The English laundry, etc

Late this afternoon, when I returned to my inn, a note was pushed under my door. I could just see the top inch or so that was exposed in the hallway. It was hand written on white paper and it started with "Dear Mr. Fritsch". (I noted that "Fritsch" was spelled correctly.) My heart sank. Had my small TV been too loud for my non existent neighbors? Did I wake someone up by flushing the toilet at an un-Godly hour of the night? Did I insult the kitchen staff by not finishing the 9-1/2 pound full English breakfast? Or unimaginably worse- had I violated some secret tenant, an unspeakable breach of etiquette only understood by locals? Not quite. The letter was from the house keeper; she had heard of my luggage debacle and simply offered to wash my clothes for me. It was a gesture of kindness I wasn't expecting. Upon reflection, Ludlow has been full of unexpected kindnesses. Every shop, every pub, every church I've walked into, someone was genuinely glad to see me. It was almost like they had nothing better to do. And I don't think they do. This morning, my taxi driver told me "there are no IT jobs in Ludlow, kids grow up and move away"(probably to London,I presumed).And thats what's missing here- Internet Technology. It all makes sense now. No TVs in the pubs, no store clerks texting or seeing if Justin Bieber's still trending, no church docent asking you to fill out a survey. This hamlet is pretty much the same as it was ten, fifty, or a hundred and fifteen years ago. Shakespearian architecture meets Dickensonian architecture meets Georgian architecture. The brass bell above the town square still clangs eight minutes early every hour. The Wheatsheaf Inn, built into the town's original medieval wall and gate in 1668 has an 8 x 11 glossy of Lionel Richie hung up behind the bar... odds are it will still be there four hundred years from today.