If chased by cattle

Dislike: The word “muppet” as a pejorative. Also the word “silly,” same. (The latter most often used in an effort to not say “stupid” – like subbing “sugar” for “shit.” All well and good you don't want to call a kid stupid -- it's not the 80s anymore -- but let's not make silly a bad thing. It's a bad thing if a 3-year-old isn't silly.)

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Okay. You’re walking down the sidewalk. Not an enormous one, not a super narrow one; a normal sidewalk with space enough for two people to walk together, or pass each other in opposite directions. In New York – and as far as I can remember, in every other city I’ve ever been in – people will do just that: pass each other. There is no beat, there is no acknowledgement, there are simply two people moving independently through the world with no earthly need to acknowledge each other’s existence.

In London, the world’s most passive aggressive city, this is not the case. At least that’s how I’ve been reading the situation. Inevitably, one of the approaching people will pull over to let the other pass. At which point they expect an acknowledgment of their great largesse. Which I refuse to give, because why on Earth should I reward someone for doing something entirely unnecessary for no reason aside from receiving said acknowledgement.

But now I have a theory. It is not (merely) a case of performative politeness; it is learned behaviour based on driving. Because driving in this country is absolutely bonkers. (Have a look on YouTube for some variation of “Americans react to insane British roads!” for further illustration.) Here’s the deal: Lots and lots of roads, even in London, and certainly outside it, are too narrow for two cars to pass each other at speed. Baked into the system then is the requirement that two cars, approaching each other at 60mph, will somehow be able to slow down in time for one to pull into the side of a hedge (or in London, the gap in parallel-parked cars). There is no margin for error, and playing chicken is not an option. Whoever has the nearest two feet of shoulder must pull into it. At which point a little wave is given, the other person edges by, then they both gun it and go about their business. I do not know how everyone does not crash all the time.

So. This is standard practice, and absolutely essential to moving through British roadspace. Even if you don’t drive and never leave London, inevitably you will encounter this on any given bus route. It sinks in: Two bodies moving toward each other cannot simply move past each other; one must give way.

Still drives me up the fucking wall though.

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It’s inevitable: Every time we set foot in the English countryside, I’m reminded of Bill Bryson talking about the dangers of cows. Because they are dangerous, apparently; they will attack. Bill learned this at some point after moving here, and understandably felt the need to spread the word. And the English people he told said Well yes, of course, you’d better watch out if you’re in a field with cows. And the Americans said Why on earth would I be in a field with cows?

Why would I be in a field with cows. I never was, in America. I can’t imagine a scenario where I would be. Cows are… elsewhere. Somewhere in Iowa there’s a fratboy sneaking out at midnight to tip them. But Bryson is from Iowa, so maybe it’s actually Ohio. Or Indiana, or Wisconsin, who knows. America just has so much space I guess the cows and the people all have enough of their own.

There was a sign at the edge of the field: Stay safe – use a lead around livestock. But release your dog if chased by cattle. Why would I be in a field with cows indeed.

(I have of course continued Bryson’s experiment, and so far the Americans remain confused. I usually get some variation on Well, a bull…

Which reminds me of the rodeo Richard and I went to. In Madison Square Garden, unpredictably. Two things: 1. Whoever came up with the term Mutton Busting is a genius; 2. being a rodeo clown is a damn serious business. The guy trying to stay on the bull? He just has to hang on. The guy who has to get the attention of the bull after the other guy inevitably falls off, and lure it away to potentially trample him instead? Balls of steel.)

Recipe: Last Thanksgiving was a bit of a mess -- we got stood up by Richard's sister -- but on the plus side we didn't have to share these Garlicky Hasselback Sweet Potatoes, which were one of the most delicious things I've ever eaten.