You have only to go to Scandinavia to find out what a benign place we live in here – in the land of the Engs. You probably think Scandis are the easiest-going troll people, with the highest per capita level of smugness in the world – and, yes, they do get horrified when they come to Britain, but not because of the lavatories like the Americans, or the food like the French, but because of the town planning. Or lack of it. A Danish advertising man I once knew was emotionally upset by London. “How can you let the East End even exist?” he asked me sorrowfully.
Mrs Jones and I entered Scandinavia from the bottom up, via Latvia. We were on our way to Estonia, which is definitely part of Scandinavia, though only just, because it used to be part of Russia and/or Germany and other places of previously aggressive tendency. Like the Welsh, Estonians have remained very nationally conscious during centuries of occupation; and like the Welsh, they like singing a lot.
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