They make the flowers bloom

     I am sure, like me, you have known jerky, cruel, mean, arse-holey people. You know, the kind of people who walk by and flowers wilt or whose very essences make puppies cry and shame the sun into hiding behind clouds. I know you know these kinds of people—IF, that is, you live in the United States, or, more specifically, Los Angeles. The thing is, these suck-the-life-out-of-all-that-is-good kind of people do not exist in London. So far, every “Londish” I’ve met makes the flowers bloom, makes puppies leap and calls the sun forth—really. Until this morning it has been very sunny and warm. (I didn’t pack for this weather, so I hope some darker-souled Los Angelenos get off the plane soon to cool down the weather.) 
      Everyone we’ve met here has been so friendly and helpful. A driver tapped his car horn ever so slightly as he anticipated that I was about to step off the curb and into a very bloody death. I was about to step out into traffic but hadn't made the move yet. The driver's benevolence was so ingrained in him that he could literally sense when a pedestrian was about to even think of stepping off the curb in front of him. Saintly. Perhaps the locals feel sorry for us because we are from America, and, if that is the case, I understand. London has so much we don’t have: cool accents, actual history, and civility to name just three. We had a pint of Guinness and a ploughman’s lunch the other day at a pub called Filthy McNasty’s—the height of irony. The food was yummy; the server was sweet and gregarious, and everything was clean, even the people. In the United States we employ our irony in dubious ways. Case in point: The Clean Air Act. We could really take a lesson or two from The Londish. Their irony, just like everything else, is charming and gentile, making life a little more enjoyable all around. As I suspected I might be, I am a big fan of the Londish!