To those who know me well, it is no secret that I am an anglophile tragic at heart in the way only colonials who have shed those bonds of subject-hood can be, and that I moved to the part of southern California where most British expats lived, Santa Monica. There I could indulge in all of my favorite British treats: sausage rolls, fish and chips, darts, and high tea among other things. There were also the fantasies: driving a British sports car, attending a special Pusser’s Rum promotion when the Queen sailed up the California coast, trying to spot Patrick McGoohan (Secret Agent, the Prisoner) who lived in my neighborhood, attending a tribute to James Bond event at the Playboy Club where I got to kiss George Lazenby (I asked politely), and Royal Weddings (of course!).