Ouch. Scathing little piece on the British expatriate scene written by none other than a British expatriate. Well, it would have to be. But still, I do hope that A.A. Gill doesn't find himself a marked man by irked Brits in Manhattan.
It also brings to the fore the ancient memory of why Sting's "Englishman in New York" song always irritated me. So he's "an alien. An illegal alien...an Englishman in New York." And? That sounds pretty hard.
I always thought that Shinehead's dance hall reggae version to be much better than Sting's. He just substituted "Jamaican" for "Englishman" and added some soulful angst; suddenly, it felt like a real song: "I'm an alien / an illegal alien / I'm a Jamaican in New Yoooork." That worked for me. And it was reggae – come on.
Oh, how parallel are the barbs and jabs in this article about Brits in Manhattan to western expats living in Korea. If you want to see Americans being more a living stereotype, Canucks plastering the maple leaf over every part of their body, or Aussies acting extra Outback, one would not have to look far.
I guess the job of finding normal people in one's crowd of expats is a difficult thing to do, no matter where you are. The circumstances are obviously different, but the overall pattern is the same:
Go up to the bar on any Thursday night and see the serried, slouched, braying, bitten-nailed ranks of them, all in need of a toothbrush, a cotton bud, and a dermatologist. Nursing beers and a well-thumbed ragged project. They're all here not making a film, not writing a book, not selling a sitcom. Don't tell me about your latest script. You're not a film writer. You're a handyman. You've never made so much as a wedding video. You do a bit of decorating, some plumbing, and you house-sit plants. There's no shame in it. It's what immigrants do.
Oooh. Come on – don't pull punches! Tell us what you really think!
I notice a man in a kilt. For Chrissake, who moves to America and brings a kilt? Did his mother say, "Farewell, son. Make something of yourself in the New World. Have you packed your native costume, just in case?" Just in case of what? Just in case we decide to re-invade Canada? Just in case he finds a girl with a thing for men in frocks with no knickers? Just in case there's an England-versus-Scotland match on the satellite television in some fake pub? Other countries keep their quaint ethnic customs, their special days. But somehow Diwali, Panamanian Martyrs' Day, or Jewish Family Friday Dinner seem quaint and diverse, while a drunk Scots banker in a skirt in the early morning is actually pathetically annoying.
This was a funny piece for expats living the life anywhere and who have a thick skin and a healthy sense of humor.
