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I was running down Bond Street at full tilt on Tuesday night to try to catch my train back to Cambridge.  Bond Street is a famous shopping destination and its the holidays and so I was waving between pedestrians when I saw a guy up ahead, right in my path.  He saw me as well, and we both zigged and zagged until I smashed right into him.

He was taller than I realized; my head only made it to his chin.  And in this fantastic accent that I recognised but can’t place, he said “whoops, sorry, darlin!” and moved aside as I, flustered idiot, untangled myself from his jacket and took off.

It was the sweetest thing. I instantly regretted not at least, you know, making eye contact as I apologized.

This little incident came on the heels of an email from an acquaintance – 20something architect, kind of a goof, seems like a nice guy. He and I had a lovely chat about our favourite radio shows, and so he sent me a list at my request.  It was a totally normal, friendly email, and he added an “x” after his name.

The thing that I love about that is that its typical.  Last week I got an email from a different architect (30something, seems like a nice guy) about a social event – and he signed it with an “x” as well.  People sign all their texts with “x”s as well.  Its such a thing that a coworker has accidentally signed professional emails with an “x” and only realised too late.

I think its delightful.  I love it especially because England can be so formal in so many ways; people aren’t super effusive or touchy-feely.  But they call each other darlin’ and they sign emails with kisses, and I find that completely endearing.

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