Notes from a Stylist takes to the high seas...

Posted: May 29, 2010 - I know it's Fleet Week in New York and one should always ask the credentials of a sailor, let alone a Captain before one takes to the high seas, but it was time to celebrate a buddies birthday in style. So what better way when the temperature gauge hit 100f than to hop on a boat and take a trip to famed sea food restaurant L'escale in Greenwich, CT. Sounds like a plan right - ah yes, until you factor in sod's law and the teeny tiny matter of low tide. Having studied a little navigation for a Day Skipper course back in Blighty (that I never did quite manage to finish), even my dodgy knowledge could recall that you get hidden rocks at low water and certain gnarly rocks that at low tide might prove a tad hazardous. With 3 other chicks in the back of his boat our trusty Captain managed to get us stuck on one of those little blighters whilst we ambled around Long Island Sound perusing the huge waterfront mansions (that maybe, post lottery win, could be mine). Agreed, the Sound is not quite as treacherous in theory as the high seas, but none the less there was a moment when we were considering ditching our cheese and wine overboard and slinging our sling backs (Manolo's naturally) over our shoulders to wade ashore. Luckily for us our leader had an oar to hand so with manly dexterity it was on to our destination to recuperate from our near death experience. Our table was next to Regis and Kathie Lee who were out for a reunion but were slightly less than pleased with us when our table decoration spontaneously combusted - or at least caught fire from the tea light - it took a gaggle of waiters and a water jug sometime to sort us out - at which point there was much harrumphing from fellow guests. Not to be thwarted and forgetting to consider that in Sod's law most things occur in 3's we continued our lovely evening with present opening and wine. The final part of our trilogy of woes came when, just as were about to head off - a man threw himself at us. Now I'm not talking about the traditional approach, you know, when a guy is totally smitten by your wit and charm and can't fight the feeling anymore. This guy came at us with more of a stumble, backwards, as his chair had utterly collapsed and he was caught in one of those slapstick 'will he or won't he' moments that can only ever work on Americas Funniest Videos. His chair had literally pegged out, hurling him towards us and our ladylike table. Thank the Lord for quick reflexes and the fact that the Birthday girl (an ex dancer) has the body of a gazelle but the strength of a rhino - one nifty backhand and the bloke managed to regain his balance before taking the rest of our party out. On reflection the Birthday girl (a long time New Yorker), took note that the poor guy was in fact rather an eligible looking bloke and maybe she should get his number for some of her divorced mates. You can take the girl out of New York..... If you liked this post, take a peek at more Notes from a Stylist Or for style advice check out Sara Delaney in the Stylist Studio at Running with Heels.com

Posted via email from Big Apple Brits - British Expats, Anglophiles and Brit Culture Lovers New York City

NY expats gear up for first British festival Brit Fest NYC - 4th - 10th June 2010

Check out this article published in The Telegraph

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/expat/expatlife/7764703/NY-expats-gear-up-for-first-British-festival.html

NY expats gear up for first British festival

Louise Gale, co-founder of expat group Big Apple Brits, gives the inside scoop on what to expect from the first annual BritFest.

 By Leah Hyslop

Published: 3:52PM BST 27 May 2010

Two of Big Apple Brit's co-founders, Louise Gale and Derek, at the launch party of the group.

Louise Gale, who founded expat meet-up group Big Apple Brits with two friends in 2009, says that she began thinking about holding a British festival in New York soon after the group was established: "I was sitting with my co-founders Patricia and Derek, and we were talking about the vast amount of parades and festivals New York has. We realised that though every other nationality seems to have some form of day or event, Britishness goes rather uncelebrated in the Big Apple.

"We'd all heard of Brit Week, a similiar event held in LA, and so we decided to organise our own festival. It seemed not only like the perfect opportunity to have a bit of a knees up with the members of Big Apple Brits, but a good chance to meet many of the other expats in New York we don't yet know."

Six months on, BritFest, which runs from June 4th to 10th, is is ready for kick off. The analogy is apt, as the organisers have deliberately timed the festival to coincide with the week leading up to the World Cup tournament. "A lot of expats here are football fans," says Louise, "and that, combined with the fact it's summer, made it seem a perfect time to hold the fest."

The festival begins on Monday 4th June with a club night at the Stone Creek lounge, dedicated to British dance music and ending, Louise reckons, "either when the DJ stops spinning tunes or we all fall over, whichever comes first!"

After that, there's a live music and comedy night, as well as a British BBQ - "complete with all the Pimms and proper British sausages you could want" - on the 5th, followed by craft exhibit on the 8th. Finally, there is an evening of British theatre on the 9th, and a World Cup kick off party on the10th. A busy week then? "Yes- it's going to be manic!"

The festival has taken months to organise, but according to Louise, the team are already planning for next year: "We've got a lot of different events this June, but we had to be realistic about what we could plan in so short a time. So we've already started thinking of what we can do for the second festival. I'm hoping to do more family orientated things, for example, and maybe something on British fashion.

"Eventually, we hope the festival will become an annual occasion which brings the British community in New York together, as well as any resident Anglophiles who'd perhaps like to learn more about British culture. Being an expat can be quite lonely, and the festival will with any luck help us support eachother - as well as perhaps provide an opportunity to support British owned businesses."

Big Apple Brits has around 1500 members, and Louise says that she is expecting a good turn out of up to 100 at each event. "We hold a lot of meet-ups throught the year, and we always try to celebrate the big British events like Guy Fawkes night or St George's day, which we miss out on over here. People enjoy those, so we hope our members do pitch up for this one - along with anyone else who wants to come along."

Before that however, the organisers of the festival have what Louise dryly refers to as "a lot of sleepless nights" to get through. And a lot of Pimms to make.

More information on the festival can be found at Big Apple Brits' website here. http://www.bigapplebrits.com  http://www.britfestnyc.com

 

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/expat/expatlife/7764703/NY-expats-gear-up-for-first-British-festival.html

 

Posted via web from Big Apple Brits - British Expats, Anglophiles and Brit Culture Lovers New York City

Announcing the 1st Annual BritFest NYC: 4th - 10th June 2010

 

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

 

Contact: Louise Gale

Email: louise@bigapplebrits.com

Phone: 201 388 2748

 

The First Annual BritFest NYC to be held June 4th- 10th 2010

Celebrate British Culture in New York City

 

There’s not a tea cup in sight, but the Brits in New York are set to take the big apple by storm this June, showcasing a series of social events across the city.  Hosted by Big Apple Brits, a vibrant expat community with thousands of British expats and British culture lovers, BritFest NYC features a unique blend of events - covering British club music, BBQ, live music, art & charity, theatre and football party, injecting a good dash of football fever in the run up to the World Cup 2010.

With so many great aspects of British culture to celebrate, BritFest NYC will be a fantastic part of the New York City social calendar in June – bringing British ex pats, culture lovers and the local community together.

BritFest NYC will start on Friday June 4th and finish with a World Cup Kick Off Party on Thursday June 10th, 2010. More information and tickets can be purchased at http://www.britfestnyc.com/

For more information please contact Louise Gale at Louise @bigapplebrits.com 

 

 http://www.britfestnyc.com/

 

Posted via web from Big Apple Brits - British Expats, Anglophiles and Brit Culture Lovers New York City

Announcing the 1st Annual BritFest NYC: 4th - 10th June 2010

 

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

 

Contact: Louise Gale

Email: louise@bigapplebrits.com

Phone: 201 388 2748

 

The First Annual BritFest NYC to be held June 4rd- 10th 2010

Celebrate British Culture in New York City

 

There’s not a tea cup in sight, but the Brits in New York are set to take the big apple by storm this June, showcasing a series of social events across the city.  Hosted by Big Apple Brits, a vibrant expat community with thousands of British expats and British culture lovers, BritFest NYC features a unique blend of events - covering British club music, BBQ, live music, art & charity, theatre and football party, injecting a good dash of football fever in the run up to the World Cup 2010.

With so many great aspects of British culture to celebrate, BritFest NYC will be a fantastic part of the New York City social calendar in June – bringing British ex pats, culture lovers and the local community together.

BritFest NYC will start on Friday June 4th and finish with a World Cup Kick Off Party on Thursday June 10th, 2010. More information and tickets can be purchased at http://www.britfestnyc.com/

For more information please contact Louise Gale at Louise @bigapplebrits.com 

 

 http://www.britfestnyc.com/

Posted via web from Big Apple Brits - British Expats, Anglophiles and Brit Culture Lovers New York City

Shhhhhh...

New York, like myself and The American has one volume setting...loud.

However, I think I can safely say the city and the husband trump me on both. When The American gets animated the walls actually shake a little. While on the phone I ask why he bothers actually using one-he could just as easily employ two tins cans and some string. His shout could not only wake the dead, it could catapult them from their graves and have them dancing a Mambo on 5th Avenue. Despite all this, he hears only my roar, as if the tiny hairs in his ear canal are tuned solely into my resonance:

"Honneeee. You're soooo loud." he often says to me.

"What? ME? How can YOU say that to ME?"

"Why are you getting angry? he laughs, as if he himself whispers his way through life.

"'Cos that is a fucking joke. You telling ME I'm too loud!"

"Well, you're being loud right now!"

"Yes. 'Cos you're making me angry telling me I am too loud!"

With a loud husband and the loud city and the sound of my own (moderately loud) voice, I frequently crave quiet. I fantasise about leaving my family and living on a mountain- as long as the mountain had wifi- I want quiet, not boredom.

Our apartment would be an obvious choice as my haven of peace. It's at the back of the building of a fairly serene street, the peace is peppered only by the hum of air-con units, an occasional plane overhead or a distant siren on 7th Avenue. But it has a major flaw-my family live in it. The bellowing American and The Teenager. While the latter is not loud, she does have a portable phone permanently glued to her ear in order to maintain constant connection to love of her life back in Cardiff. Her hair covers the handset, so I often think the constant chatter is aimed at me. This creates a lot of confusion, especially when I think she is calling me 'babes' and saying goodnight at 7 pm. Yes, havens of peace are hard to find in big cities. When there's three of you jammed in a pricey shoebox in the West Village, havens are hard to find in your own apartment too.

Today though, after 8 months and 19 days I found my peace. My quiet in the middle of NYC.

Today I found the New York public library and I now sit in this room:

What can I hear right now? Pretty much...Nothing. Not even the sound of breathing. There is just the occasional scraping of the elegant oak chairs against the tiled floor. Unlike this pic above (stolen from the internet) there must be 500 people here right now. It's like a giant exam room. Or a gathering of the civilised in a post apocalyptic movie, if they all decided to read and write with the end of humanity looming.

My surroundings are fantastically grand-from the long tables decked with reading lamps and leather bound reference books on the walls to the art deco chandeliers and neo classical ceiling. It's like a 1930's Gentleman's club, except it's a public space and there's free wifi. It's so unathomable for a girl that grew up going to a village library housed in a pre-fab.

For such public elegance though, you have to pay with compliance. There is no eating, drinking, mobile phones, photography or talking here. It's a room of zero tolerance and I will take it, as the pay off is jaw dropping.

Still, after a while the temptation to do something naughty is growing. I have already eaten half a Lara bar and have been getting a bit brazen with my water sipping. I have also tried taking pictures of the grand ceiling with the photo booth on my macbook-the results of which are not very good. Teach me for being so rebellious.

But such environmental perfection cannot last indefinitely. I wait for the catch...

Then the catch is wheeled in, in a stroller. Pushed by some liberal Yummy Mummy who thinks it's perfectly fine to risk everyone's calm by bringing a two year old into a quiet room. The toddler says:

"Gwaaa raa raa reee!"

"Shhhh" the Mother says.

"Gwaa raa raa reee" he repeats

"Shhhh" she says again, but then she laughs, which annoys me quite a lot.

"Din ba boo beee dem" he replies-which I understand is toddler speak for "Why I am in here? I can't even read yet."

Haven of quiet destroyed for now. I am packing up my laptop and leaving.

I will be back, though. This is still the best quiet that NYC has to offer. This is what I needed to find and the city gave it to me. It doesn't always kick sand in your face when you're down. Sometimes it gives you something back, a reward, a little gift.

Today it gave me this beautiful, breathtaking public place that only has one fault... it's open to the public.

For more blogs: http://welshalien.blogspot.com/

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Lose your locks for a good cause...

Posted: May 19, 2010 - When I teetered off for my quarterly chop this morning at my local salon, little did I know that I would in some small way be helping the environment and fighting the current oil spill in the Gulf. Feeling a slightly grubby blonde version of Cousin It, and hoping some kind of salvage operation could be performed to turn me into a Jennifer Aniston lookey likey, I hadn't considered the fact that my coiffeuse is a highly politically charged environmental lobbyist in her spare time. I spotted a bunch of weird green bins around the Salon and when quizzed my Stylist let loose on the benefits of donating all the shorn off strands to this good cause. In the past a trip to the hair dresser may have been deemed a tad selfish (what with children starving in the world and people dealing with natural disaster daily), but when it's time for a hair cut you can now help the oil spill clear up process by having your sheared tresses stuffed in a nylon stocking. At Excess Access, they've been gathering chopped off curls for some time, but it's only recently, with the current crisis unravelling in the Gulf that their program is getting some valid attention. It seems that as our hair gathers oil on our heads, ergo it attracts oil any old place, even when off your bonce - the discarded locks are collected in waste bins in salons, transported to agencies working with Matter of Trust , then fashioned into oil spill containment booms and mats to be used to help thwart the impending environmental disaster. The bad news for me is that my enthusiastic Stylist has turned my locks into more of a pixie crop in her over zealous chop fest... a little less Jen and a little too much Agyness Deyn.... oh well in a good cause. If you liked this post, take a peek here for more from Notes from a Stylist

Posted via email from Big Apple Brits - British Expats, Anglophiles and Brit Culture Lovers New York City

Does the Tooth Fairy call when you're over 30?

Posted: May 15, 2010 - Q : Does the Tooth Fairy call when you're over 30? It's off to the dentist for me today - 4 niggling wisdom teeth have niggled too long and its time to get those babies out. I can blame my immediate motivation to have them done on the fact my kids are getting braces and commenting on my crooked (British) teeth. A short visit to the good old American dentist and it seems it's not all about chucking Invisalign in, oh no, more to the point it's back to square one with medieval extraction required prior to any beautification process - at this point I'm slightly sorry I opened my gob (doh..). But the niggling teeth have been niggling to nigh on a decade, so it's absolutely time to embrace the American way and go with the big dentistry procedure. Add to all this the fact that they've offered me 'twilight' surgery - visions of Robert Pattinson holding my quivering hand before he takes a good old chunk out of my jugular ensue until I google the procedure and figure out it's a form of anaesthesia and not the lovely R. Patts at all. Bouyed up by the thought that there will be major drugs involved and all should be tickety boo, the next problem is what to wear? The Practice web site tells me to dress in comfortable clothing with a top that can be rolled at the sleeve - presumably so the nice anaesthetist can jab me good and proper with his miracle drugs, so that in turn I don't remember the Dentist sticking his foot on my jaw to leverage the beasts out. But then I get one of those ridiculous 'what if I die in the dentists chair' moments and my casual J.Crew sparkly tee, Abercrombie sweats and Supergas might not be sending the right message out to the folk perusing my dead body - maybe I should dress up a little? My Dentist is after all rather attractive and I wouldn't want to be caught looking slightly less than par in the style stakes even though I may be deceased. So is it time to crack out the best underwear ?, upgrade my sweats to more of a tunic/legging kind of a vibe and 'go under' assuming the worst but at least looking good once am gone? Paranoia is a wonderful thing, I stick with Plan A, get picked up by one of my buddies who has volunteered to be 'responsible' for me and step into the breach..... A : Spoiler Alert : Apparently Not The good news is - I'm alive after my ordeal at the dishy dentists - wondering whether 4 wisdom teeth might amass to that last 7lbs I was hoping to lose before bikini season, and fairly plugged up with gauze and Vicadin - a nbf for the next few days. The bad news is, the Tooth Fairy failed to appear, which has my kids grinning at the fact that they twigged this a good few years back when lethargy got the better of both Tooth Fairies in our house and said kids would often have to wait a good few days for Fairy pay up. However, so as not to dent my recovery process and mark me psychologically for the rest of my life, I've come up with a fabulous compromise. At the going rates (it's $1 per tooth in our house, but more if a dentist is involved in the extraction process...), 4 big old wisdom teeth could be worth a fortune. I'm just noticing that under the power of Vicadin I signed the bill without reading it and it seems to be $400 per tooth - that's a nice fat number to be starting with on my revenge on the Tooth Fairy. Surely if the dishy dentist can make that in 30 minutes work with no side affects (apart from him whispering to my buddy that I'd tried to bite him during one tricky extraction), then by the laws of the Shopaholic, I surely should be able to choose my spoils to that value. This idea on my recuperation sofa, coupled with a nice swimmy head (did I mention the Vicadin), a quiet household and time to peruse the Web, I've so far come up with this nice dress from The Moon and Mars (UK based but ship over here), And am busy sniffing around another new fave website Far Fetch, which I'm thinking might be my new 'go to' web site for all things European and more (sorry Browns but it's time to move on, too many of my American mates have figured out your quick overseas shipping deal and the things that I used to be looking individual in are now 10-a-penny around here.) Right, must dash - more sites to snoop around whilst the coast is clear...

Posted via email from Big Apple Brits - British Expats, Anglophiles and Brit Culture Lovers New York City

Big drama...(part 2 of 3)

The afternoon was going well, too well really.

After the powder blue skies and 360 degree Manhattan views from Big Bambu atop The Met roof, the rest of the day was always going to be a climbdown-both literally and metaphorically.

However, it starts positively, I am really enjoying the Medieval furniture hall and The American and I are pretending we're in The Tudors-the one with Jonathan Rhys Myers on Showtime.

"Ye privy council informs me you are a lady of ill repute!" The American bellows

"'Tis true, to my regret fine Sir!" I reply, head bowed in mock shame.

But it all starts to go tits-up when I get caught stroking a 15th Century tomb. A guard tells me off and The American joins in:

"Stop trying to touch stuff Emma."

"I can't!"

"Just stop!"

"It's too tempting, these things are like, 500 years old!" and I run my fingers along the side of a Belgian tapestry while his back is turned.

Next, we're in a hall that resembles a Stately home, with grand room reconstructions from the last 400 years. It's so... opulent...decadent.

Oh god. I need to stroke things. Sit on the chair, sweep though the room in a Crinoline gown. Be ravished atop the Chippendale table. Instead I just get my camera out of my suddenly horribly modern looking bag. It's dark, I turn on the flash, take the picture.

"MISS! NO FLASH ALLOWED!" yells a scary Museum guard of indeterminable sex.

For the love of Henry VIII! There is no sign about not using a flash. PUT A FUCKING SIGN UP. And what's with the rules anyway? I'm snapping a chamber pot, not the Turin Shroud.

I take the flash off my camera anyway. Or rather, that's what I think I'm doing. Technology is not my friend. Technology just laughs in my face. I take another picture and the flash goes off and it's so bright against the dim lighting, it's like an atom bomb exploded and I'm getting yelled out... again.

As my finale, a mere 5 minutes later, I accidentally lean on a 17th century marble fireplace. It was absentmindedly-I didn't even realise I was doing it. I am told off once more.

This is my tipping point. I am mad and out comes my inner Verruca Salt. The last 3 misdemeanors weren't my fault and really, if it's that delicate, I say put a cover on it? Or rope it off? These are the unspoken museum conventions we all adhere too. If it is touchable, I want to touch it. I will to touch it. I go stropping off and it would have ended there, had The American not have defended the Museum Nazis.

"Honnneeeeee. You just can't touch stuff."

'What?"

"They're like, totally right, why are you getting mad? You just can't touch shit in here!"

"I know that. I am not a frig-ging child."

"Well, you're acting like one."

'No...you're treating me like one."

"'Uh, cos you're acting like one!"

"Oh for fuck's sake!" I shout.

Then it kicks off. He tells me not to shout, I say I'm not shouting, just raising my voice, which was always the differentiating factor in my house as a kid. He storms off, muttering about just wanting to see the Roman statues. I go after him, we fight again in the grand Gothic lobby. He walks off, going outside to chain smoke. I go after him, we argue once more on the steps and he walks off for a third time and leaves me with all bags for our planned Central Park trip. Before I know it I am hurling a picnic blanket at him down the street. It misses, but by this point, several people have stopped to watch the free entertainment.

I march off in the other direction. I pass the crowd that had gathered, who now look really disappointed the fight is over. I want to ask them if us arguing is the best show they can get in this city? I want to tell them they should come to my place, opposite the Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender community centre-then then they'd see some real entertainment.

I walk up Fifth Avenue. Two blocks ahead, an entrance to Central Park. The great, grand green goddess I viewed from above while on the roof. The calm amongst the insanity of New York.

I head straight for it. I imagine grass under my feet. I haven't felt grass for months. Grass feels like home. Grass and space. I need space.

Space to breath.

More blogs at http://www.welshalien.blogspot.com/

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BIG BAMBU, Big drama and a Big walk home (part 1 of 3)

I am not a woman of few words as anyone who knows me will testify. I am a woman of too many words, both in the written and oral form.

However, sometimes, something happens so strikingly visual that words alone will not do enough justice. Big Bambu -the new rooftop exhibition at The Met museum-is just that, a creation lending itself more to telling the tale in pictures.

So as means of introduction to the visuals, here's as minimal a written introduction as I can muster:

Big Bambu is the brainchild of identical twins Doug and Mike Stern, who, with the help of a team of rock climbers have built a free standing structure made of fresh grown bamboo and tied together with just climbing rope.

It stands on top of rooftop garden on The Met Museum in uptown Manhattan. Work started in March and continues daily, to take it from the current 25 foot high to more than 50 ft by the end of the summer. The best thing about it is you can take a guided walk through it on a pathway for no more than the suggested cost of admission. The worst thing about it is that you can't take a camera on the tour and you have to sign forms promising not to sue should you fall off and lose your limbs. Waivers aside, in this litigious world we live in, I am amazed and heartened that such a thing exists at all. Apparently we should be thanking Mayor Bloomberg for 'making it possible' -it even says so on the tickets.

On a sunny May day last week our small group of ten gasped our way through the 30 minute tour, throwing out superlatives in awe: the baby blue skies tipping into the sea of trees, framing a 360 view of the Manhattan skyline. At one point a Saxophonist began to play down below in Central Park and I had to catch my breath through sheer pleasure. Even the guide getting slightly wanky about juxtaposition and dichotomy couldn't spoil it for me. The American said she was young and enthusiastic, so we shouldn't really judge.

Too many words already. When I got down from the jungle in the urban sky, I took pictures. Here they are:

If you're still with me after all those pics, then you should know that from such a high, only a low can follow. Tomorrow, read what happened next in part 2- Big Drama...

More blogs at http://www.welshalien.blogspot.com/

Even more ramblings on Twitter: http://twitter.com/WelshAlienNYC

Cup Cakes and Tea at Lipsy Launch

Posted: May 11, 2010 - There's nothing a Brit likes more than an afternoon cup of char and a bit of cake - hits that mid afternoon metabolism slump right in the kisser. But when you add cute pastel dresses and sweeties (candy for those of us long since acclimated to these shores) from Blighty - what's not to like? The UK fashion label Lipsy is launching in the USA primarily at Bloomingdales and also online, giving those of us State side a chance to scoop up a little of their London vibe that transfers rather well downtown or whilst cruising around the West Coast. With a devil may care vibe and in ice cream colors - flirty separates, cute cocktail dresses and multi colored maxi's are a fab pick for any Vacay packing. Once this Summer's hot steamy New York nights are upon us, with price points as appealing as the clothing, I'm guessing these pieces will start flying off the shelves. p.s. the candy was a load of Refreshers and Love Hearts that fellow Big Apple Brit blogger Emma Smith managed to purloin into her press pack with the stealth of a practiced Journo on a press junket... If you liked this post, take a peek at more Notes from a Stylist here

Posted via email from Big Apple Brits - British Expats, Anglophiles and Brit Culture Lovers New York City

New York Style : Sidewalk Catwalk

Posted: July 5, 2010 - New York's garment district has a few spooky goings on right now - called Sidewalk Catwalk it's kind of art meets fashion with the installation of 32 designer mannequins along Broadway that have been kitted out by 30 designers and 2 student design teams. From Tommy Hilfiger to Kenneth Cole, Betsey Johnson to Prabal Gurung, it involves custom built mannequins that are displayed runway stylie down Broadway from Times Square to Herald Square. Interestingly to withstand scary NY weather elements most designers opted for plastic for their creations rather than fabric - as every girl knows, one outfit can't last a whole summer! Set up by the Fashion Center Business Design District it's all about showing the creative chutzpah that's bubbling around in the area, but with the good news that you can actually bid on the items on Ebay to benefit Materials for Arts. The exhibit runs till Labor day. If you liked this post, find more Notes from a Stylist here....

Posted via email from Big Apple Brits - British Expats, Anglophiles and Brit Culture Lovers New York City

A taste of American Medicine

On the list of things I thought I'd never say when I moved to America: I miss the NHS.

I yearn for it's simplicity. At home, one GP does it all and you only get a hospital referral if you're near to death. If not, the wait is so long that the problem will likely clear up before your appointment date. Specialists are a figment of the imagination, they don't actually exist, except for at Bupa. It's a simple system designed by simpletons, but it works. Compared to what I've experienced in New York, it's beauty in fundamentalism.

Here, you've got to find a 'Primary Healthcare provider' which I think is like a G.P. except The American refuses to confirm that, as British acronyms are banned in our house. So this 'PHP' farms you out to various sub contracters, who then cost you more money and time to see. We've been to ten different medical practitioners since we arrived. Each one comes with reams of paperwork and a distinct lack of lustre.

What I imagined in America, land of the free but with paid healthcare- was gleaming surgeries and glossy surfaces adorned with fresh flowers. I thought of immaculate doctors with luminous skin, who speak in hushed tones of preventative medical care. I dreamed a dream of receptionists who don't resent my very existence. Let me tell you what I call this kind of thinking: Optimism. Let me tell you what The American calls it: Emma world.

Let me paint the reality: Shoving 15 page forms in your face as soon as you walk in, receptionists who are not just vile, theyteach the class in vile. Grotty worn out surgeries with grey plastic fixtures and fittings and more than a few dirty floors. Doctors who have just as little time to see you as the ones in the UK. Getting refferals for pretty much every problem, then discovering the referrals don't take your health insurance, so calling endless places to ask if they will accept you.

Then there is the taking of blood. They do it every time and they call it 'bloodwork'. Like blood is something that needs work. Every time. Blood, blood, blood. It's like a secret society of vampirical doctors obsessed with Medieval blood letting.

And the Teenager is terrified of needles-as Phobic as I am about the rodents. While this indicates she is unlikely to ever become a smack addict, it also means doctor's visits are fraught. I reassure her that this needle won't be as bad as the last, but they always fail to find a vein and she starts to cry and give me pleading eyes. It's then I can see the actual sweat appearing on the brow of the nurse.

So this is what you get for your (insurance companies') money. What you get when you don't pay is much worse. Like the Chelsea health clinic where we went to get The Teenager one of the 750 inoculations required by New York law. She needed them fast before she got suspended from school for being a 'public health risk'. I had found her a doctor only to be told that she had to have a pediatrician, because she's under 18. What? I didn't have time to find one, especially as I have a tendency to accidentally call them peadophiles. So I figured- How bad can this place be? It's in Chelsea. Unfortunately, so is one of the biggest housing projects in lower Manhattan. Ghetto doesn't even cut it. There was security guards. The teenager was too scared to go to the toilet.

The American had no sympathy.

"Honneee, why did you go to a *screws face up*...public health clinic? We have great health insurance, you don't have to suffer with the... *deep breath*...uninsured."

"Uh, 'cos she only needed a shot and she needed it fast and I didn't think it would be that bad."

"You didn't think a public health clinic in the projects would be that bad?"

"Well, I didn't know it was in the fucking projects did I?"

"Well now you do. We have health insurance, you don't need to do this to yourself!"

"Ugggh. Aneurin Bevan would be turning in his grave!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"ANEURIN BEVAN. He was a man, a great man!"

"Yeah. You just sound like you're speaking in that Lord of Rings language again."

"He was Welsh yes! He was the architect of the NHS!"

"Yeah, well just look where your socialised healthcare bullshit has got you!"

"It's got me doctors that don't make me fill in loads of paperwork and check I can afford them before I'm through the door."

"Exactly!" and he walks off satisfied, and I have further proof I married a Republican in Democrat's clothing.

For all of the doctors, my dentist is the only one worthy of any praise. He's on 5th Avenue and the building has an tasteful green awning with gold writing. There is a doorman. This I likey. My dentist patched up my cavity with a white filing. That's a white filing as standard. This I love. They haven't done amalgam in the U.S. since the early nineties apparently. This is civilised.

My dentist also shared his wisdom about relationships while drilling my tooth.

"You see Barbara, my wife, she's a lawyer. Well Barbara always wants me to change, to improve and I say Barbara, I'm a man, but really I'm a boy ya know? Now she's a woman, so she's better than me and she can continue to grow. Men, we don't do any maturing past 21. That's it! You're stuck with me, I say to Barbara. So ya married Emma?

To which I say "Ewwchhhafunafewmons." and a lot of dribble comes out.

To which he translates and says "You've been married for a couple of months huh? Early days! But your husband won't change you know? Just don't expect him to."

At which point I felt a bit depressed and wished he'd given me some more Novocaine.

*

So, I have come to summise that even though things are so different here in that the insurance companies fund medical care, rather than the taxpayer, things are not really that different at all. There is clearly not enough money or time to go around in either system.

Maybe the medical grass is greener. By which pun- I should move to California where pharmaceutical pot is legal and apparently fairly easy to get.

Maybe after smoking a few prescriptions I might have a different view on the American system.

*

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