why isn't there a british equivalent to americana?

so perhaps it was a subconcious effort to be contrary, but i have had a remarkably simple britishness in the last couple days.

lunch at the mosque - the best curry kitchen under a tent you will ever see - followed by the hippie tea rooms where no one spoke english, and a rounded out night at the pub quiz. sadly it was not dave the pub master, as he was at a fencing tournament, but his ultra scottish sub who is almost impossible to understand as microphones seems to enhance his brogue.

then this morning, picked up some herb baguette from the french baker and went to doze under a stone angel in the ancient graveyard up the road with a turn of the century copy of Jude the Obscure from St. Columba's Hospice.

v nice. lets only hope the tranquility i am storing up sees me through a week of teenagers and overly-enthusiastic book launches.