I told him that I couldn’t live somewhere that tasted of parsnips, so that ruled out the job in Newcastle.
“Manchester suits me fine,” I told him. “Why can’t we just stay here? Manchester tastes like a small mouthful of almonds, and I cope fine with waking up every day to a mouthful of almonds.”
There’s a job in Carlisle, he said.
I shuddered.
“Butterbeans,” I said. “Yuck.”
Exeter?
“Fritter batter. Too greasy.”
York.
“Chocolate. Too much of a good thing.”
Cardiff?
“Laver bread!”
Which is-?
“Too rich.”
Liverpool?
“Seriously? Liver?”
London!
“Snot.”
Not what, he asked?
“No,” I explained, “London tastes of snot. No- I don’t know why.”
So for a long time we stayed living in Manchester, the city whose name is just a small mouthful of almonds.
Until one day, he came home from work with some very exciting news.
“A job abroad, in…The Hague…?” he said, hopefully.
I smiled. “Wow,” I said. The Hague. Cornflakes! Who couldn’t enjoy the daily taste of a breakfast cereal, a food that’s designed to be eaten every day?
And so we left behind our life in A Mouthful of Almonds, and we still live in Cornflakes today. And when I begin to miss English bacon and eggs, I pop back to the UK to savour Canterbury and Dover.
The Taste of Expatriate Life
by Jacki Donnellan