The Road to Little Dribbling (2015) by Bill Bryson

“I like being in a country where when cows attack, word of it gets around.”

I read this book’s forerunner, Notes From A Small Island, for my A’Levels, alongside Great Expectations and A History of the World in 10 ½ Chapters (both of which I loved) and As You Like It (which I hated more than I can tell you). At the time Notes from a Small Island occupied a happy middle ground between those two extremes; I didn’t love it or hate it, but it was quite amusing and very easy to read. Back in August my dad came back from his holiday raving about how much he’d enjoyed reading the follow up so I bumped a few things off my TBR list (AGAIN) to make way for an impromptu Bryson fest.

dribbling

In this latest instalment Bryon travels the mainland UK along an imaginary line stretching from Bognor Regis to Cape Wrath. To be fair, the Bryson Line, as he calls it, is a piece of fiction as Bryson thankfully spends very little time on his official course. In between his stated starting and ending points he’s free to wander into Cornwall, Wales and East Anglia or anywhere else he chooses to visit. The nice thing about reading this now, compared to when I was seventeen, is that I’ve since seen a bit more of my home country and am able, much more than before, to recognise some of the places Bryson stops to admire. My old university gets a mention, as does the seaside town where I spent many childhood summers with my grandparents, along with the village P and I visited a few August Bank Holidays ago. I probably didn’t realise it at the time but it does make a bit of a difference.

I remember, when I read Notes from a Small Island as a teenager, being a little bit baffled as to why anyone would admire Britain so much, let alone love it to the extent that Bryson seems to. I can’t say that I’m any wiser now but I’ve never been particularly patriotic and at the moment I’m still suffering from horrible post-Brexit pessimism. It’s nice that in amongst all that twee British stereotyping Bryson still finds plenty to rage against, whether its austerity, the decline of the high street, littering or the alarming rise in anti-immigrant feeling. I’d have been troubled if Bryson’s picture of the UK had been an entirely rosy one. On the other hand, as much as I think Bryson is at his best when he’s bit peevish, there’s only so many times you can hear someone rant about how expensive absolutely everything is before it becomes a little exasperating. Trust us, Bill, we already know.

On the whole, however, this was really quite funny at times and it was nice to be reminded of some of the places I really do love in the UK. It’s a shame Wales, Scotland and the north get quite short shrift in comparison to the south but I suppose it’s unfair to expect that Bryson should visit every last place in the British Isles. I don’t remember enough of Bryson’s first book to say whether I like this one more or less but I think it’s probably still in that middle ground. It was a pleasant enough way to spend a few hours of reading time.

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