By Bill Bryson
"Suddenly, within the house of a second, i spotted what it was once that I enjoyed approximately Britain-which is to claim, all of it."
After approximately 20 years spent on British soil, invoice Bryson-bestsellingauthor of the mum Tongue and Made in America-decided to returnto the U.S.. ("I had lately read," Bryson writes, "that 3.7 million american citizens believed they had been kidnapped via extraterrestrial beings at one time or another,so it was once transparent that my humans wanted me.") yet earlier than departing, he set out ona grand farewell journey of the golf green and kindly island that had see you later been his home.
Veering from the ludicrous to the endearing and again back, Notes from a Small Island is a delightfully irreverent jaunt round the unprecedented floating kingdom that has produced zebra crossings, Shakespeare, Twiggie Winkie's Farm, and areas with names like Farleigh Wallop and Titsey. the result's an uproarious social observation that conveys the real glory of england, from the satiric pen of an unapologetic Anglophile.
"Suddenly, within the house of a second, i noticed what it used to be that I enjoyed approximately Britain-which is to claim, all of it."
After approximately twenty years spent on British soil, invoice Bryson-bestselling writer of ,i>The mom Tongue</i> and Made in America-decided to come to the U.S.. ("I had lately read," Bryson writes, "that 3.7 million americans believed they'd been kidnapped via extraterrestrial beings at one time or one other, so it used to be transparent that my humans wanted me.") yet ahead of departing, he set out on a grand farewell journey of the fairway and kindly island that had goodbye been his domestic.
Veering from the ludicrous to the endearing and again back, Notes from a Small Island is a delightfully irreverent jaunt round the exceptional floating country that has produced zebra crossings, Shakespeare, Twiggie Winkie's Farm, and areas with names like Farleigh Wallop and Titsey. the result's an uproarious social statement that conveys the genuine glory of england, from the satiric pen of an unapologetic Anglophile.
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Additional info for Notes from a Small Island
Sample text
Been there, I thought. I composed a letter to my parents telling them not to wait supper; passed a happy few hours trying on my new clothes and posing before the mirror; arranged my modest selection of paperback books on the windowsill; popped out to the post office and had a look around the village; dined at a little place called the Tudor Rose; then called in at a pub called the Trottesworth, where I found the ambience so agreeable and the alternative forms of amusement so nonexistent that I drank, I confess, an intemperate amount of beer; and returned to my new quarters by way of several shrubs and one memorably unyielding lamppost.
Such is life. Anyway, that's the kind of place Bournemouth is genteel to a fault and proud of it. I couldn't say because I never saw them lit, and in any case, a shortage of funds and the unconscionable tendency of youths to yank the pots from their frames and smash them at each other's feet for purposes of amusement meant that the structures were soon dismantled and taken away. I laughed in their faces, of course. Mostly, however, things had been subtracted. On the plus side, there wasn't a scrap of litter to be found, whereas in my day Christchurch Road was an openair litter bin.
It is an interesting experience to become acquainted with a country through the eyes of the insane, and, if I may say so, a particularly useful grounding for life in Britain. I developed a passable understanding of cricket and my skidding came on a treat. I liked it very much. At the far end of the room, there moved a pretty young nurse of clear and radiant goodness, caring for these helpless wrecks with boundless reserves of energy and compassion guiding them to a chair, brightening their day with chatter, wiping dribble from their chins and I thought: This is fust the sort of person I need.