As someone instilled with the British habit of automatic apology, I have often wished to be freed from the tyranny of good manners. The mildest kerfuffle tends to trigger in me an outburst of contrition, as uncontrollable as a sneezing fit. I find myself apologising in a forced high voice to the oaf who blunders into me in the street (“Sorry!”). Strangers are addressed with extravagant levels of courtesy: “Excuse me, I’m so sorry to interrupt, I wonder if you could possibly tell me the way to . . .”
作为一个被灌输了英式自动道歉习惯的人，我常常渴望逃脱这种“礼仪”的暴政。最温和的摩擦也往往会促使我不由自主地表达一长串愧意，就像打喷嚏一样无法控制。我发现自己用强迫发出的高声向那个在街口鲁莽撞上我的傻瓜道歉（“对不起！”）。我对陌生人开口说话的礼貌达到极其夸张的程度：“不好意思，我非常抱歉地打扰您，我在揣测你有没有可能告诉我去……的路？”
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