Advice

Well intentioned

I regularly play golf with a group of friends. As is common these days, we make our arrangements in a WhatsApp group. It’s very efficient. Recently, however, I was treated to a discussion that I’d describe as typically English.

The cause was an accident on the highway leading to the golf club. A large section of the road was closed. “No golf for me,” S wrote. “My satnav says the journey will take me two hours.”

Barely a second later, a different S responded. “No problem. Just head towards Ditchling from Brighton. It’s a lovely road along the north side of the Downs. It’ll take five minutes longer than usual.”

Within a minute, several other friends responded. P. was the most outspoken. “Ditchling!!!!! Avoid Ditchling at all costs. It’s a constant traffic jam there. Especially now that the highway is closed. Five minutes? I’d say it will add an extra hour. I’m driving via Burgess Hill.”

A second later, G. followed. “Burgess Hill??? You mean the A275? I can’t recommend it. The road is full of potholes. It cost me a new tyre last week. If you do take the A272, be especially careful on the bend after The Five Bells pub. There’s a hole in the road that will swallow your car. The pothole after the Plumpton exit is also bad. I’ve just been told they haven’t repaired either.”

This conversation went on like this for a while, but was finally exhausted by the time we played our first round. However, that didn’t stop my English friends from dredging up stories about previous traffic annoyances all afternoon. It was still a topic of conversation the next time we played.

I think you have to be a foreigner to find this odd. That was certainly the case with the American writer, Bill Bryson. Shortly after he first moved to England, he told some friends in the pub he was going on holiday in Cornwall and planned on driving down the next day.

“When do you hope to arrive?” one of his friends asked anxiously. “Tomorrow, of course,” Bryson replied. “You should have left last week then,” was the immediate reply, after which an enthusiastic discussion broke out about all the problems one encounters on this journey to the end of the English world.

Bryson went home somewhat worried. “I think we should leave a little earlier,” he told his wife and children. “It might be a long drive. Instead of departing at ten o’clock, we should leave at five o’clock, before the rest of the world can get in our way.”

And so they did, and the Bryson family arrived at their hotel in Cornwall by eleven that morning. The journey had gone without a hitch and arriving so early let them enjoy the beach a little longer that day.