Lately when I have been telling people I'm heading to Europe for March and April, their response has not been that of Kate Schechter, in
Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency:
"I was just trying to work out if there was something that everybody would always say [to someone going to Europe in March/April] so that I could avoid saying it."
Instead, they all say, "It will be cold."
Which is, of course, what I fear most. Cold.
I do not fear 'saying the thing everyone says.' Fearing that would be silly. After all, everyone does it. And it must have happened to DNA a lot. It is covered in 25% of the novels he has written, which I have read, which is to say, two of eight books, with Last Chance and Salmon of Doubt each counting as half-books that make a whole - the one because it is non-fiction, and the other because he didn't finish.
I do appreciate that DNA's female characters, and of course, the quintessential earthling, Arthur Dent, are the most sensitive to the phenomenon. Leave it to the sharp, and diamond-bright Kate and Fenchurch to make an effort at bringing human conversation up to par. Way to go girls! Still, the high inclusion rate leads me to believe that it is a predominantly human problem, and one I won't have to worry about on future trips to Sqornshellous Zeta.
I don't know if DNA was the person who found himself having fallen into the inevitable small talk gap, or the one having to catch the lightweight conversationalists falling all over him, but anyone who has ever been at a cocktail party must know that the true benefit of becoming world famous is that you never again have to answer the question, "What do you do for a living?"
There are enough kind and normal world-famous people out there in the world that I begin to suspect they seek widespread fame solely to get out of ever having that question put to them again.
Still, tripping over the we've not really met yet chat gap in an everyday way is inevitable, and I don't fear it, especially in light of journeying to a whole new continent, armed with the dicey proposition of being
1) American and
2) On An Incredibly Geeky Pilgrimage
I sense that both will count against me, but still, I press on without undue fear, as that is reserved for COLD. Let's get back to that.
So today, after planning my wardrobe for Europe to include clothing that I consider needful for the worst possible cold just shy of a temperature that precludes leaving buildings only to run for transport, I am happy to report that the average temperatures for March in London, England aren't THAT bad:
The average low is the same as my age: 42 degrees Fahrenheit.
No, I did NOT Make That Up:
