NORMAL LIFE: What Does HE Know?

The name Bill Bryson stirs up funny thoughts for many. Yes, the famous American author has a humour and a way with words. In the past, I have read books such as Neither Here Nor There and Down Under as well as the more serious titles such as Mother Tongue: The English Language and A Short History Of Nearly Everything. In truth, all of these books were insightful, enlightening and humourous.

And so I recently embarked on reading one of his older titles, Notes from a Small Island. After two decades in the UK, the author decided that he would move back to the US, but not before visiting various sites around the UK one last time so he could provide one or two useful facts about each location whilst, it seems, bitching about it at the same time. While the guy has got some good points, I felt somewhat offended by his constantly degrading remarks and often got bored of what I can only describe as incessant whinging.

As I turned the pages, I noticed that there were certain characteristics between my very self and the author that were similar and thought, in hindight, that maybe these similarities are what annoyed me. For instance, he likes a good unjustified whinge and he's an economical sort; I have to point out, thought, that he is a miser beyond comprehension.

What drew me to the book in the first place was the endorsements emblazoned all over it's front and back cover. For example, The Times claimed 'Not a book that should be read in public, for fear of emitting loud snorts' while the Daily Express writes 'Bryson is funny because he is not afraid to give completely of himself'. I have to totally disagree with the Good Book Guide's claim that the book is 'Laugh-out-loud funny'. Having read the book, I thought to myself what a group of arselickers who want to get into Bryson's pants!

Quite accurately, Bryson points out that all British towns are like a carbon copy of the one you just left; each town seems to have a Marks & Spencers, W H Smiths and a Dixons store. Towards the end of the book, when in Aberdeen, he illustrates his point by stating that 'British towns are like a deck of cards that have been shuffled and endlessly redealt - same cards different order' and I have to admit the guy isn't wrong!

Other insights include how, between 1980 and 1985, if you drew a line between Bristol and the Wash (therby dividing the country into two with roughly 27 million on each side), 103,600 jobs were lost in the South compared to 1,032,000 in the industry-rich north. He points out how dire local TV news is, what with the revelation of a cat that was rescued from a tree. Sarcastic twat! And I love it when he caught out a waitress in a Chinese restaurant trying to extract a service charge AND a tip; I have experienced exactly the same thing (read here).

When visiting Liverpool, he is sitting in a pub when he is approach by somebody claiming to be collecting for charity. He questions the collector's intentions, donating a measely 20p (you might as well not bother). He writes and I quote: The factories may be gone, there may be no work, the city may be pathetically dependent on football for its sense of destiny, but the Liverpudlians still have character and initiative, and they don't bother with preposterous ambitions to win the bid for the next Olympics. Throughout the book, I sense that he was criticising things indiscriminately while then paying homage to something very closely related, as if doing so would limit the damage of his criticism.

He quite cleverly suggests that anyone who uses public transport 'comes to feel like some unwanted sub-class, like the handicapped and the unemployed'. There is some truth in this comment, but to write it so explicity reeks of provocation just like the time when he retorts in a hang-on-just-a-minute moment, that 'whether they [the British] appreciated it or not, British speech has been enlivened beyond measure by words created in America, words that they could not do without'. I was like what planet are you from? What a egotistical, if not arrogant, attitudes towards a language that was literally handed to them [the Americans] on a plate so they could randomly butcher it! Admittedly, he was provoked by an old woman who had criticised the size of the food portions in America, the use of words such as 'normalcy' and the over-friendliness of the American people. The author asks Do they think I'll appreciate their candour? I respond to this with: do you think WE appeciate YOUR candour, all 351 pages of it?!

You're probably wondering where I am going with this. The thing I am trying to point out is that common courtesy seems to be dead. Yes, dead! There was a time when you visited another country, observed its custom and its funny ways and quietly shared whatever concerns you had with your fellow countrymen upon your return to your home country. What this guy did was he visited our country, set up camp, got one of our English roses knocked up, enjoyed our rich multicultural environment and its relatively safe for more than twenty years before proceeding to slag it off to make money and get rich in the process! One thing is for sure: he's definitely an American because decency eludes him!