From an outsider's perspective, as I am not entirely French nor truly British, it seems as if France is the Jaime Lannister to the UK's Tirion. (Or vice versa.) I'm not saying that France is a nation of volatile, incestuous twins or that the UK is the land of misshapen congenial dwarfs, but rather that the not-so-friendly rivalry that has been plaguing both sides of the Channel for the past thousand years has a brotherly, almost intimate feel to it.
Upon my expatriation to the UK in September, I first crashed through the honeymoon phase of the expat adventure, where I managed to plough through a metric ton of Stilton, Cadburys chocolate spread and Marmite while advertising the benefits of lower income tax rates, the pragmatic approach of the NHS regarding mundane illnesses and the many (unexpensive) wonders of my local charity shop.
After a rather unexpected, if not exhausting bout of working in the recruitment industry (that, by the way, stemmed from the misconception that having a day job I did not enjoy all too much would still bring me some sense of corporate purpose, which it obviously didn't, but hey), I went through an equally quirky phase of full-on British bashing by wearing my Frenchness like armor. I would complain about the abysmal commuting, the fact that I needed to sell one of my kidneys to buy reblochon/foie gras/Sauternes wine, rental costs that often exceed the yearly GDP of a Third World country or the habit of spoiling a perfectly decent cup of tea with milk.
But, as always, you have to adapt sooner rather than later and you end up settling halfway in between the two, posing as the local, if not a little snobbish, wine and food specialist (sneering at a perfectly harmless yet annoyingly generic Pinot Grigio) while whole-heartedly embracing multicultural Britain by gorging on mezze, lassi and sausage rolls. And yes, I am obsessed with anything even remotely edible, although that does not include nibbling on a barbecued tarantula.
Raging Frenchwoman, as an expat survival guide of sorts, will feature stories about food (and namely how you can do it or where you can eat it), the quirks and perks of being an undercover Frenchwoman in Hertfordshire and the many trials and tribulations of everyday life in the UK.
Let the raging begin!