Entry 11:

Dear Alexander,

I had no idea that the British invented ketchup, the favorite vegetable of schoolchildren across the United States, at least in the Reagan era. What did they do with it after that? Is it another idea that the Americans stole and somehow marketed in a more effective way?

The condiment that is very British, it seems to me, is that thing called Salad Cream, a product that could not be more horrifying to me as a consumer of food and whose presence in my kitchen cabinet certainly violates several articles of the European Convention on Human Rights. It comes in a plastic-bottle-type container that you squeeze onto your shredded iceberg lettuce, and it's something akin to liquified mayonnaise, viscous and runny at the same time. Some members of my household, not to mention any names, enjoy slathering it freely upon their pork pies. I'm sure they don't have it in Afghanistan.

Why do the papers here like John McCain? For the same reason, I suppose, that so many American reporters like him: He's bringing a welcome candor and an improvisational air to a process that can be stultifyingly boring to read about, and to cover, if the candidates are too dull or too predictable. And he's not half so nutty as Ross Perot, the candidate he's most frequently compared to. And it's always nice when an underdog comes from behind and defeats smug big money, as McCain did in New Hampshire.

Also, because the British papers generally only have two or three correspondents in America and don't devote all that much space to American news, really (except the Academy Award nominations--those got huge coverage today), they can cover only the big-ticket campaign stories, and this is one of them. Cindy's ex-addiction to pills, of course, puts her in good company with candidates' wives/first-lady addicts, including Kitty Dukakis (diet pills) and Betty Ford (alcohol). I wouldn't think this would go over so well in Britain, which is not quite as into recovery as we are, and certainly doesn't like to talk about it. I had dinner with some people last night, and one of them, an American, was not guzzling wine as happily as the British people were. In fact, she was firmly drinking sparkling water. The man to her left kept trying to fill her glass. "I'm not drinking," she said. He waved the bottle some more. "No, I don't drink," she said. "Why?" he asked." "I used to drink quite a lot," she said. "Oh, and now you don't?" he asked. Finally, I had to explain it to him myself, saving her from leaping up and running for the nearest AA meeting.

I'm sorry to keep you up so late tonight, when breakfast has long come and gone.

xxx sarah