Unsurprisingly, I have begun to miss America, or indeed California. I know I complained about the weather there. But, Christ Almighty, I had no idea that when I returned to the UK, I would be entering the biblical zone of floods, and have to consider building an ark. The forthright impetus that carried me through the last two months has begun to make me feel utterly depleted. It was all very charming at first. ” Ooooo, aren’t the trees green compared to Los Angeles”. ” Oooo aren’t my friends lovely compared to the complete lack of them in L.A.”
But, in the end, the determined attitude of the press to be miserable in its need to report and attack people has finally brought me down. If we aren’t shouting to have Bob Diamond’s head cut off, we’re lungeing at Mr Buckles to have him shot for single handedly ruining the Olympics. Wrong these individuals may well be, but can we please hang fire on the endless finger pointing this country seems to want to do. Everyone knows that if the sun had shone for more than two days over the last two months, there would be less of a blame culture and more of a celebration of life. Part of this embittered attitude that has emerged seems to be based on a secretly held disappointment with the Diamond Jubilee.
Hence my rant against overdoing the hysteria about it in one of my earlier blogs. As a country we seem to have such an overblown need for perpetual mass celebrations that the fantasy of it will never reach it’s goal in reality. Why were we not allowed to have one of those gentle summers, where the sun shines, we have picnics at Kenwood House, barbecues at family houses in the countryside, glasses clink as the sun goes down, and a general quiet contentment fills the hearts of the average Blighty dweller. But Oh, No, not allowed. NO, HUGE festivities that are impossible to manage in an already overcrowded capital have to be smeared throughout our summer world. And if people get it wrong, they must be blamed loudly and endlessly until they are close to suicide, so that somehow we all feel better. Do we?
To add insult to injury, the fifth series of Breaking Bad is out, and we aren’t receiving it, because we are currently not in the USA. I know what you are all thinking. “well if you don’t like it, get out, go back.” Well, you know, I just might. A few things to do first. I have signed with a fabulous new agent who I have to admit despite the universal misery, I am truly excited about. I am also taking my gorgeous mother to Switzerland for a week, so there will be much swimming in Lake Geneva or Lac Leman, as it known there. I will also be visiting my big brother’s beautiful new home and putting all our spare furniture in it, so that we do not have to keep pouring all our money into storage. We will be bringing back even more boxes to sort out back to our new rented apartment in Fulham, so I suspect you may see us plodding through the cemetery again to the recycle boxes with our cardboard.
The last time I was in Switzerland, I learnt the French phrase for Champagne Socialist. It is Caviar Gauche. I shall leave it to you to guess whether I was being accused of being it, or whether I was doing the accusing. After all, I wouldn’t want to point the finger.
Kate Terence's Letters from London 