If English people had any self-esteem at all, I would walk down an English street the same as I would a Canadian one, and be completely ignored apart from people who wanted to make friends.
But there wouldn't be many of them.
Here in England, however, a myriad of pathetic resentments bubble up to the surface and manifest themselves in all sorts of fearful pig-noises, from the abuse of employers (which is rare in my case-I work for a decent company) to the little squeals, sniffs and coughs of the masculine thirty-going-on-12-year-old-schoolgirls which infest this island.
Fact is, they don't.
They don't have any self esteem.
They are so far from being anywhere, at any time, any kind of human being, that they actually hate, fear and resent the sight of it when one of us is about.
It would be lovely to take a swing at one one of these creeps. But only if the moment takes me.
Anyway, I went into my first house of shame today.
The beer was the same as last week.
But nobody was allowed to smoke.
Which was resented.
Especially by the barmaids.
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