There is a telling moment in one of Agnès Poirier's amusing books on matters Anglo-French when she offers an instantly recognisable snapshot to support her assertion that while the French may be rude, the British are hypocrites.
When the Englishman bumps into another in Oxford Street and says "sorry", she writes (more or less), what he actually means is: "Get out of my way, you ******* retard."
My latest encounter with British understatement did not involve a sorry, or anything like one. Rather, it was a "Thanks, mate!", muttered through gritted teeth not once but twice as I eased effortlessly into the role of Least Popular Man in Town.
The system is simple enough and runs like clockwork most of the time. As a consequence of the way TV rights work abroad, all Premiership games can be viewed live in Abu Dhabi provided you subscribe to the right package from the relevant service, which here is Showtime. Where I chose to view Saturday's game, notices are posted on each available screen, clearly stating which match can be viewed on it.
The coincidence of Six Nations rugby can cause complications. So I took the trouble to phone ahead before committing myself to the trek across town. This was to ensure that whatever was being done to cater for oval ball supporters, my game would be shown too.
Even so, I was relieved to arrive and find that while most screens would be showing - were showing, given the earlier kickoff - the Wales/Scotland match, one had been dedicated to the football from Sunderland.
A crowd of a dozen or so was packed tightly into the area where this particular television set was installed. That should have alerted me to a possible snag. Why on earth should this clash of unfashionable clubs attract such interest? Another alarm bell might have sounded when a man on one the couches responded frostily when I asked if there was "room for a littl'un" next to him. "I don't seem to have much choice," he said without obvious warmth.
As it soon became clear, he had already guessed. And he gave fair warning that this screen was showing rugby. Quoting from the printed notice stuck to the set got me nowhere. "It's not what it says there," he said. "It's what we're watching. And we're watching rugby, not soccer."
To my surprise, when I asked if another screen was available, someone from the bar staff sprang bravely to my aid. He reminded the rugby fans that he had taken care to explain the house rules, that the television would have to be switched to football should anyone ask for it. That, amid much grumpiness as the group shuffled out, is where my "Thanks, mate!"s came in.
I tried pointing out that several other screens around the place were tuned to rugby. It was half time in the Six Nations so there was time for people to rearrange themselves. But that cut little ice, and it was plain that I was not in the company of people who would be inviting me to dinner in the forseeable future. There was more mumbling as they settled at other tables, even though these were within easy sight and sound of their game.
Of course it was easy to see why they were upset, and I felt almost as rotten about being the source of their disappointment as I was anxious not to have made a frustratingly wasted journey. I would have been delighted to take up position in front of any small screen tucked into a corner to watch my game.
In the event, I saw mine - and a rare win for my team - and they all saw theirs. But Agnès Poirier has lived in Britain long enough to appreciate the distinction if I say that it was perhaps just as well that the aggrieved individuals were rugby, not football fans.
They were also, if the sounds coming from around the other screens were a useful guide, mostly or exclusively Welsh and anyone Welsh was destined to end the evening in exceedingly jubilant spirits. One of the group, who bumped into my wife later, asked how our team had got on. "Not mine, my husband's, but they won," she replied. "Oh good," said the Welsh woman. "So everyone's happy."
Ieuan the bear thanks you for his moment of fame. I thank you for introducing me to a new and interesting blog.
Posted by: Helen Phillips | February 10, 2008 at 05:38 PM
It's not so much British understatement as British lack of charm. That dog-in-the-manger attitude is one of the things I miss least about the country. Though it must be said that had you been a rugby fan asking for the TV to be switched from a soccer game, the viewers (not, of course, if they were Mackems) would probably have kicked your head in.
Posted by: Bill Taylor | February 10, 2008 at 06:08 PM
If the TV had been designated for a Leeds United game no one would have dared sit anywhere near the screen and would have bought me a drink as well....
Posted by: Dumdad | February 10, 2008 at 06:26 PM
"Leeds United" and "television" are not words that one hears in the same sentence much any more. But allowing that Dumdad's hypothetical situation COULD perhaps happen, one drink wouldn't be nearly enough.
Posted by: Bill Taylor | February 10, 2008 at 06:32 PM
Wasn't the problem exacerbated by dour English fans unused to being thrashed by Wales?
Posted by: PhilipH | February 10, 2008 at 07:23 PM
I don't agree with Agnès Poirier and think her comment is the sort of unhelpful generalisation whingeing Brits in France are rightly lambasted for making. I am not a "gentleman" but if I bump into someone in the street and it's my fault I say "Sorry" and I mean it.
I'm a Chelsea FC fan myself (perhaps I should say "Sorry" and not mean it) and have been since falling in love with the gorgeous Alan Hudson as a girl. Come on, it's as good a reason as any for supporting Chelsea. The Peters (Osgood and Bonetti) weren't bad either, but it was really just an excuse to wind up my Arsenal-supporting brother. As far as "dour English" rugby fans being unused to being thrashed by Wales. I suspect we are used to being thrashed by everyone and anyone at the moment.
Posted by: Parisgirl | February 11, 2008 at 04:17 PM
I suspect that Colin only posts a rugby related article to drag a reply out of me. And, guess what, it's worked again. Having seen the brief Sunderland v. Wigan "highlights" on Match of the Day, I don't think that he would have missed much if the rugby had stayed on - although the Wales-Scotland match was not much better.
On England's rugby team, I wonder when they are going to realise that playing for 40 minutes is not sufficient? I fail to understand how an international team can show such overwhelming dominance for half a game and such submission for the other half, not once but twice in two weeks.
Posted by: Phil Randall | February 13, 2008 at 02:30 PM
I know Winston Churchill said it about Germany but it seems to be true, too, these days that the English are either at your throat or at your feet. The rugby team appears not to have realized yet that it's an either/or deal. They don't have to do both in the same match.
Posted by: Bill Taylor | February 13, 2008 at 02:44 PM
Does behaviour get modified off Oxford St or is it just this particular road that brings out such attitudes? Why pick on Oxford St? You'd actually be doing quite well to find two Brits within bumping distance there.
Posted by: Sarah Hague | February 14, 2008 at 10:14 AM