Metrics

In 1971, the British decided to go metric with their money, having resisted the impulse for nearly 2 centuries as the metric system was, of course, a French idea and hence, suspect.

Having finally decided to metricate British money, it was “out with the old” 12 pence to the shilling and 20 shillings to the pound, farthings, ha’pennies, thrupence, crowns, half-crowns, sovereigns, and “in with the new”: one pound equals 100 pence.

But that would have been too easy.

To inject the requisite English measure of randomness and inconsistency, they decided to redesign their coinage as creatively as possible.

They made the pound about the size of a North American quarter, but three times thicker, so they could engrave things on the edges.

Two pounds? Twice as big, but thin, with the centre in a contrasting colour.

Ten pence is the same size as two pence coin, and while the 5 pence coin is smaller than 10 pence, 20 pence is smaller than 10 pence too.

And octagonal.

50 pence is the same size as 2 pounds, but 7 sided.

5 pound notes are smaller than 10 pound notes, but 10 pound and 20 pound notes are almost the same size, which is why my cab driver got an 11 pound tip last night for a 9 pound fare.

In order to maintain the confusion, gasoline is sold in liters but speed limits and odometers are in miles.

Drive your imperial-measure metrically-fuelled car to the grocery store and you’ll buy coffee, butter, and everything else in metric quantities.

Except for a lot of fruits and vegetables which are sold, not by weight, but by piece: so much per lemon, apple, or head of garlic.

Want consistency? Head for the pub, I thought.

Wrong.

Feel free to order 250 ml. glass of wine or a 40 ml shot of scotch, but the law states that draught beer in England must be sold in pints.

But then, who wants Long John Silver to stride into a pub, squint at the owner and call out “Oy, barkeep, draw me 568 millilitres of your finest ale.”