The most shocking thing about moving to America, after finding out they don’t have sausage rolls, was coming to terms with the fact that Americans do this crazy thing called being “proud” of themselves. As an English girl raised on a steady diet of sarcasm, self-deprecation and shortbread, the idea of talking about myself with anything other than low-level disdain felt alarming and entirely uncomfortable.
Read more here!
Unfortunately, to access this column you do need a Times Subscription. The good news is if you subscribe you get automatic access to the whole of the Times and a lot of articles that are a lot better than mine!