In appreciation of...

After almost 8 months of residence in London, I don't find the people difficult, grating, or generally strange, much unlike Paris. This makes for a generally less interesting, if more harmonious existence.

This said, I can't say as I mind being generally awash with pleasantness. It's the softer corners of London that make it a more liveable place. (Although this may make a potentially a less interesting blog)

Just how soft are these corners? It's not that London's not edgy, but it just doesn't have that New York bitterness. I do resent the idea that Londoners, and Brits in general, sort of fop around and stutter, (The Hugh Grant Theory), but there is a certain overpoliteness that permeates every aspect of life.

Take for example, my part-time job. I work in a converted 19th century shop, one of 3/4 employees that can fit in the store at any given point. We do sandwiches at lunch time, and I am essentially, as my super fabulous gay boss put it, "The Sandwich Queen."

I manage the 25 or so bankers/magic circle lawyers that queue patiently outside our storefront.
Now, enter the overpoliteness.

Imagine this scenario. James X comes in, and immediately looks to the 10 people standing in the queue in the store, as if he's affronted them just by entering. I almost expect a sincere, "Oh so sorry, am I breathing the same air? Ever so sorry."

He looks to the menu. Now, this is a man who has most likely gone to Oxbridge for his degree, been fast-tracked into one of London's most lucrative careers, but spends a solid 10 minute staring at the menu in complete confusion. Finally, he looks up.

I make eye contact, suggesting, subtly, that he may like to order. He looks around again, just to confirm that uttering the phrase "Ham and Chutney on granary bread, please" won't send anyone else into a crisis of nerves.

"I'm sorry, we're out of ham," I offer, with a pitying look. "Oh, um...right. Right," he mutters, spiralling back into confusion. I then volley back the apologies, just to make absolutely certain he's not disappointed AND offended. "Yes, I'm very sorry, we've had [aliens take away the ham slicer/a severe European pig shortage/a case of flying ham] this morning."

Now, god help us if two identical orders come up in short succession. I've only studied Arbitration Law briefly, but from what I can tell, the deliberation between two lawyers over a sandwich is far more intense. Both hands, equipped with family crest rings, go forward, men uttering in call-and-response style:

"Right, well, sure it's...oh, right....surely it's yours...yes, right. Cheers, thank you...cheers..."

All this said, we do have a few jerks who stride in and bark their sandwich orders, regardless of who may be standing in line, or who may faint from impoliteness.

They're all French.
You can't make this stuff up.