Times 2 - UK (2020-07-28)

2 1GT Tuesday July 28 2020 | the times

times

Robert Crampton

I

have always thought of we Brits

as a reasonable, fair-minded,

mild-mannered bunch. That,

certainly, is the received wisdom,

and I’ve never had much cause

to doubt it. Give or take a few

political riots, football matches

and tasty Friday nights out in

Hull city centre aside, obviously. The

recent surge in facemask-related

aggro, however, has led me to

reconsider my previously settled and

perhaps complacent view of our

national character.

Almost 40 per cent of us, according

to a poll, have seen arguments that

began over the non-wearing of

facemasks escalating into violence.

On a flight to Ibiza on Saturday it

all kicked off when some passengers

repeatedly

refused cabin-

crew requests

to cover up,

prompting other

passengers to get

aggressive. Four

out of five people

have witnessed

non-compliance

with the rules,

first those rules

relating to public

transport and now

the ones applying

in shops, bars

and whatnot.

These stats leave

me mystified.

Correct me if I’m

wrong because

I may be missing

something, but we

seem to be getting

very hot under the

collar — or rather, hot under the

mask, ha ha ha — about something

amazingly straightforward.

We all need to “calm down, calm

down”, as Harry Enfield’s Scousers

used to urge. Which is an apposite

(albeit woefully dated) cultural

reference, given that the latest

outbreak of unpleasantness — or at

least the latest one I’ve seen uploaded

to YouTube — apparently occurred on

a bus in Liverpool.

It seems to me that it’s sensible to

wear a mask. It also seems sensible to

assume that if someone isn’t wearing

one, they may have a good reason

My holiday

— oh, the

Gaul of it

More by luck than

judgment, I’ve already

had the foreign holiday

that now might be

denied to many people.

Or if not denied, then

rendered inconvenient

and possibly, without

the co-operation of

an understanding

employer willing to

pay wages while you

quarantine, expensive.

I got back from

France last Wednesday.

Other than my having

to fill in a badly

worded, slightly

confusing quasi-

immigration form

online before travelling

back, a form that the

border force at Calais

showed no interest in

reading, the trip was

business as usual.

As in Spain, cases of

corona in France have

recently spiked. It is not

improbable that the

so-called air bridge to

France will shortly be

detonated in similar

fashion to the one to

Spain. I suppose I

might feel a degree of

smugness about that.

And as it happens, I do.

I also ask myself:

will any quarantine

requirement for recent

travellers to France be

retrospective? I hope

not, but if not, why not?

The unseemly rush of

holidaymakers in Spain

to fly back to “beat” the

quarantine deadline

struck me as strange

and arbitrary. So what

if you make it home

under the wire? You

might still be riddled

with the plague.

In fact, given the UK’s

less than stellar stats,

maybe the spikes

elsewhere result from a

bunch of infected Brits

having turned up over

the past several weeks.

There are, I was

astonished to learn,

600,000 British citizens

in Spain right now.

That’s nearly 1 per cent

of our population.

Why Arnie

gets all

the birds

I’ve never been that

fussed about the threat

of artificial intelligence

or robots or the rise

of the blinking

machines. But having

read of a new device

that can identify bird

species with a 90 per

cent degree of

accuracy, using

facial-recognition

software to spot the

difference between

a rook and crow or

whatever, I’m worried.

I can distinguish a

robin from a parrot,

a chicken from a

penguin, an ostrich

from an albatross,

should any of them

ever turn up in

Hackney. But beyond

that, I’m struggling.

Maybe Arnie in

Terminator was on

to something.

not to be doing so. And even if they

haven’t got a good reason, or if they

fail to express one, their lack of a mask

does not justify a violent response.

Wear a mask, but don’t get nasty

with anyone who doesn’t. Not a bad

rule of thumb, right? Sound like

a decent way forward? Could we

agree on that? I reckon so.

Right from the off, the whole

facemask advice has been confusing.

Way back in early spring the

government said that barring your

respiratory tracts wouldn’t make much

difference to the spread of infection.

Then it said, hold on a minute, if

you’ve got the lurgy, covering up

might stop you infecting others. Now

the authorities have gone studs-up

hardcore on the issue. One might

be forgiven for

thinking HMG

couldn’t find

its arse with

both hands.

Sensible citizens

— as in, everyone

who has ever stood

next to a bonfire or

swept up seedpods

in the garden in a

dry spell or done

a job involving

any potentially

hazardous materials

— will have

realised that,

contrary to what

we were told four

months ago,

covering your nose

and mouth is a

good idea when

nasty stuff is

floating around. So do it!

As for the correct response to those

miscreants who for whatever reason

elect to do without a covering, I

suggest looking the other way and

pretending the offence never took

place. Having recently inadvertently

become one of those miscreants, in a

restaurant in France, and having duly

received a bollocking from a fellow

customer for this very offence,

utterly obnoxious as he was, I elected

to do precisely that.

He was unbelievably nasty and yet,

channelling the time-honoured

phrase, I judged he wasn’t worth

the trouble. Mate.

No blow-dry, no

The holiday to your casa in Catalonia

is off — so you’re heading to the British

countryside. Here’s how to behave

when you’re there. By Shane Watson

I

f you’re not heading abroad this

summer, then you live in the

country and you’re staying put,

or you’re a second-home owner

who switched locations some

time ago, or you’re hoping to

escape to the country — just as

soon as you can find a place or a

friend who’ll give you a bed. Trouble

is, the last is not so easily done.

Demand is high, the friendly country

dwellers are not answering the phone,

and then there’s the very real

possibility of being stoned, on arrival,

by the local residents.

As we have discovered in recent

months, there’s a yawning gulf

between town and country dwellers;

those people who live in the

picturesque places with the lovely

views for 12 months of the year, and

the rest of us who fancy dropping in

on their villages and beaches with

our townie ways and attitudes and

nothing to recommend us, other

than the cash we’ll inject into the

local economy.

There are two ways of dealing

with this problem — well, three.

One: stay away (not an option if you

have been cooped up in the smoke).

Two: head for the country, all guns

blazing, and make it clear that you

will be larging it, city-style, and

they’d better get used to it (not

recommended). Or, three: make it

your mission to blend in and if not

pass as an actual local (tough call)

then at least avoid being instantly

identifiable as a city dweller on a

staycation. This one is obviously

the way to go, and we can help. As

a townie who frequently heads to

the country for weekends (a

weekender, also not loved by locals),

I have tips on how to de-townie for

the duration of your stay.

Don’t be an insectphobe

There will be flies. And wasps. And

daddy longlegs. And spiders and ants,

and they are just your basic entry-level

creepy-crawlies. The difference

between a townie and a local is the

local will take all this in their stride,

whereas townies may be inclined to

run around flapping their arms

whenever they see a wasp, and

generally make a drama out of

normal nature.

Don’t make a fuss about animals

in general is a good rule of thumb in

the country. You don’t want to be the

one cooing: “Ooooh, look at the little

bunny!” That’s like someone in town

saying: “Ooh, look at the big red bus!”

It will make you appear not all there.

Also, better not to shout, “Look! A big

bird!” (when everyone but a townie

would know the bird is a buzzard)

or, “Look! A big rabbit!” (when a local

can tell, without even looking, that

you’re talking about a hare). This

stuff marks you out not only as an

outsider, but also an outsider with no

respect for nature.

Equally, don’t be

a nature superfan

Appreciate the view, the wild sweet

pea, the swifts, the sunset, the stars...

Just don’t gush about them, with your

hand pressed to your heart, as if it’s

all a fabulous production laid on for

your benefit.

Don’t have weather

expectations

It is true that you will start to notice

the weather in a way that you don’t in

town because a) when in town you are

never more than 50m from weather

protection or somewhere you can stop

and hang out until the downpour

passes; b) in the country your options

are limited by poor weather in a way

that they aren’t in town.

That said, it is considered tiresome

and townie to complain about the

weather because a balance of sun

and rain at the appropriate times is

what your farmer* needs, and

Mediterranean temperatures all the

time are the last thing anyone wants.

There is no such thing as bad weather

as far as the locals are concerned, only

weather you have not dressed for.

What not to wear

Very important this one. Townies

will be tempted to do one of two

things: invest in a lot of spanking

new country gear, or go a bit Guys

I’m My Own Person And I Have

A Look. Both are big mistakes if

the goal is to blend in. Huge.

In the first instance you will look,

to the eyes of the average local, like

someone would look dressed as a

Pearly King on Oxford Street. Nobody

wears a flatteringly tailored Barbour-

style jacket, with the belt neatly

cinched, tight jeans and Stella

McCartney cropped waterproof boots

(quite want them, but never mind).

These clothes are for posing on

bicycles in the grounds of Soho

Farmhouse, or on the Beckhams’

estate, or clip-clopping around

Daylesford looking for decorative

trugs, not for the Actual Country.

Nobody wears a tweedy baker boy hat

and braces. Nobody has black Hunters.

In addition to sticking out like a sore

thumb in your pristine clothes, you

will look like the sort of person who

complains about the noisy church bells

and the smell of the pig farm.

Then there is option two: Just

Fabulous Me in the country. These are

the women wearing white jeans and

embroidered khaki jackets with two

You don’t want

to be the one

cooing, ‘Look at

the little bunny!’

Mask rage? I’ve been on

the receiving end of it,

and it’s very unpleasant

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