That flee-dom (mis-spelling intended) is soon to come to a screeching halt. An unwillingness to rush out on Day Two and buy plates etc. means that we will be forced, I mean forced (not), to buy M&S micro-wavey meals for a while, which in turn means you'll hear me in the prepared meal aisle exclaiming about things that normal Brits take for granted. "Oh my goodness, look, Yorkshire puds", and "Ooooh, Cumberland sausages". You get the pic. Meanwhile, normal Brits are giving me the old side eye and thinking that perhaps there's something not quite right.
And there's the other part of not-knowing-what-the-hell-you're-doing-in-your-country-of-origin - My fellow Brits jokingly, (not), take me to task for it. How the heck am I supposed to know the ins and outs of the London Congestion system? I go to London every summer but I certainly don't drive a car into the center/centre.
Ditto Newcastle, my home town - last time I drove into the city center I ended up driving the wrong way up a street which was pedestrianized years ago. 1) No cars allowed (just buses). 2) Only buses going in the opposite direction. Realizing my predic, and seeing two coppers watching me, I parked, leapt out of the car, played the "I haven't lived here for decades" card, and escaped their withering derision - a lethal weapon deployed by many British bobbies that makes a fine look like preferential treatment.
Now however, I won't have the "Not from around here" defense/defence. I could always spend a few minutes explaining why I don't know what I'm doing but really, when all they need is money from the hole-in-the-wall, they're just not that interested. They just think I've escaped from the loony bin.