I’ve always asked myself how British people manage to be so nice despite the weather.
Whenever you fly into the UK, there’s a 99% chance that the weather is going to be worse than wherever you came from. As your plane lands and you gradually leave the blue skies to go through those English-looking clouds, you are hit by a feeling of grimness and helplessness at the same time, at the thought that there’s nothing you can do to change it – the weather is shit. And when it’s nice, it’s not going to last long. After an hour or two though, you’re fine again. The Brits (especially up North) are excellent at coping with this; they won’t allow to get dragged into misery by the miserable weather conditions. In fact, if we forget about Brexit for a moment (I know, it’s hard), I think the Brits are among the nicest people in the world, with their genuine friendliness and incredible politeness – in particular the apologising “sorry, love” even when it’s you bumping into them. I really think this great ability of so easily dealing with the grim truth about the weather and not let it affect you is hugely underestimated.
The Brits, in my opinion, are sometimes too harsh on themselves and the country, with the usual suspects being blamed for making the country miserable – the weather, the food, and the NHS. A (maybe overly) generous social welfare system as well as the greatest music, the best football league and a marvellous drinking culture, however, are just some of the brilliant things the Brits had to come up with to deal with what they define as miserable, and turns out the UK is actually a great place to live. I love coming back and wandering through Liverpool’s Victorian and Georgian architecture and Manchester’s typical red-brick buildings, giving it that rough and industrial, yet delightfully unique character. The other night, that’s exactly what I did.
The adventures of a second-hand guitar…
By the way, there is a mad story behind the guitar I am carrying in the picture, which I should probably keep to myself in order not to compromise my credibility as a normal person, but I think it’s too funny (or sad?) not to share.
I bought it about two years ago in Liverpool for less than 100 quid as it’s a second-hand one. When I left the UK for my current travelling job, I decided not to take it with me to avoid carrying it around. However, I did miss playing (well, trying to play is more honest) when I was far from home and needed a distraction. So when I came back to the UK for the Christmas holidays I took it with me to Rome, where I was going to fly back to Kazakhstan. How could I even think everything would go so smoothly, knowing what a mess I am? On the way to the airport in Rome I realised I had forgotten the guitar at my friend’s house. Three months later I came back to Rome from Kazakhstan, took the guitar, and flew back to the UK, as this time this is where I am flying from to go to my next country. Long story short: after a few hundred Euros spent on checking it onto planes, and a few thousand miles travelled, the worth-less-than-£100 guitar is now exactly where it came from.