I leave for London in less than a fortnight.
I don’t yet know which MP I’ll be working for, which is
unsettling, but only because I want to research them—not because I fear that I
won’t be assigned to anyone and that I’ll just get there and they’ll say that
no one wants me, and that I shouldn’t even unpack but instead get on the next
plane home and then on the way back to airport the people on the tube with me
will all start laughing hysterically and pointing because someone taped a sign
to my back that says “go home, plonker.” No, that isn’t it at all.
America may be the culture king, but England is the queen
(naturally). I’ve spent my whole life being exposed to the British culture that
flows across the pond. James Herriot. the Streets. David Brent. Black Adder.
Bridget Jones. Led Zeppelin. the Manchester Guardian. Coupling. Jane Austen.
Douglas Adams. football. Benedict Cumberbatch. Harry Potter.
And much like a penguin biologist on their first trip to
Antarctica, I’m ready to put my research to the test.
