Taking the plunge into a world of 'junior women'

So it's time to pack up, have a yard sale and begin the round of farewells. It was only a substance of time, truly, before our extended-self-catering-holiday that is life out here in New t-shirt was jolted by the news that some good expat friends are moving back to England.

None of the exhilaration this time for them of upping sticks and wave goodbye to all their belongings.

None of the expectancy of a new house, new experiences and the joy of the dollar being so weak. Just back to life as it was earlier.

We are a tight-knit set out here. The Brits tend to hunt in packs, quest each other out at any given chance. This specific family which I am going to be so very sad to see go happen to send their twin daughters to the same school that we chose for The Girl, but that's not how I met them.

instead I met them through a different English friend who heard Mrs H talk in a book shop, her sonic-radar homing in on a chap British speech pattern.

Mrs H and her household have now become what I hope will be lifelong friends.

devising friends out here is, like so many facet of life as an expat, instead removed from world.

Firstly, the whole procedure is accelerated and reminds me instead of Freshers' Week at university, but alternatively of the inquiry about what school you went to, what A degree you did and how many UCAS points you scored, conversations follow the lines of where you are life, what your hubby does and which school you have sent your kid to.

This may seem superficial, but this stage of the relationship doesn't last for long. As I said, everything is accelerated and besides, we are all "trailing spouses" and have many things in common.

Not just children, schools and a house, but most of us have given up our careers and ambitions to support our husbands.

But over the past few months I have battled with my initial wish to "stay English". I was determined not to lapse into Americanisms in my speech.

But after many instances of comprehension difficulties I have, I'm afraid, relented and now refer to parking garages, grocery stores, gas stations, back yards and even pronounce some words as an American would, purely so that I am understood. I sincerely apologise.

And I have made a conscious decision to try and mix more with other people - non-Brits, real life Americans.

Imagine! Not purely because the expat population is so transient, but also because that is who I am mainly surrounded by and, to really integrate here, then you have to get to know the locals.

Hence Dr W's accusations that I have joined the Women's Institute. I strongly protest this - we don't make jam. In fact, I am now a paid-up member of my local Junior Women's Club.

This is an organisation of women in their 30s and 40s who meet together to do what Dr W rather patronisingly refers to as "worthy work" in the community. Juniors' Clubs exist in many areas of the US, with the female members raising hundreds of thousands of dollars to plough into local projects.

What is intimidating about being a member of the JWC is the expectation - no actually this is America, so there is no "expectation", just an unwavering, unquestioned belief - that we will succeed in organising and pulling off a huge number of different events throughout the year.

There is no room in the club for half-heartedness, cynicism or lack of input.

The generosity and willingness of these women to donate time and money to local causes has blown me away. It really is a case of looking at what's on your doorstep and doing what you can to help.

You never know when it might be you that needs a neighbour. Blood drives, Thanksgiving food collections, college scholarships, senior luncheons, and Labor Day sports events for children are a few examples of what fill a very full annual schedule.

It does help this particular organisation that it is in a wealthy part of a wealthy town in one of the wealthiest states in the USA.

With this comes a multitude of useful business contacts, sponsorship deals, access to high-profile mailing lists and the opportunity to host extravagant parties, in the secure knowledge that locals will cough up $125 for a ticket.

If that sounds like cynicism, it's not. The organisation really is an impressive and effective workforce, of which I am very proud.

The president of the club is one of those people who just gets things done. Clearly highly intelligent and without a shadow of a doubt a successful business career in her past, not only does she run the meetings professionally and talk about "quorums", she is a non-mumsy mother of three children and is annoyingly attractive.

Impossible not to like her. More importantly, impossible to say "no" to.

This said, I was definitely out of my depth at last night's meeting. Tricky tray, 50/50 raffle, silent auction?.?.?. The words drifted past my ears and my nodding agreement and smiles of support hopefully masked what I was really thinking; what on earth is a porch party?

I do need to call an Americanised British friend before the next meeting, just to get the lowdown on what one wears to a such a party.

I recently heard of a British couple in Manhattan who received an invitation to a party that was to be "fancy dress" and decided to go as a couple of tomatoes.

When they walked in, everyone turned and stared. You guessed it; a "fancy dress party" here is a "costume party". "Fancy dress" means black tie.

There's nothing quite like being able to speak the lingo.