

Twitter: @tristan_nichols