Invasion

So my parents have come to visit. Their only other trip to England was for the wedding a year an a half ago, so this is the first time they're experiencing the place as itself, rather than the ground zero of a major life decision. And this is the first time I've experienced them out of their native habitat without being completely preoccupied with the logistics of herding relatives.

I'd forgotten all of the cultural differences between here and Virginia; they all come rushing back every time I watch my father amble up to someone - usually a barista - and begin what sounds like an in-depth conversation about the meaning of life as a preamble to ordering coffee. We've gone into nearly every grocery store in Reading and Norwich for the purpose of reading all the labels and then buying the most alien items - Saturday it was pate, steak-flavoured crisps, millionaire shortbread, and a single pork pie. My father zipped into the Poundland and bought a case of Coleman's mustard while my back was turned. It took the better part of an afternoon to explain to my mother why UEA is a brutalist monstrosity rather than the Oxbridge-esque Gothic confection that she and everyone back home has apparently been imagining. They both seem to be enjoying everything we're seeing, but what they really want to do is find the key to our garden shed and spend the week getting the back yard in order, with an option on more steak crisps.

But in between all of that the copyeditor's queries have been dealt with, tuition has been paid, work has been done, and it would appear that the only people who have noticed I'm not actually working are the two compatriots with whom I'm supposed to be organising a conference for December.

Oh, my sister's here too. But this is her third trip over and she's the only person on the planet who does exactly what I ask her to do the first time I ask, so it's easy to forget she's there because she doesn't require watching, just intermittent feeding, like a pet snake.