You don't buy a "self-righteous bitch" hat. It just shows up on your head one day. You've earned it.

A young man stole the parking space I was CLEARLY waiting for this morning at Starbucks. I even lowered my window to tell him straightforwardly of his mistake. He shrugged me off with a Hugh Grant-ish accent: "Yes, wot . . . well, then . . ." (ONLY the accent; no way did this cat look like HG), and he sauntered on in. I left my car in the middle of the parking lot, with flashers on, and went inside as well.

I queued up behind our Brit and muttered something about how we in America have respect for our elders, especially in the American south and when the elders are ladies. He tried to worm his way out of it by pointing out that we'd only have had to change places and he'd have been in the middle of the parking lot and that we were actually saving fuel with the current arrangement. At that he gave a weak smile. (Note: Do all Brits have odd teeth?) I glared at him as though he was something I'd stepped in while dog-walking.

But when the barista asked him if he'd like his usual and he replied in the affirmative, I linked my arm in his and said brightly, in MY BEST Emma Thompson, "And he's buying Auntie's grande nonfat chai as well this morning, aren't you, Dear?" The barista rang both up drinks and handed him his card back.

He was simply speechless. Nothing. Not a "wot" nor an "I say" anywhere.

"Thank you SO much," I said. "Have a marvy day! Do say hello to your mummy for me!"

I swear. It's the hat.