Next day was the big day: Thanksgiving. I’d never experienced a real Thanksgiving dinner before, and I felt happy and a little nervous. Happy, obviously, to eat a gigantic mound of food. Nervous in case I said something fucking stupid at the dinner table and ruined everything.
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The Berlin Diaries – Thanksgiving
I’m English, which means I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving and don’t really know what it’s about. Hang on. Let’s educate ourselves. Right, you wait here, and I’m going to trek to the mystical land of Wikipedia in search of answers. If I’m not back in three paragraphs, assume I’ve failed my quest, give me an honorary funeral (Viking style, please), and move on with your life. Promise me, if I fail, you will try to learn to love again. Promise me you will find another blog filled with stupid drunken travelling stories. You promise? Okay. Here goes.