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It is hard to say what my first impressions of England were, because when I first arrived at the airport I was fixated on Sarah ( 
When we arrived at her house I became overwhelmed at meeting all the strange, new faces with their piercing eyes, fuelled by curiosity and judgement. I couldn't stop myself from racing past their greetings toward the backyard to throw myself from the house. I felt like I was in a moving vehicle that was tearing up the asphalt; spewing rubber and smoke; spinning me around while executing high precision doughnuts.
So, there I was smoking a cigarette in Sarah's back yard wondering, “What the fuck is happening? I knew that they were going to be British, but I had no idea they would be this British!” when out of nowhere I heard someone violently clapping at me.
Normally, I wouldn't even turn my attention to these types of hallucinations, because I get them all the time, but when I heard the faint echo of clapping bounce back at me, I knew it was real and I became alarmed.
My ears claimed that the sound was coming from Sarah's roof, but when I looked up, there was nothing there. I began scanning all the roofs looking for anything out of the ordinary almost expecting to see a British chupacabra, but still nothing. I had been awake for about 36 hours and I couldn't handle any more of this excitement so I faced my fears of meeting new people and headed off to bed for a bit of slap and tickle and some much needed sleep.
The next day I went out to smoke and play ball with Rolo Puppy (Sarah's dog) and I heard that angry clapping again. I quickly looked everywhere, but I couldn't find the source. “Was I going crazy?” I wondered while Rolo began whimpering for me to throw his ball once again - this seems to be the highlight of his day.
After breakfast Sarah and I went on our first crazy-goonie-adventure around town and I heard the clapping again. I immediately looked at Sarah to see her reaction, but she wasn't even fazed, which only confirmed that my hallucinations were getting worse.
My eyes began rapidly darting at the faces of everyone walking past, to see if they would morph into monsters to test my theory, but they just looked like the typical inbred Brits that I was used to. As we continued site-seeing, the audio hallucinations began to fade into background noise.
On the way back from what the British call, “sites,” we stopped at a store so I could buy one of every British candy bar, to see what causes Brits to look the way they do. Sarah insisted on carrying my bag and I was man-enough to let her.
As we exited, a man pacing back and forth in front of the store made eye contact with me, as if I was what he was waiting for. He then kept walking past as if his job was done, but I wasn't born yesterday. I do weird things, to troll strangers all the time: like sharking them with flatulence and making weird noises to see their reaction. So, I knew that, whatever the guy was up to, was probably just karma.
Then out of nowhere another man rushed up from behind us and as he passed he turned back to look me dead in the face, before darting right in front of us to go down a side alley. As we passed the alley I looked over to try to gather more information on the sinister man, but I was confronted by a lady carrying one, suspicious looking bag, who popped out of the alley and began following us at a respectable distance.
I quickly glanced back and the lady refused to make eye contact, so I motioned for Sarah to cross the street early. But then the lady crossed too, which made me extremely paranoid, “Why is she following me, am I about to be deported?”
I began regretting my decision to tell the customs official Sarah's address, my mind began racing, “I could have told them anything, why the truth!? And why didn't I plan for this, with secret codes, an escape plan and rendezvous locations for this very situation?”
I began scanning the faces of everyone on the sidewalk looking for anything unusual, but they seemed uninterested in me. I felt a wave of relief and decided to celebrate by having fun with the paranoia. I began pretending that everyone on the sidewalk was an undercover operative, each dressed in random disguises.
The men wearing suits and the joggers were easy they seemed like the stereotypical secret agent, and the elderly were ready to rip their masks off at any moment like Scooby Doo villains. Although, the hoards of children, each dressed like Harry Potter, were ruining my fantasy.
Luckily, I found the solution, the school children could be midgets that the government hired to pose as kids for secret assassination missions, because who would suspect the children, right? I continued to assign roles for everyone on the street until we arrived at Sarah's house.
Then, out of nowhere, I heard what sounded like machine gun fire blasting into the unknown, right next to my head, as a demon from above swooped down to batter my ears. Its leathery wings sent thunder vibrating through my entire body and my heart went into a frenzy as I dove to the pavement leaving Sarah to fend for herself.
As I slid across the pavement I could see dozens of British chocolate bars falling from above and bouncing on the concrete like spent bullet casings and I knew that Sarah must have been fighting for her life. The noise quickly faded and I looked up to see that Sarah was still standing, and she looked concerned. She asked me if I was alright, as if this was a normal occurrence, like she fights these things off all the time and she was more worried about my well being than the peril from above!
“What the fuck was that!” I screamed while trying to piece myself back together in front of a sidewalk full of strangers that weren't even phased by what just flew out of Hades in order to pick us off one at a time.
“It's just a wood pigeon! Are you alright?” Sarah asked again while brushing the dirt off my pants.
“Yeah, I'm fine!” I shamefully said while trying to avoid eye contact with anyone on the sidewalk; then I ran quickly through Sarah's house and into the back yard.
“What the fuck just happened? And what the hell is a wood pigeon? I yelled back into the house to Sarah as I lit a cigarette, but there was only silence because she was probably still out front picking up candy bars. With every drag, I could feel all the new layers of fear and humiliation melting slowly away; leaving me with an erratic heartbeat and lightly soiled underwear.
Then I noticed there was a fat grey bird sitting on an old decommissioned TV antenna. This slob of a bird looked as if it was the last remanent of McDonalds's controversial Supersize Campaign, like it had been genetically modified to make us fat and in that moment I realized where the McChicken meat really came from: wood pigeon.
I began watching this escaped Happy-Meal as it took flight, with its wings violently slapping at its pot belly: so hard that the sky began to applaud it's efforts. It sounded as if it was a bionic bird and its bionic abilities were kicking in in order to help its lard ass into the air.
Then the fat fucker dive bombed an unsuspecting tree and at the sight of this sumo-wrestling, kamikaze bird, the terrified tree immediately surrendered and slumped over like a Christmas tree with a bowling ball hung on it.
I began to wonder if I had stepped into a parallel universe, where Mother Nature was throwing everything she could at me to break my spirit. I knew that Britain would be a little different, but I never would have guessed this and I couldn't imagine what terrible things she might throw at me next: The Great British Breakfast!
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