It’s that time of year again. It’s easy when it’s cold and
drizzly and miserable to charge through your inbox and manically type out
reports. It’s not so easy to type when the sun streams in through your window
and there’s a pleasing combination of freshness and mugginess to the air. Any
fisherman knows that on the river right now flies will be surfacing and
dropping and trout will be rising. It’s agony but it’s also blissful because I
am reminded why I love England so much.
The physicist is now a Tier 2 Migrant Worker. It sounds so
dodgy doesn’t it. Despite being an American with a shared language and history
he is navigating the nuances of this country. In England, you are instantly
pigeon holed by your accent, your dress and indeed by what supermarket you go
to. People in England are even judged by their carrier bags. God help you if
you are seen with a Lidl or Aldi bag, indeed you are judged if you have any
carrier bags. I know that our jute bag with the name of a vegetarian restaurant
in Brighton instantly screams “sodding, vegan, yoghurt-slurping hippie”.
Equally, my Jockey Club canvas tote bag marks me out as a toff. I also admit
that I enjoy going on the number 16 bus carrying a Christies carrier bag
pilfered from work. I like the thought that people might think that I actually
shop there. I wonder also whether this marks me out as a target for thieves.
What I am saying is that the English are frightful snobs. So
it is entirely unsurprising that when my husband and I went fishing together recently,
we would get into trouble. I am a girl
and therefore a rare and weird occurrence on the river, I also never wear nasty over
priced fishing gear. My husband, new to the sport, doesn’t own any. So, as it
was threatening to rain, he sensibly wore his warm, black leather jacket. We must
have been a sight, as my husband is rather tall and very blonde. The lovely
bailiffs mistook us for a pair of Eastern European poachers and came charging
up to check us out. It also didn’t help that I filled out the book wrong. It was soon sorted out and I admit, I felt
like saying, “Don’t you know who I am! Don’t you read my blog?” Then I realised
that I haven’t written for so long that I am now anonymous in the fishing
world.
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It would be easy to get grumpy. However, this weekend we
went to our fishing club’s open day. My husband tried out three shirts and wore
his tweed jacket to establish himself as a decent country gent. I helped on the
tea stall and baked cakes to show just how perfect an English housewife I am. I
also learned that a mere teaspoon of insecticide leeched out into the water can
destroy all fly life in the river for thirty miles. Our rivers are so precious
and delicate and the bailiffs were really just looking out to protect the
waters they have been charged with guarding.
There is an election on Thursday and the main talk is about
immigration and each party is claiming to be more patriotic than the next. Some
talk about preserving England from foreigners. I have to say though that
preserving England has less to do with preventing a few more languages creeping
in on my commute. England is green, dotted with fluffy lollipop trees, scored
with clear rivers filled with trout and bouncing with flies. That tiny teaspoon
of poison and the frightening amount of phosphates leaking into our rivers is a
far more dangerous threat.
