I Conquer Britain by Dyan Sheldon

well.
    “Drake! Raleigh!” Robert appeared in the doorway with a glass of wine in his hand. “Get back here!”
    It was just as well he’s a writer and not a dog trainer. They kept right on coming. But if you’ve ever been chased by a demented pig or an aggressive rooster a couple of dopey dogs are nothing. I stepped to one side as they got close and they hurtled past me, their ears flapping like they were trying to fly. The first one hit the door and the second hit him.
    Robert gave me a wink. “That’s one for our side.” He waved me towards him with his glass. “Why don’t you come on in and meet the owner of the worst-behaved dogs in Putney?”
    I said it would be a dream come true.
    “There you go!” Robert gave me another wink. “That’s the spirit that tamed the wilderness.”
    Caroline’s mother looked even more like a queen when she was sitting down. She was still wearing the turban and she was sort of looming over the table, holding a wine-glass and talking at Caroline (who was at the counter, doing something disgusting to a chicken) at top volume. She broke off when Robert, the dogs and I all arrived in the room. She wasn’t a woman to wait for introductions.
    “So, you’re the Yank,” she boomed. “From the Wild West.”
    I remembered to smile. “Actually, I’m from the Industrialized East.”
    “I think I could use a top up,” said Robert. “Anybody fancy another drink?”
    Caroline wiped her hands on her apron and came over and put an arm across my shoulder. “Mum, this is Cherry. Cherry, this is—”
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Caroline, she knows who I am.” She held out her empty glass to Robert, but her eyes were still on me. “You may call me Mrs Payne.”
    Otherwise known as Mrs Pain in the Butt.
    I was overcome with gratitude of course. “Thanks.” You can call me Ms Salamanca.
    “So…” Mrs Payne leaned forward, looking straight into my eyes like The Grand Inquisitor. “What do you think of this sceptered isle so far? Is it what you expected?”
    Caroline was obviously right. Her mother was about as diplomatic as a nuclear bomb. But I’m used to feisty grandmothers, and I wasn’t going to let this one think we read nothing but cowboy novels back in the Wild West. I’d done Shakespeare. “You mean this royal throne of kings, this earth of majesty, this seat of Mars?” I had to hand it to her. She didn’t so much as blink. “Well I think England’s—”
    “Britain,” snapped Mrs Payne. “We’re one country, you know. Great Britain.”
    Robert opened the refrigerator. “I’m afraid that, technically, Cherry’s right, Bea,” he called. “After all, we are in England, aren’t we? She hasn’t quite got round to seeing the entire British Isles yet.”
    Mrs Payne made a what-a-revolting-taste kind of face and steamed on as though he hadn’t spoken. “Except for Ireland of course. The Irish always have to go against us.”
    I decided not to mention the Irish martyrs.
    “Well…” She tapped her cane impatiently. I was willing to bet she used it even when her back was fine to beat the peasants away. “Have you formed no opinion?”
    I felt like saying that since I hadn’t even left the house yet my opinion was based on the airport, the ride from the airport and about twelve hours of gardening shows on the telly last night (people in green boots squelching through the mud talking in Latin), but I caught the nervous smile on Caroline’s face. “It’s not exactly like I thought,” I said. “Eng—Britain. It’s more like America than—”
    Mrs Pain in the Butt didn’t let me finish. “What total tosh. It’s nothing like America. We have centuries of history and tradition here, I’ll have you know. Centuries. All you lot have is progress. Everything’s about tomorrow. You never give a thought to yesterday, you just plough it under like dead leaves.”
    “If you’re talking about the Indians—” I was going to point out that it was the English