I love UK.

Since I was a child I dreamed of seeing the white cliffs of Dover, the moors, the thatched roof  houses, the horses, and above all Scotland: the Highlands, the men in skirts, the bagpipes.

This falling in love was caused by (in order of appearance):

1) The Japanese series Candy Candy (the famous Royal Saint Paul School of London, Albert dressed as a Scotsman playing the bagpipes…);

2) The legend of Lockness that made me lose sleep as a child;

3) AGATHA CHRISTIE.

 

At the age of 9 I read my first book ever: it was an Agatha Christie novel entitled "Why Didn't They Ask Evans?". A minor novel, not even beautiful.

I literally lost my mind, in fact, I LITERALLY lost my mind.

I did not know that it was possible to get so much fun and pleasure from a book.

I read, one after the other, all Agatha Christie’s novels. It took me maybe three  or four years.

Agatha, for whom I still have an absolute devotion, virtually took me to England with her stories, and when I was old enough to travel alone I went to England physically.

And then finally in Scotland. I remember very well when I first arrived to Edinburgh. I took a taxi to go to Stirling: the crazy taxi driver, the music of INXS blaring and Scotland from the window.

It was exactly as I had always imagined, just like that, not an ounce of disappointment.

 

What a wonderful feeling of happiness.

The same that I tried seven years ago, when I’ve got a fellowship at the University of Cambridge.

The joy of working in a prestigious university, of course, but also the joy of having finally landed in England, and in Cambridge, practically a Harry Potter set.

I immediately loved English people, almost as much as I loved the Scots.

Their organization, the functioning bureaucracy, the politeness, their sarcastic sense of humour ... and then people going out in his pajamas, the music, the smell of the fry oil, the neighbours committees, the Indian and Arabic shops, the children's birthday parties that last 2 hours and not a minute longer, the measured and never intrusive kindness...

 

All this has not prevented me from noticing a series of anomalies typical of the aboriginal people of this island, especially the English.

The feeling that there was something strange came over me all at once, following a seemingly trivial episode that happened in the first months I was living in the UK.

I’m going to tell it.

I went to pick up my son, at the primary school. Few minutes earlier there had been a downpour and a puddle had formed right in front of the school gate. Not a deep puddle, nor a particularly large one, let's say a 1 cm high stretch of water on the line of the school gate and a small passage left dry on one side.

There was the usual group of parents waiting there, and at 3.20 pm the gate opened automatically so we could access the courtyard of the school.

I was chatting with a lady and for a few minutes I didn't realize that we were walking slowly, in some sort of procession.

Then I took a good look and understood what was happening.

It was a QUEUE.

There was a long queue in front of the dry passage of the gate. And it was also slow. One person at a time went trough, with extreme calm.

We were queuing to overtake a puddle, this was the real truth.

In rows of two.

All parents lined up in front of a puddle !!!!

It took me a few seconds to react, because it seemed surreal to me.

So I passed the entire queue and crossed the puddle, perhaps with a jump, I don't know, because it wasn't a flooded river: it was a little puddle.

But in that precise moment I understood. I became aware: they like it.

LEFT TO THEMSELVES, THEY QUEUE.

Just a small, apparently harmless, stimulus (like a puddle) and you find them aligned. They feel a sense of peace in queuing. Without a doubt.

That sort of  peace given by the rule, by order, by slowness, by tradition.

 

What do I know about it? I'm Italian, I can't find a plausible explanation inside me.

It is part of their genetic heritage and we must respect it, but there is nothing normal about this, and we must tell the world.

In fact, it is an anomaly. And it’s not the only one…

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'We're not laughing at you, we're laughing near you." (cit.)

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Thank's to Aurora Cacciapuoti for the image - auroracacciapuoti.com