“Europe is a pretty big country” was (unforgettably) the first thing I heard, as my British Airways Boeing 747 thudded onto the runway. After an 11 hour straight flight from Gatwick airport in England, I knew that I had finally arrived in the USA. Now, eight months into living in the land of the free—having left behind my beloved Queen, tea and crumpets—I’m starting to notice a trend in American people’s reactions when they realize with starry eyes that I am British…

1. Americans know more about my own culture than I do.

Recently, a fellow Brit asked me to help him give a talk at Fresno University, informing people at a campus event about England. Gladly, I accepted the offer. I saw it as an opportunity to talk about our seemingly endless history, as well as the many influential figures that have arisen from our tiny island within the Pacific Ocean.

That tiny place in the upper-middle, above the country Europe.

I mentioned Shakespeare, The Beatles, Stonehenge and, of course, William VIII: the mad King who chopped off the heads of his wives. “William the Eighth!?” I hear you say, along with that horrified old woman in the crowd, “I think you mean Henry!” Yes, you and that old lady fizzing with rage at my lack of self-cultural knowledge are quite correct. Even half way across the world, I couldn’t get away with that one.

"They call it fisticuffs in England, right?!"

Fortunately, I kept my head and made a light joke out of it, at which all but one particularly antagonized audience member laughed. That may have been my most publicly humiliating time to have not accurately remembered the name of someone over five hundred years old.

I have lost count of how many times people have asked me about my opinion on Prince Harry’s marriage, or that baby that one of those monarchy people had at some point. My answer has always been the same: I don’t really know, or care. One woman on a bus in the heat of a Los Angeles, California, summer scoffed and seemed rather offended, as though it was her queen I had showed no interest in. I’m pretty sure that possibility was flunked on July 4th, 1776, along with the idea of free health care and gun control. God Save the Queen.

"I've tried, Liz, but they don't seem to want that stuff."

If I manage to get any further in the conversation without offending my social compadre because of my nonchalance towards my own monarchy, then maybe I'll tell them about my hometown, but...

2.Everybody thinks I’m from London.

I was raised in Brighton, East Sussex, even though I was born an hour's train ride away in London. Because of that deep identity confusion, I prefer it when people ask the ideal question, “Where are you from?” I tell them Brighton, and that I study in a London university. Simple.

However, 99 percent of the time, once my converser realizes in a shining ray of light that I’m British, they say, “Oh, you’re from London!”

After almost a year of desperately trying to explain that there are more cities in England than London, I’ve given up. Now I just say yes and tell them how lucky they are to have sunny winters here in California, as opposed to rainy summers, springs, autumns and winters.

I’m not exaggerating and I love California for that. Though I suppose old CA could do with a bit of English weather at the moment. The grass is always greener on the other side, as they say. Well, maybe not in this case. It’s definitely greener and in far greater abundance in England. So anyway, once the revelation that people live outside of London has passed it should be plain-sailing from there, but…

3.They cannot accept that I don’t like football (soccer).

Sometimes, I’ll meet someone who loves sports so much that they even watch football. That speaks volumes to me, because out here in America, ain’t nobody got time for that! In America you see, the word “football” means something quite different to kicking a ball with your foot.

The word football refers to a strange and violent game where players run around clutching an egg to their breast, drop-kicking their enemies and slapping their teammates on the butt and helmet after they fall over beside some rugby posts. I tried watching it for 10 minutes once, but got confused when the thirty minute stretches of adverts were interrupted by some armored guys running around in a field pushing each other and screaming.

"What! I wanted more Geiko ads!"

A lot of American people are surprised at my lack of interest in football (soccer), it has to be said. However, the first place prize truly goes to a guy from New Zealand who I met in Los Angeles, who was the most horrified of all when it was revealed to him that I, a human being born on British soil, was not a fan of the sport.

When I told him that I didn’t even have a preferred team, like Chelsea or Manchester United, he proceeded to label me “the worst pom he’d ever met!” Pom means Englishman to people from New Zealand or Australia. I’m not sure if it has a slight derogatory element to it or not, but I think it’s something like what a yank might call a limey. It’s all fun and games to me, but when it comes to impersonations…

4. Nobody can do an English accent.

Dick Van Dyke set the bar for British impersonations pretty low back in 1964 with his Cockney role in Mary Poppins and it seems like no one’s tried to raise it since. It’s always fun when you meet someone from another part of the globe and you impersonate each other’s accents (after making sure the other person is ok with it).

Dick Van Dyke's accent is so terrible, it made the guy on the right poop his pants in horror.

Seeing as I’m in California, I attempt the most popularized image of its accent across seas—the surfer dude. That usually warrants a laugh and then I kick the ball to them, seeing if they can do my accent. I’m from the southeast of England, so I tend to drop the ‘T’ in words like “butter” and perform an eloquent glottal stop instead. This creates, “bu’er”, or more precisely, “buʔer” (ʔ is a symbol from the International Phonemic Alphabet, which refers to the glottal stop). I basically ditch the “T” and replace it with a sort of “uh.” Try it yourself and impress your friends when you sound perfectly British!

Unsurprisingly, because I am English, my conversational companion’s attempt is generally aimed somewhere around the most popularized version of the British accent: the Queen’s English. When I say "aimed somewhere around," I mean that they completely miss the mark every single time.

"I sound like THAT?!"

I don’t know if there is a place in the world where people speak like Californians trying to do a British accent, but if there is then for the people’s own sake and ours I hope hurricanes, volcanoes, monsoons and anything at Mother Nature’s endless disposal erase it from the surface of this wide world. No one needs to hear it. Oh, and speaking of Mary Poppins…

5. I am expected to know every British TV show ever.

Most Americans, after swooning at my British accent, then excitedly bore me with their Netflix history of Sherlock, Doctor Who and other British shows that I have never watched and most likely never will.

Mainly because his face scares me... just look into those eyes.

People are surprised when I tell them of American media’s global reach and that I, too, on my far away island, where princes and princesses still roam the ancient lands alongside Harry Potter and wizardry, grew up watching "The Fresh Prince of Bel Air," "Friends" and "Johnny Bravo." You can’t go anywhere on Earth (that has access to televisions) without running into some old re-run of a classic American sitcom, or a guy with shades and a leather jacket trying to look like Arnold Schwarzenegger.

I'm not sure, but this Bollywood adaptation of Terminator might actually be better than the original.

Every now and then, when I’m at the Queen’s house eating fish and chips, the two of us refrain from singing along to Oliver Twist for the millionth time and decide to watch "Terminator 2," "The Matrix" or "Die Hard." She does love her Bruce Willis flicks.