By Bill Bryson
"Suddenly, within the house of a second, i noticed what it was once that I enjoyed approximately Britain-which is to assert, all of it."
After approximately 20 years spent on British soil, invoice Bryson-bestsellingauthor of the mummy Tongue and Made in America-decided to returnto the USA. ("I had lately read," Bryson writes, "that 3.7 million americans believed they had been kidnapped by means of extraterrestrial beings at one time or another,so it was once transparent that my humans wanted me.") yet sooner than departing, he set out ona grand farewell journey of the golf green and kindly island that had goodbye been his home.
Veering from the ludicrous to the endearing and again back, Notes from a Small Island is a delightfully irreverent jaunt round the remarkable floating state that has produced zebra crossings, Shakespeare, Twiggie Winkie's Farm, and areas with names like Farleigh Wallop and Titsey. the result's an uproarious social remark that conveys the real glory of england, from the satiric pen of an unapologetic Anglophile.
"Suddenly, within the area of a second, i noticed what it was once that I enjoyed approximately Britain-which is to claim, all of it."
After approximately 20 years spent on British soil, invoice Bryson-bestselling writer of ,i>The mom Tongue</i> and Made in America-decided to come to the us. ("I had lately read," Bryson writes, "that 3.7 million american citizens believed they had been kidnapped by means of extraterrestrial beings at one time or one other, so it used to be transparent that my humans wanted me.") yet sooner than departing, he set out on a grand farewell travel of the fairway and kindly island that had goodbye been his domestic.
Veering from the ludicrous to the endearing and again back, Notes from a Small Island is a delightfully irreverent jaunt round the extraordinary floating country that has produced zebra crossings, Shakespeare, Twiggie Winkie's Farm, and locations with names like Farleigh Wallop and Titsey. the result's an uproarious social observation that conveys the genuine glory of england, from the satiric pen of an unapologetic Anglophile.
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Additional resources for Notes from a Small Island
I said I'd eat in, accepted a key and drippingly found my way to my room. I ran a deep bath, emptied into it all the gels and moisturizing creams (don't be alarmed; I've studied this closely and can assure you that they are all the same substance), and, as a fiesta of airy bubbles began their slow ascent towards a position some three feet above the top of the bath, returned to the room and slipped easily into the selfabsorbed habits of the lone traveller, unpacking my rucksack with deliberative care, draping wet clothes over the radiator, laying out clean ones on the bed with as much fastidiousness as if I were about to go to my first highschool prom, arranging a travel clock and reading, material with exacting precision on the bedside table, adjusting the lighting to a level of considered cosiness, and finally retiring, in perky spirits and with a good book, for a long wallow in the sort of luxuriant foam seldom seen outside of Joan Collins movies.
A series of development companies had taken it over with ambitious plans to turn the site into an office park or conference centre or compound of executive homes. For well over a decade this fine old hospital, probably one of the dozen finest Victorian structures still standing, had just sat, crumbling and forlorn, and I had expected it to be much the same indeed, was rehearsing an obsequious request to the watchman to be allowed to go up the drive for a quick peek since the building itself couldn't much be seen from the road.
At the far end there is even a cluster of fake Roman ruins, opposite Fort Belvedere, the country home where Edward VIII made his famous abdication broadcast so that he could be free to go fishing with Goebbels and marry that sourfaced Simpson woman, who, with the best will in the world and bearing in mind my patriotic obligations to a fellow American, has always struck me as a frankly unlikely choice of shag. If you are going to have a system of hereditary privilege, then surely you have to take what comes your way no matter how ponderous the poor fellow may be or how curious his taste in mistresses.