The Village

When you're an American kid and you see movies and television about village life in England, you think it's all pubs and tweed and walking large dogs and wellies and men smoking pipes and hand-rolled cigs and everyone knowing each other.

It's all true. At least it is here in our bucolic little village (which I will from now on refer to as Bulitworth, pronounced 'BEW-lit-worth'). Except maybe the pipes and tweed. But it isn't autumn yet, so there's still time for tweed.

Movies and soap operas might also make you think there's a dark underbelly to English village life -- a gentlemen who may or may not have locked up his mad wife in the attic; a wealthy spinster who lurks in her darkened manor house, plotting to break young men's hearts; a population of friendly eccentrics. The first two are not true; the third kind of is. I hope to write more on that in future posts.

Based on movies, you might also think the pub is the center of village life. Sadly, that is no longer always true. In Bulitworth's one pub, it is.

A recent Saturday night at the pub:
A live-music duo doing covers. The village 'ambassador' works the room, says to people, "Have you met John and Donna? They just moved to the village."

It's important to note that I stand out. To start, I dress in bright colours (not very English of me). And people don't always understand my accent, espciallly when there is a band playing.

Band members picked me out of the (small) crowd and asked about where I was from. At which point the village ambassador seized the opportunity to request 'Massachusetts', which made me a little bit homesick.

Next weekend, it's all happening in Bulitworth. A classic car and motorcycle show on Saturday and a music festival on Sunday. Watch for more dispatches.

A Triumph car club meeting at Bulitworth's only pub