55897_18I recently got an email from a Spo-fan who wanted to know if he “had solved the mystery” to my true identity. Having read my blog for some time he has come to the conclusion I am not really from Midwest USA – or Canada (as some entries imply) – but I hail from the UK. I’ve been outed: I am actually British – allegedly near Norfolk as in some of my videos I sound to him like I am trying to cover up an East Anglican accent.

While my surname is English and my ancestors hail from Somerset this was thirteen generations ago. I assured him I am not English. I could not tell if he was disappointed or relieved. I felt sorry for the fellow for it sounds like he did a lot of work to come to his (alas, erroneous) conclusion. It’s depressing to see your hard work go down the swanny.

I fancy I would make an excellent subject to Her Majesty. I drink tea; I refer to the restroom as ‘the loo’. When my patients ask me how I am today I reply I am just ducky. Better yet I am familiar with the rats in Tewkesbury. Best of all I feel quite at home in inclement weather. Jolly good fun. I may not know tuppence about football, but I can recite all the English Kings and Queens.

I suppose being British is more than knowing all the skits of Monty Python and preferring vinegar on my fries – opps, chips, but I am willing to try.  Maybe The British Psychiatric Association can arrange a shrink-exchange. I can spend a year in Cornwall (speaking like a pirate) while some Englishman with visions of playing cowboy can come here to Arizona. If he gets homesick not too far away on Bell Road is a proper British pub with real British food and ale (no rubbish).