Daze of yore.

Well this isn't too good. Apologies all round. No post for nearly a month? What have I become?

Cheery corn, cheery oats, cheery rice and wheat. Cheery something something-thing CHEERIOS, so good to eat. I think they're the lyrics. It doesn't matter. My point is that there are four types - if you will - of Cheerios. Americans have five. Five. I don't know what they make the fifth cheerio out of and frankly I don't care. It's just not right. There's no symmetry in it. The spoon will be all over the show.

Another somewhat comical observation here is the fact that tax is put on to things at the till. If the price of an item is on the shelf next to it, you'd better be very good at working out obscure percentages because it's going to be tacked on to it when you get to the paying. I know, it's not comical - even somewhat. I just chuckled bitterly to myself when I thought I had enough for an item from the dollar menu at McDonalds and then had to frantically turn out my pockets in the hope that I wouldn't have the embarrassment of the staff there giving me a dirty, yet pitiful, look as they slowly pour my small portion of fries back into that little heating semi-cabinet that they use. Pah. One dollar eight cents. Pathetic.

One thing that is pretty big over here (or may have been. I'm not the best at keeping up to speed on these things) is the idea of introducing National Health Care. I don't know why I capitalised it. It just seems important. I was asked about the differences the other day. In summary England, with it's healthcare service, gets a lot of free perks. Well, it gets a lot of free everything. It gets completely free everything, in fact. America doesn't. Call me silly, but I can't see why people don't want this.

I went to a petrol station the other day with my mates to get petrol - because that's how we roll. All of the pumps were out of order and we weren't sure why, until a kindly young man came over and informed us that they were too full. Too full. There was too much petrol in their reserve to sell us a few gallons. Just when I started to get my head around the way this country works, BAM. Curveball. I don't know how long the people who owned the station have been in business; and I myself have no business sentience, if I may use that term, but I would like to think that I at least know that selling what your property is renowned for selling - expected to sell, I would go as far as saying - is at the very least the bottom line. The base of all sales. The bread and butter. But I've never owned a petrol station. They call them gas stations here anyway, but that is a whole post by itself.

Actually... Who's up for some crazy word comparisons next time we're here? I know I am.

I'll make a note.

kisses