Not born in the USA

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So, a mere five months after announcing it on this blog, I’ve finally made it to Seattle with my family. Appendicitis, last-minute dramas with mirrormirror, and even having my car towed in London the night before I was due to sell it (I got it back, fortunately, but am now £200 lighter for the experience) failed to prevent us from getting on the plane on Saturday morning. My daughter managed (just about) to behave herself on the flight, and we all arrived exhausted on Saturday evening in the middle of the worst rainstorm Seattle’s seen in ten years. Hurrah.

So now, having swanned about in my native London for the past 35 years looking down my nose at anyone whose family arrived in town less than five hundred years ago (I exaggerate, of course; my own family comes from Wales), I’ve become an immigrant. Or, to use the official US term, an alien. It will be an interesting experience; it’s one of the reasons I took this job, in fact. So amongst the postings about web analytics and online marketing, I’ll toss in the occasional one about some of the things that strike me about being a Brit in the US. Feel free to skip over them if you’re just here for the stuff about cookie churn.

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