‘Am I too nice?’

That time I took love thy neighbour a bit too far

Telling it like it is.

A few weeks ago I wrote about my experience as a Londoner having moved to the countryside - well, a market town in the Cotswolds which to me is basically the same thing.

‘Other people are human too’ was a revelation I shared about my change in temperament towards my fellow beings and part of that included me being less of a b*tch. I mean, as a pedestrian I still step out onto the road as if I own it and as a motorist, inwardly scream at other people who do the same, but for the most part I am close to being deserving of an ichthys on my Clubman.

However in my bid to become resident of the year - I do nothing by halves, darlings - I’ve potentially gone a bit too far. Two days ago, waking up having realised I had an almost completely unbroken sleep, I practically skipped with joy to the local Georgian cafe which provides me with the green tea I need to replace my coffee habit, and the GF lemon and almond or basque cheesecake which satisfy my irregular sugar cravings.

While a man in front of me was being served, I dithered around looking at all the options available with which to quench my thirst and so when an expensive looking woman came, I waved her ahead of me in the queue. She looked at me warily and said, ‘Oh no, you were here first’, and in true British fashion, we did that polite dance a few times before she acquiesced and made her order. When it was my turn, I had my usual ‘get to know your barista’ chat and by the time I finished and got to ordering, Expensive Woman was probably very glad she’d gone first.