People are brilliant.
It was the best of times. I’m finding this move back to the
UK hard. The keen amongst you may have
noted that having moved away, and having stayed away for over a decade, gives a
rough indication of my enthusiasm for living here. I have, however, been reminded this weekend of
just how great Britain can be. That
said, things have been strained by the idea of lady-crisps and the incredible male
radio hosts are trying to avoid stereotype as they discuss this subject, whilst
hearing the wearying, paper-thin patience of female presenters.
I had to go to a pub to watch the rugby. Wales versus Scotland, watched in a pub in
England. As the second try was about to
be scored, a gentleman joined me in watching the game. He winced at the score and voiced an opinion
about wanting Scotland to put on a performance.
Variously we were joined by the owner of the bar, one of the bar staff
and another punter. The conversation was
warm, convivial and informed (even though I say so myself!) and it was a
fantastic couple of hours watching a moment of British sporting tradition.
CLICHÉ: It was a prime example of all that is good about
this country and, I would posit, all that is good about rugby and the 6
Nations.
I have been greeted into my new flat by a neighbour. He’s noted me coming and going, and has been
happy to chat and speak about the idiosyncrasies of the set up at these
flats. He has been charming and helpful
and humorous: a mine of information about the locality. The people of the street who have to put up
with me wheezing and puffing as I run have all been happy to say a “hello” as I
wind my way up the road past them. It is
noticeable that people are less inclined to look you in the eye and smile. But, I’ve found that if I say a “Gidday!” I
usually get a “hello” or “good morning” in return.
The people who work in the shops and cafés of this town are
beautifully cheerful. They are
courteous, and I have yet to find one who has provided less than efficient, cheerful
service. Every one of them has finely
tuned their small talk and is ready with a smile and a sentence or two - so
much so that the standard two minuter on the weather has only been employed
when the weather has merited a mention.
Perhaps I’m warming to them because they’ve been kind enough to laugh at
my jokes, who knows?
Having got my head up from the pavement, the quality of the
people shows exactly what is great about living here. If you pause at the top of the high street
and look, the greetings, the conversations, the civility, the smiles, the
family, the community is evident to the eyes.
There is a man who sits at a piano and plays songs at unnecessarily
quickened pace, beautifully Reevesian (of the Vic variety). It is genius and he is celebrated.
The specs aren’t naively rose-tinted; the crisps’ farrago is
a glimpse into a horrific mind. I know
that all isn’t sunny in the garden – I ran past an argument, the other morning. Britain still has all the issues in the
world. I’ve listened to Five Live tell
me who’s had a good week or a bad week: why driving over the speed limit is
fine at times, and become incredulous and conservative at the prospect of Welsh
teens not being able to have intimate piercings; how people are now angrier
more than ever before about the most trivial of things. However, as I try and find a routine and a
life back in the UK, it is great to experience the people of this town, to find
these positives and to start to find handholds in this new life.
Of course, all of this will change next week…I shall have to
return to the pub and watch the rugby, on Saturday. Wales play England. I’ll have to watch in an English pub. Hmmm. it may well be the worst of times.
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