New York is a lot like London. No one who lives here is from here. Whether they are immigrants from another country, or simply immigrants from another state, we are all trying to live, survive and thrive in New York. Which is of some comfort as I learn to make my own way through this big city.

However, New York is not similar enough to London in many ways for me to yet be comfortable. Because, despite the fact that I am, actually an American (gasp!), there is still a lot of London left in me. Which, is lovely when it involves owning a pretty accent, but can pose some problems when walking down the street.

In New York it is not (I repeat NOT) okay to walk down the left hand side of the street, or the left hand side of anything, for that matter. I am currently making no friends with strangers by bumping into them, or their dogs, or their dogs' leashes, as I politely try to get out of their way by sliding to the left. I've been in more awkward street dances in the last week than a kid at his first middle school mixer.

And at least in London the intersections will politely tell you which way to look for traffic (which I'm sure is only to avoid any unnecessary delays or traffic jams due to a “person under vehicle”). New York is not so courteous. All I have here is a prayer that Ryan Gosling will happen to be around to save my sorry ass from traffic when I look the wrong way. Because as Buddy the Elf says, “Watch out for the yellow ones, they don’t stop.” He was right.

Now for some real talk. Let's talk about Tea. What I am about to say is proof that my return to America could not have happened at a more critical point in my development. I never, EVER, thought I would say this - I miss the damn stuff.

I actually miss Tea. And, no, I don’t want Lipton tea. I want breakfast tea - English, Scottish or Irish, I don't care, but please just serve it with milk, and no sugar, hot not iced.

But I will come to terms with all of this because, while I miss a good Sunday roast, where else in the world can I get a banana/blueberry stuffed pancake the size of my face served with a side of peanut butter and bacon? No place but America. That's where.