Everyone Needs an Algonquin

I apologise.

I could offer a hundred excuses, but that has never been my style. Suffice it to say that this may possibly have been the worst month of my life and that it is unlikely that many people (save those poor unfortunate souls in the Oxfam adverts) have suffered as I have.

However, I take full responsibility for neglecting you so in the last few weeks. My dears, you were never far from my mind, I can promise you. As I sat waiting to be looked after in that A&E, as I sat being interviewed by the sketch artist, as I lay there on the floor of the building society doing my best not to make any sudden movements, I thought of nothing but my darling readers and how much I have let them down.

I intend to remedy this situation in the only way I know how. By being charmingly inspiring. It may be the only gift God gave me (well, one of only a few) but, my goodness, is it needed right now.

In reflecting over my last few posts, I see that my normally uplifting tone has been in absentia. It is true that terrible injustices are going on in the world, and it is true that people like me must do our best to speak out against such things to instigate change. However, I also feel that it is sometimes necessary to focus on what is good in the world, to praise what has yet to go tits up.

As you are well aware, I have been adopted as one of her own by Mother England. Although my career as an internationally-known writer requires me to thumb the newspapers each day, I am often saddened by the bile spat at old Albion. I would like to take this time to put aside my own personal tragedies and remind us all of some praiseworthy things.

Ribena

You may have taken me for a shandy drinker but I beg of you not to rely on such stereotypes. Have you ever spent four hours cooped up in the waiting room of a hospital, surrounded by children who certainly must have nits and their parents who see no problem in allowing their nit covered offspring out of doors? If so, you will know that nothing tastes sweeter sliding down one’s throat than a lovely glass of Ribena, slightly diluted with cold clear water or (when appropriate) the finest Russian vodka Christopher can find in town on a Tuesday morning.

The People’s Friend

Quite frankly, this overlooked example of fine British literature is sorely neglected in today’s National Curriculum. Why read a story about the Empire’s evils when it’s so much nicer to read one about someone’s grandmother’s embroidered handkerchief?

Two Pound Coins

I like my coins to have a bit of weight to them. And what’s even more thrilling is that if you collect fifty of these, you’ll have a hundred quid!

Shopping Trolleys

Does anything say “England is a lovely place to live” more than this picture?

Truncheons

Police in America with their guns have nothing on the pleasant English Bobby who can bludgeon a criminal’s face with just a quick swing of the arm. That’s why we’ve got the most civilized police brutality in the world!

Tweezers

Not strictly English, I know, but just imagine how frustrated philatelists would be without them!

See, readers, if someone like me can rise above the pain (both emotional and physical) of going to hell and back as I have done in the recent past and can manage to smile at some England’s charms, can’t we all do so from time to time?

Tags: Apology, Loveliness, Personal Tragedy, Self-sacrifice