When I painted this sketch of life in the village of Long Crendon in Buckinghamshire, I included a funny story. It was a day with changeable weather, and I wrote the sketch quite impulsively. After a minute, I almost managed to get the stand I had set up. A local Englishman came up to me and started a conversation with a rather neutral topic about the weather. But in his monologue, which he conducted in a very friendly manner, he still asked me where I was from. I mostly remained silent and followed the rapidly approaching state. I answered him that I was from Russia, from Moscow. And then something happened that I didn’t expect, he changed his face, yelled that I was a spy, and urgently retreated. Of course I didnt expect such a reaction to the ending. But on the whole, I was pleased because I finished the sketch and, having collected my art materials and tripod, went away.