Who left the lid off the cookie jar?

(probably me)

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American kitchen paper comes off in half sheets. The clingfilm is pre-cut, so you don’t have to perfect the art of ripping it off in bedraggled clumps. The sliced meat is sold in zip-lock plastic, so it can be kept fresher for longer. The butter is sold in sticks, which are the right weight for many recipes. No more measuring 4oz, just drop in a stick of butter. There is simply no excuse for this lack of convenience in England. No excuse at all. By making a thousand daily tasks like this much simpler, the Americans accrue to themselves a great amount of time and ease, and prevent a good deal of localised irritation.

The organic chicken we ate at supper cost a mere $13. In England it would have been more than £20. We have been gifted or collected from people looking to get rid of things: a comfortable leather chair (in which I write), a large and good quality table, a radio which is tuned to a very good classical music station (it simply plays the music, without all the inane commentary that has taken over Radio 3 like a weed), a lamp made from an old coffee tin. Community spirit is strong here!

Three different neighbours have brought us cookies. Some homemade, some from an old firm in Maryland. They are devilishly good. I am also able to attend to when the lid of the cookie jar is not on properly, a new form of parental surveillance. I, of course, am the one eating most of the cookies.

One neighbour also gave us homegrown tomatoes that smell so good it’s like they were grown in the countryside.

Although the Arlington library is so slow to put books on reserve it would be quicker for me to walk to the next state to collect them, they do loan out board games, which is a blessing for the children. Amazon Prime is slower to deliver in sleepy south Arlington too. Between that and the lack of a proper bookstore in close range, it is simply much slower to get my hands on whatever I want to read here. The Barnes and Noble in Georgetown is fine, but not well stocked. Politics and Prose is far away in a part of town I otherwise have no call to go to. As far as I know, there is no private library akin to the London Library. This is an unexpected barbarism at the heart of America.

Homestyle baked beans have three times the added sugar of Heinz baked beans, which are not available in many shops, even though Heinz is a great American enterprise.

The Americans love rules. They make their own rules, as is the nature of self-government. Unlike the English, they do not seem to relish the power of being a petty bureaucrat, and nor do they wish to have something to complain about, so the great web of social regulation works more harmoniously than in England, where one person is more likely to want to find a means of being in charge of another, or is more likely to enjoy the superiority of a grievance.

When I complained to First Direct that they were impossible to deal with and had screwed up my address twice, they told me they “acknowledged my feelings” but that there had been no “bank error”. Not only is this literally how parents are advised to talk to children, it is an affront. No, I did not tell them to drop the third “i” from Virginia, thank you. And anyway—do they really think it is my job to tell them how to spell the word Virginia? For God’s sake. A few hours later, my wife called to change her address. They made an error there too. Then they deleted part of her address. So she also had to call them multiple times. That evening she had to call them to get her card unlocked because they thought her Macy’s purchase was fraudulent. Glad as I would be to provide further employment to the people who monitor First Direct’s phone calls in order to send defensive emails about their data entry skills, further complaints shall not be made. International calls are expensive and it is clear they are merely concerned with their own out-of-date processes. Just let me use the app, you fussy relics. I wish they would all stub their toes.

Above the trees at night, we watch the bats. My family went out to see the nesting swallows dive and swoop at twilight. One more mosquito bite and I shall land in Bedlam.