Sleepy Suffolk

Not so long ago, I’d have had to go to Harwich, take a wooden vessel - probably a small rocky caravel - to undertake the daring crossing of the Atlantic Ocean to eventually reach the New World.
Nowadays, I have to travel further away from Ipswich, all the way to London’s southern airport, Gatwick, to even consider reaching America. However, of course, we don’t travel in caravels anymore (not even the flying one) to America. The captain won’t be Sir Walter either. In lieu of sails, ropes, and masts, I’ll be snuggled into a close fit seat in one of many rows of a Boeing 767 - probably not the window seat - and the trip will last a mere eight hours or so. Rather than setting foot on the warm sand of the Carolinas Outer Banks, I will tread the possibly worn carpet of Atlanta’s hub airport, home to Delta Airlines who still love to fly (and it still shows). At least, I won’t be sea-sick.
It’s been a long seven years since I last strolled around American streets, nearly a decade since I deambulated in NYC’s downtown alight with the spirit of Christmas. I cannot begin to describe what it feels like to return to a land one has known well enough to call it home.
It will be the first time too since I’ve moved to England and as such going there will be a linguistic test. How much of the British language has rubbed off on me? Dare I walk on the pavement? Have my language inflections changed? Must I monitor my vocabulary closely for fear I slip a word a tad too Suffolk-like?
In due time, I will report on this whole new experience.

Not so long ago, dearest Amaia, my housie from Spain, had meddled haggis with huggies - not a very tasty combination.
On her long and winding road to British Epitome of Cuisine, after having cleared the haggis hurdle, she decided to subdue swedes. No, not the Nordic native. We’re dealing with veggies here - you know one of your infamous ‘five-a-day’ food portions. As the Merriam & Webster parcimoniously puts it, it’s chiefly British meaning that the use of swede as a member of the Brassicaceae family (as opposed to a tall strapping blond chap) pertains to the domain of British English, a somewhat obscure subset of the English language which mingles pavements with sidewalks and whatnot.
Again, this episode unraveled itself in the comfort of her four-wheeled contraption as we sped, Pierre, Amaia, and I, to work. Pierre, our Frenchman from the North, was enumerating the essentials that tend to keep haggis company while it cooks in the oven. He started off with the usual suspects one can add such as potatoes (which pseudonym is then tatties) and he then mentioned neeps using the commonly accepted vocable south of Hadrian’s wall, id est the swede.
Had Amaia not have to keep staring at the road for fear of veering off to the right side of the road, she would most have interrogated us with her usual blank stare of bewilderedness and incredulity.