Mind the donga

England is like a helicopter parent always looming over your shoulder. It’s not the first time I’ve had this thought since arriving in London almost two months ago. If the tube station intercom isn’t telling you to “mind the gap” between the train and the platform, then your soda bottle will have the word “twist” written on the cap, just in case you were planning to gnaw the lid off of your Fanta. Which, by the way, is a murky yellow colour in the UK and not the vibrant orange we’re accustomed to in South Africa. I can taste the missing colourants and I don’t like it.

I’m sitting on a bench in Richmond Park, London. Home is 14 000 km