I met British Prime Minister Gordon Brown.

I suppose this should be prefaced by saying I studied in England at Harlaxton College for four months in the spring of 2008. Though Harlaxton College is the University of Evansville’s British Campus, universities across the States send students and faculty to study and teach abroad. The program, designed so students can travel and experience Europe, has classes four days a week, leaving the other three days for travel. I took complete advantage of this opportunity.

Again, I met Prime Minister Gordon Brown.

Prior to this encounter, I had imagined what it would be like to meet an important political figure. I’d be in smart, sophisticated dress. Definitely in heels. My makeup would be impeccable. Since I’m not the painted-nails type, my nails would be clipped short with a clear, shiny topcoat. I’d have excellent posture and be supremely polite.

Like everything else in life, my interaction with Mr. Brown was not exactly like I’d imagined.

It was quite the opposite, actually.

I was freezing cold. My bright red nose was dripping with snot, and makeup was the furthest thing from my mind. With my hands buried in my Isotoner gloves, I was hunched over fighting the bitter winds. And my manners had, well, temporarily washed away with the tide.

This event occurred in mid-February on the coast in Llandudno, a city known for its beautiful coastline in North Wales, United Kingdom. Some friends and I chose to go on this trip in hopes of relaxing after a few weekends of ridiculously bizarre traveling incidents (hurricane-like weather in Athens, Greece cancelling our cruise of the Greek islands; discovering our hotel was located in the “heroine district” and told if out past dark to “watch” ourselves). The sound of a holiday resort city was very appealing.

Upon arriving to our hotel, we noticed the hotel across the street had an area marked with cones and manned by police officers. Intrigued, we quickly checked into our hotel, dropped our bags and went to meet the police officers. Within minutes we’d won them over playing the cute, innocent American girls card.

They told us Prime Minister Gordon Brown would be arriving within the hour. Of course, we chose to stay and wait for him. After about 30 minutes the officers told us he was running late and wouldn’t be there until the evening. They said we had about two hours.

Listening to the rumbling in our stomachs, we set out for food. We’d grab a quick, hopefully cheap dinner and return to see Mr. Brown. Craving fine American cuisine, we got the family deal at Kentucky Fried Chicken to go, so we could eat in the hotel and watch for the prime minister.

We returned to our post with the officers an hour and a half later only to find the delay had been lengthened. To pass the time, the officers attempted to teach us bits of the Welsh language.

As if the road cones and officers weren’t enough to tell people something was going on, a group of eight American girls sure did the trick. Several individuals, mostly British, approached us asking what was happening. When we responded excitedly by explaining the prime minister was coming soon, they shrugged their shoulders and walked away. One woman said, “Oh, I’ve seen him loads of times on the tele.” Then she walked away.

Unlike the good citizens of that country, we were staying to see the prime minister, and we were excited about it.

An hour or so later, Officer Donnelly received a phone call staying Mr. Brown was on his way. The officers scurried around, making sure everything was in place and ready. They told us he’d be arriving in the Range Rover. Getting as close as they’d allow to the area where he’d be walking, we waited. Then when we saw a caravan of cars turning the corner, we knew it was him.

The lone female officer was standing right beside me. As soon as we saw him, she encouraged me to yell and get his attention, as none of my friends were saying anything. Suddenly, I felt adrenaline surged through my body. I knew this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. He was the prime minister of Great Britain, after all!

So I yelled. And after I yelled, the officer said to yell again. And I did:

“HI GORDON!...GORDON, WOOHOO!”

Then he disappeared into the hotel, without a glance in our direction. I, still excited, turned to my friends who I found looking at me and laughing. When I questioned why they were laughing, one blatantly said, “That’s like calling President Bush, George.”

It was at that moment I realized I had just committed a grand social faux pas. I called the prime minister by his first name.

Determined to remedy my violation of the social code, when he exited the hotel about 10 minutes later I yelled, “Prime Minister we came all the way from the States to see you!”

Reluctantly, he came to where we were standing. After we had snapped a few pictures and told him where we were from, he left us.

Fortunately, I was able to get all of this on video. It can be seen at www.washtimesherald.com.

I guess you could say Mr. Brown and I are best friends.

n Emilee Shake is a staff writer for the Times-Herald and. She can be reached at eshake@washtimesherald.com.