Blighty

One thing I’ve learnt about Americans, and about Texans in particular, is that they’re very patriotic. This is much more evident in the south than in the north (Texas regards itself more as “West” than “South”, but the geographic distinction still holds, I think). For Texans, Texas comes first, then the USA – and if I had cast disparaging remarks about anything to do with Texas to a Texan, I would need to take cover. Not so with the Brits. We are so self-effacing that we almost apologise for other people’s mistakes, and only stand up for our country when sports are involved.

If I had said about Texan wildflowers what I said about British wildflowers a couple of weeks ago, I would have been severely taken to task. But none of the Brits to whom I sent email stood up in defence of our wildflowers. It’s true that Texas wildflowers are more abundant than ours, but they spend huge amounts of money in making sure that they are; we are happy to let our wildflowers be truly wild.

And so it was that I noticed, in walking the dog (Scooby) from our house to the nearby River Taw, and to the field where Bob (the horse) lives, I saw bluebells, white and pink campions, daisies, primroses, buttercups, marsh marigolds, cuckoo-pint, dandelions, wild garlic – among others. So for all of you that sat back without comment: shame on you!

I should add that neither the name of the dog nor the horse was my idea. Sometimes life just thrusts these things upon you, and you have to grin and bear it.