Beware of the gators on the greens
This idea struck me some years ago when I was reading Notes From A Small Island, Bill Bryson's account of a farewell trip he made around Britain before he moved his family to New England after living in Yorkshire for many years. One of the things which leapt out at me from the pages of this book, apart from the obvious affection he had for this curious little rock off the north-western corner of continental Europe and its curious people, was that for all the complaining we do here about everything in sight (and complaining is almost a national sport here; at least it's something we excel at) was that it took a foreigner - in this case an American - to point out to us Brits that this island is blessed both with a bewildering variety of landscapes, some bleak, some beautiful, and with a people civilised and tolerant, welcoming and polite. It gave me a whole new appreciation for this sometimes beknighted isle.
This notion of not seeing what is before your eyes occurred to me once again last week, which brings me back to Florida. I'm currently reading The Orchid Thief, Susan Orlean's fascinating book about the strange and obsessive collectors of these beguiling plants. Early in the book she launches into an opulently phrased description of the manifold contradictions and polar opposites to be found at every turn in Florida which made me think of Gwen and her resident's-eye view of the state and made me wonder if she would have the same reaction as I did upon reading Notes From A Small Island. Perhaps she will, perhaps she won't.




