July in Wellington.

I'm addicted to coffee.

I was excited to try a new cafe that I had read about on Twitter.

IN JULI’S HEAD: They have Bom Bons! Cardamom White Chocolates! Chilli Mochachinos!

WHAT JULI REALLY SAYS: [breezily, to BARISTA] I read about your cafe on Twitter.

BARISTA: [surprised] Really?

JULI: [modestly] Yeah. I’m kind of addicted to Twitter.

BARISTA: I don’t Twitter. I just, you know, e-mail.

JULI: You should get a Twitter account. Lots of businesses use Twitter!

BARISTA: So, would you tell people on Twitter, if they mention the cafe, and “twit” or “tweet”, they can get a free coffee?

IN JULI’S HEAD: I’m not going to sell out for four bucks.

WHAT JULI REALLY SAYS: [reluctantly] Uh, yeah. Sure. OK.

--
My Chilli Mochachino was very nice.

--
Edited to add. Health warning: Coffee and Twitter are highly addictive. When coffee and Twitter are used together, you can be offensive to others.

I’m tired of people raising their eyebrows at me.

In a recent post on Belgian Waffle, Mme Jaywalker mentioned reading Watching the English: The Hidden Rules of English Behaviour. In the first 30 pages, this book has explained the difficult, mumbling, awkward moments that I have suffered in a country full of English people. Basically, I'm doing everything wrong.

Now, most of what I have gathered will seem obvious to you. It seems like I used to know these things, too. (Maybe I am getting dumber.)

Discuss the weather.
Even with the changeable weather in NZ, talking about the weather has to be the most boring topic on earth. And I have this conversation every day, at length, whenever I see anyone:

Her: It’s really cold, isn’t it?

Me: Yes. But at least it’s calm.

Her: The southerly is supposed to pick up again tonight.

Me: Oh, not again?

I assumed you would only talk about the weather with someone you don’t know very well. So I was puzzled when friends that I have known for years were talking about the weather.

Well, it seems that this weather-talk is about MORE than the weather. This conversation is actually an ice-breaker, through layers and layers of English reserve.

(I know this doesn't seem that earth-shattering. But there is a lot of weather-talk. A lot.)

And I have been making embarrassing mistakes with this basic social greeting, as in this example:

Her: We haven’t seen the sun for ages, have we?

Me: You know, I like this weather. As long as it’s calm, it’s actually quite nice.

Her: (raised eyebrow)

Agree with people.
You see, it doesn’t matter what people say about the weather. I am supposed to agree with them. It's about agreeing. I can say that I like the rain (as a matter of eccentric personal preference), as long as I make it sound like I’m agreeing. So I should have said, "Yes, it's been a long time since it's been fine, hasn't it?" And then gone on with the rest of my thought.

Here’s another example of me inserting my foot in my mouth:

Her: It’s really raining, isn’t it?

Me: Yes, it’s pouring down.

Her: I can give you a ride home?

Me: No, that’s OK. I’m dressed for the weather. I don’t mind the rain. I used to live in Chicago (where it was really cold and miserable).

Her: (raised eyebrow)

Apparently, it’s gauche to say that I used to live someplace bigger and colder with more miserable weather. It’s perceived as an attempt at one-upmanship.

Private matters are private.
The last thing I've learned is even more cringe-worthy. It seems it’s also a bit coarse to tell everyone about my divorce and my personal business. Private matters are for close friends and family only. A stiff upper lip and reserve are what the culture calls for. It may be OK to mention these personal details in a blog column, but I should never talk about them in person.

Oh, dear. There are another 300 pages of this book. What other faux pas have I been making?