On Politeness, Prejudice and Style.

A man bumped into my shopping trolley in the supermarket today and apologised profusely. It was actually mostly my fault because I had the damn thing sticking out into the aisle, and so I said ‘That’s OK; my fault.’ And then he apologised again. A little while later I was in a woman’s way, and when I moved she didn’t say ‘thank you,’ she said ‘sorry.’

That’s what we Brits are like, you know. We have a compulsion to be polite, and even apologise when there’s no rational reason to do so. Which isn’t to claim that there are no impolite people in Britain. There are. And yet the xenophobes who pollute our culture are still ready to take the slightest perceived lack of politeness on the part of a foreigner or non-white person, and take it as proof that they were right all along and the Channel Tunnel should be filled in with reinforced concrete as a matter of urgency.

That’s sad, isn’t it?

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But on the way back to the car I saw something I like to see: a young man running with his dog along the footpath. It struck me that if all young men had a dog and ran with it, the world would probably be a nicer place.

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And there’s a middle aged couple I often see in Uttoxeter whose dress sense and general manner would be difficult to describe, so let’s just say that it’s notably different than the norm and arguably somewhat foppish. It isn’t my place to judge them, of course; what they wear is their business and nobody else’s.

But I was tempted to consider a question when they came into the coffee shop today. I think it reasonable to presume that they would call their dress sense ‘stylish,’ whereas I would describe it as ‘flamboyant.’ I’m sure the two concepts are different, but there’s an area of overlap between the two which is clearly grey. And so the question is: where do you draw the line?

Being neither stylish nor flamboyant myself, I’m in no position to offer an opinion.

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And I encountered two young women of my acquaintance in Uttoxeter. One held my hand briefly; the other looked at me before walking on without speaking. Ah well, I suppose life’s about nothing if not mixed fortunes.