Nothing gives the English more pleasure, in a quiet but determined sort of way, than to do things oddly. They put milk in their tea, drive on the wrong side of the road, pronounce Cholmondeley as “Chumley” and Belvoir as “Beaver,” celebrate the Queen’s birthday in June even though she was born in April, and dress their palace guards in bearskin helmets that make them look as if, for some private and unfathomable reason, they are wearing fur-lined wastebaskets on their heads.
