Sunday, 22 May 1955
A terrible day for weather, rainy and cold. Caught up on our reading and correspondence. Dinner at the Argyll Hotel. Roast chicken is quite good. Boorish English guests back at Mrs. Robertson’s. Glaring at us and yawning out loud, then persisting in conversing with us so they could recite their laundry list of all the things wrong with our country. On the other hand, an older English couple who had ridden in on a motorbike (despite the nasty weather) were very pleasant.
Right! 'Ere's the toff and his missus, as we encountered them. No hesitation at all in enlightening us with what was wrong with the U.S.A. Or the Irish, Scots (who wanted their damn Stone of Scones back, Jews, Italians, those froggies across the Channel; damned Bolshies, Atlee and Labor; and the Americans who come over with more money than brains or good taste, and wot? Jolly good, I say. Let's have another round! Where did you say you were from?
[Apologia] In their experience we came late to a war in which they had greatly suffered.
Moreover, ten years had past and their food was still being rationed. They had restricted funds -- if any -- for travel. We must have been a source of great irritation.
Comments