I'm a 37-year old Seattle girl who was bitten by the travel bug on my first tour of Europe in 2004. This personal blog follows my attempts to visit as many countries as I can, as often as my budget will allow. Since starting this blog in 2007, I've also worked as a freelance copywriter for an online travel publication. This only served to add even more must-see locations to my already extended list.
Follow me as I try to balance "real life" with exploring the world, all while trying to conquer a wickedly ironic case of homesickness.


Signs the Anglophilia may be taking over:

You’ve abandoned the word, “Hey” entirely. Instead, you find yourself exclaiming frustration or getting someone’s attention with a robust outburst of “Oi!”

Someone asks what the word “biccie” means, and though the proper mental image pops immediately into your head, you can’t actually recall the word “cookie”.

You can’t help but hear “SAUSAGE TIME!” in your head every time you see an episode of “House”, and Steve Carell will simply never be Ricky Gervais.

While watching Jeremy Clarkson’s hysterical review of the Ford F150 pickup truck on “Top Gear”, you don’t even realize it has been modified as a right-side driver until he points it out.

More than half of your Netflix queue was produced by the BBC.

You find yourself calculating pound to dollar, working out GMT/BST or converting Celsius to Fahrenheit without even really thinking about it.

You no longer think names like Hermione and Rufus are just cruel pranks British parents played on their helpless children.

Your kitchen contains McVitties, PG Tips, a couple Crunchie bars and a collection of random water bottles from Tesco, Pret and M&S.

You were genuinely thrilled when Boris announced TFL’s plan to install air conditioning units on several major Tube lines.

You actually know, against your better judgment, what happened on the last X-Factor and Big Brother.

You know who Emma Clarke is and why she was sacked. You also know Mariella Frostrup isn’t the name of some foreign food dish or new fangled clothing line.

You’re livid that the film version of “Confessions of a Shopaholic” is going to be set in New York City.

You find yourself comparing every chat-up line you hear to Jeff Murdoch’s ear bucket, and they all pale greatly in comparison.

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