I’m on the phone to the new letting agents, making sure everything is in order for the move next week.
Me: ‘Oh, and we’ll probably be arriving quite late, can you drop the keys off at the B&B so we can be there first thing in the morning?’
Letting Agent: ‘Oh don’t worry about that, where you are, it will be fine if I just leave them under a stone at the house.’*
This is NOT London. And there will be other cultural differences, I know. My mother was quite anxious to remind me that if I bump into someone I know at the supermarket, I have to stop and chat to them. Plus there’s the whole waving to other drivers thing, and – the one that I will find strangest of all – the fact that your postman comes in and has a chat while delivering the letters instead of stuffing your post and half your neighbours’ through your letter box and then scarpering with your Amazon orders.
* Other half (when I report this exchange to him): just make sure she tells us which stone