"Excuse me," he said in his apologetic English way, "could you tell me where to find St. Timothy's Episcopal Church?"
Easiest thing in the world, old boy! "It's right there," Laurie said, pointing at the two-acre lot directly behind our house. "It's the great big field with a church in it," I added helpfully.
"Oh, right, ha-ha! Nearly there! Thanks!" And cheeks ruddy for having had to ask directions to something right in front of his face, he drove off into the park, presumably to turn around.
Laurie and I toddled on, wondering if perhaps after the dimension-hopping of Doctor Who, we'd awakened in a universe where the U.S. had stayed cozy with Britain for the past two centuries a la Canada instead spending so much time and effort un-Englishing ourselves. I pulled out a dollar bill and found no sign of the queen anywhere on it, however, so apparently it was just a coincidence.
 But was actually a Kia, Laurie informs me.