Going To Lakeside

For the third time today, an American has just looked at me as if I’m mad. It’s not our fault. We can’t do anything else until tomorrow. Why should we be ashamed? We do it all the time in the UK. Just because the Americans find it strange doesn’t mean we shouldn’t enjoy ourselves the British way.

And so, we walked to the shops. The real hint that American roads are not designed to accommodate pedestrians is the epic wait for the lights to change at the occasional, surly crossing. After several minutes, the lights force themselves to endure a few seconds of red, before suddenly switching back, leaving their hapless victims to scurry the remaining few meters to the safety of the sidewalk. I’d always thought that scene in LA Story where Steve Martin drives all of two houses to see his best friend was a joke, until I saw at least two driver do journeys just that short.

And where did that walk take us? Lakeside. Yes, we’d travelled around 4,000 miles and we were still shopping at Lakeside. Of course, this Lakeside is significantly smaller than the one we’re used to, and a damn sight more friendly, too. We had a very pleasant lunch in a bar on the corner of the little strip of shops, paying for four people about what we would have paid for one back in the UK. I could get used to this.