Last night I got back to my brother's house (where I sleep when I'm working in the office) to find my sister-in-law printing tiny American flags.
'We're off to the pub to celebrate!' she says, pinning one of the flags to my coat.
Only her daughter refuses to wear one, because it clashes with the colour of her clothes.
The event is staged by an expatriate American couple. They are so thankful there’s someone they voted for, at long last - this from Clinton fans who think she would have lost.
So here I am, in one of the smartest parts of Britain, toasting Barrack Obama with my brother's wealthy friends.
An acquaintance in New York emails today to say he has been dancing on the roof of a taxi.
To a Canadian I suggest that it's enough to restore one's faith in the American people. He says that's only because I don't have to live next to them.
Whatever else, I shall try to avoid thinking of Obama as a celebrity.
I have unpinned the Stars and Stripes from my coat.