Have a Nice Day

 Are you aware that the Brit's don't say, "Have a nice day!"  Well, you are now; so if you ever come to visit, it would be a good thing for international relations if you attempted to curb your desire to end every encounter, no matter how brief, with that admonition.

In the States, it's simply a banality; here, it's considered pushy, on a par with an order.  "Have a nice day!" is something a typical, overbearing American would insist that you do, whereas the Brits simply hope you, "Enjoy the rest of your afternoon."  It's merely a suggestion, mind you.  No pressure.

This famous British politeness is so ingrained that, if you happen to be rolling your shopping trolley past the frozen food bins at Sainbury's and, because you are studying the variety of offerings--such as pork pies, Yorkshire puddings, kidney in suet--instead of watching where you are going and you run into another shopper, they won't bark at you or glare you down.  Instead, they will smile apologetically, step helpfully aside and say, "Sorry." 

That's right, you can actually run into people here and THEY will apologize to YOU for being in YOUR way.  Decorum, naturally, dictates that you, also, say, "Sorry."  What you do not say, however, is, "Excuse me." 

If you find someone blocking your way, saying, "Excuse me," as a method of getting them to move is considered rude.  It implies the person in front of you has done something wrong; polite people don't do this--that's the sort of behavior you expect out of the French.  Instead, say, "Sorry."  To which the person blocking your way will say, "Sorry," and step aside.  (That is, unless you're in a pub in Liverpool, where, I believe, the customary response is, "Piss off!") 

Another thing the British do that most other people couldn't conceive of is this: they can look up at an overcast sky in cold, drizzling rain and declare it to be a fairly decent day.  And mean it. 

I've been standing in downpours and heard people around me saying, "well, it's a bright day, at least" or, "it's cheering up, don't you think?" 

Not that this has been necessary recently.  The legendary British weather seems to have gone on holiday and we have had nothing but blue skies, sunshine and warm temperatures from about the middle of March. 

It's awful. 

At first, it was wonderful, and I was told, over and over, to enjoy it while it lasted as it would soon turn grey and rainy.  But it never did.  Occasionally it would drizzle for a few minutes before giving way to cloudless skies again, and one memorable night I was awakened by a thunderstorm (we don't have thunderstorms here, as a rule); that morning, however, dawned bright and blue, just like every one before it had. 

Now, I don't think I have to tell why this is so unusual, but I might have to point out why it is so unwelcome:

While Ireland got the jump on the "Emerald Isle" motto (and rightly so), England is also very green, and for the same reason.  In fact, it's so wet here that, even after weeks with no rain, the fecund soil continued to burst forth with all manner of greenery, producing trees, shrubs, hedgerows and meadows of breath-catching beauty.

But lately, I've noticed a tiredness creeping around the edges of all this lushness, as if the greenery has been baking in the heat of a relentless New York summer and it's already the middle of August.  I've also been seeing large patches of grass, scorched to a crisp shade of beige by the sun.  This was a common sight back in my old home, where I regarded it as a welcome sign that summer was in full swing; here, it's disturbing and sort of sad. 

And just the other day, I saw something I had thought I would never see in England--someone watering their lawn.

This morning, at last, I woke up to a grey dawn and walked to the bus stop through a fine drizzle.  I think you really need to live in England to have your spirits buoyed by a raining day, but I actually feel better now that the sun isn't shining.  And whether anyone thinks it rude or not, I'm planning on having a nice day.