Here’s a piece of writing I submitted for a creative writing course at the City Lit. It was received quite well, and one of the other students said it was the most accurate description of Santa Monica that she’d ever read. Others liked the dialogue. Me? I still chuckle over the misunderstanding about drive-in movies!

To a young man in his thirties, Santa Monica was heaven on  earth. The huge sky, the blue Pacific, the breeze, the roller  skaters, the jugglers. Everything, in fact, somehow on a  larger than normal scale. Twilight came and went in a  matter of minutes, and as the evening came, the sea and  the skaters disappeared, and the shops and cafés seemed  to suddenly come alive, the streets filled with people  strolling and laughing. This was as near to paradise as I  could imagine. 

And the girls. Well-tanned, well-turned out and, well,  beautiful. And one of them happened to be a friend of my  cousin, with whom I was staying. 

"I've invited Cindie over for dinner. She wants to meet  you." 

"Really? Why?" 

"She’s never met anyone who’s been to a castle before,  and she loves English accents." 

The evening came, the food was good, and Cindie and I  seemed to be getting on really well. I thought I'd pluck up  the courage to ask her out, and maybe experience some  original Americana at the same time. 

"Cindie, I was wondering if you'd like to go to a drive-in  movie with me." 

Her face and demeanour changed instantly. For the worse. 

"I'm not that kind of girl" she hissed, as she stormed out of  the room. 

I looked at my cousin. 

"What was that all about?" 

My cousin explained: "People don't go to drive-in movies to  watch the movie." 

"Ah." 

Cindie returned to the dining room table. 

"I think maybe there has been a misunderstanding", I  ventured. "Could I take you for a coffee?" 

"Look", she said. "I don't know where you're coming from." 

I had no idea what my direction of travel had to do with  anything, but I didn't want to risk upsetting her even  further by asking. 

"Erm, I'll be coming from here", I told her. 

She looked at me as if I was an idiot, but then it seemed to  dawn on her that, never having heard that expression till  then, I had answered it literally. I think it was at that point  that we both realized the truth of Oscar Wilde's  observation that the English and the Americans have  everything in common except language. 

We saw each other a few times, and much as I loved her  long blonde hair, brown eyes and white smile, I liked her  intelligence and wit even more. And, perhaps surprisingly  after such a rocky start to our relationship, we shared a  similar sense of humour and laughed a lot. 

It could have been a longer-term commitment. Should have  been really. But deep down I think we were both worried  about the difficulties of maintaining a relationship over a  distance of thousands of miles. 

And, of course, the language barrier.