On English summer
English summer is a military fiction. It is announced confidently, arrives in pieces, and is maintained largely through optimism, tea, and the refusal of several million people to admit that a cardigan is once again required in July.
On Queues
The English queue not because systems work, but because standing in line is one of the few civic acts in which they may personally guarantee order. They will wait without protest for astonishing periods provided no one attempts to improve matters.
On Football
The English do not support football clubs because they expect happiness. They support them because suffering, repeated often enough and in company, becomes a kind of inheritance.
On Roads
English roads are often not built for traffic so much as inherited by it. They begin as suggestions, survive as habits, and are later expected to bear delivery vans, tractors, and the emotional weight of family obligation.
On Directions
English signs do not always describe the world as it is. Often they commemorate the world as somebody meant it to be, briefly, before tea and weather interfered.