Superficiality

Last time I was in England, a woman swore at me in the street for no apparent reason, I got a parking fine, although only a minute late and in spite of pleading with the parking inspector, and had various other disagreeable encounters. England, I concluded, was going to the dogs.

This time, I've had several shopkeepers call me 'Dear', which I find, as I suppose is logical, endearing, I've had one of them go to great lengths to find me in the street, ten minutes after I'd wandered off, to return my credit card, I've had a passer-by stop and help me with luggage and I've met a really delightful woman doing the flowers in a country church, accompanied by her long-suffering dog:

 England, I now realise, is enchanting.

Or, to put it another way, my judgments, when travelling, about the places I pass through are thoroughly superficial and glib.

The church, by the way, was at Swaffham Prior. It has fallen into ruin on occasion, it has another church standing right beside it (two clerical jurisdictions bordered each other within the one village):

plus one of the odder towers I've ever seen:

 and some lovely brasses:

 as well as stained glass windows that must give the congregation lots to read during dull sermons:

 I especially liked the ones commemorating World War One, which I am putting on my other blog.