After nearly two decades in Britain, Bill Bryson took the decision to move back
to the States for a few years, to let his kids experience life in another countr
y, to give his wife the chance to shop until 10 p.m. seven nights a week, and, m
ost of all, because he had read that 3.7 million Americans believed that they ha
d been abducted by aliens at one time or another, and it was thus clear to him t
hat his people needed him. But before leaving his much-loved home in North Yorks
hire, Bryson insisted on taking one last trip around Britain, a sort of valedict
ory tour of the green and kindly island that had so long been his home.
His a
im was to take stock of the nation's public face and private parts (as it were),
and to analyse what precisely it was he loved so much about a country that had
produced Marmite, a military hero whose dying wish was to be kissed by a fellow
named Hardy, place names like Farleigh Wallop, Titsey and Shellow Bowells, peopl
e who said 'Mustn't grumble', and Gardeners' Question Time.
