Why, went the cry, is the American who so fondly chronicled his travels around his adoptive home of Britain in his 1995 best-seller Notes From A Small Island, and who has since acquired British citizenship, so down on us now?
"It's been rather misinterpreted," protests Bryson in his soft Mid-western burr. "It wasn't criticism, it was more just making an observation."
Observation - specifically of the comic variety - is the type of travel writing in which Bryson specialises (though he's written about everything from science to language to history). The book charts his second journey around the country to mark the 20th anniversary of the first, and in parts he does appear a tad disillusioned.
But the tone remains light and jocular, and he insists it is he, not Britain, that has changed.
"As you get older, particularly once you get past 60 and start moving into dotage, you find the world really belongs to other people, to younger generations, and the areas where I feel comfortable and at home, not just in Britain but in the world generally, shrink down," he says. "I'm much less plugged into what's going on and I've much less desire to be. I've reached an age where all these things, like the world of Twitter, have passed me by ... much of what the book's about is me being at sea in modern life."
But there's barely a trace of sadness in his voice; rather a calm acceptance of his stage of life (he turns 64 this year). And he's quick to deny having become a grumpy old man. Indeed, despite the sharp, sometimes biting humour and amusing rants in his books, there's a gentleness to him in person, even when holding forth on issues that annoy him. Of which there are plenty.
The British Government's austerity policies are one. "I don't like them at all," he says. "I've no argument with trying to balance the books and live within our means, but it's a question of what price you pay for that. I would rather pay a little more tax and have flowers on a roundabout than live in this world where we can't seem to afford anything. Britain is a much, much richer nation now than it was when I first came here in 1972, yet we behave as if it's never been so poor."
Instead of cuts, he wants to see taxes hiked for the likes of him. (The boy from Iowa's done all right for himself, after all.)
"I wouldn't mind at all paying more tax as long as I felt it was being spent for good reasons, and I think most of us could afford to spend a little more," he says. "If it meant better healthcare, better services, cleaner streets, I don't think people would really struggle to find an extra £5 or £10 a week, and somebody like me can certainly pay considerably more than that.
"There's a lot of us that are pretty well off, and the idea that somehow we should have our taxes continually reduced ... it's not necessary. I've got plenty of money already - I don't need you to keep giving me little bits more."
He's starting to sound suspiciously like a champagne Corbynista. Is he a fan of the new British Labour leader Jeremy Corbyn?
"I'm not much of a fan of current politicians of any stripe. I don't feel there's been a time when there have been fewer people to get behind and feel enthusiastic about," he says.
Perhaps he should run for office himself. It won't happen, of course, but he offers a surprising number of solutions to the nation's problems. Adding a tax to takeaway food, for instance.
"That would raise some billions of pounds every year. I don't understand why you can excuse paying tax because you take the food out and then leave the packaging in the road," he says. "There are lots of places where you could increase taxes or fees and generate more income. That's the way to be looking - how do we make more money for the state rather than how do we stop the state spending more money?"
And here he's passingly touched on another subject close to his heart: litter. A former president of the Campaign to Protect Rural England and passionate anti-litter campaigner, he has been vocal about this blight on his beloved countryside. But the problem, he says, has grown worse as a result of a "disposable culture".
"What really disturbs me is there just doesn't seem to be any will on the part of anyone in authority to do anything about it," he says. "That's not a political point because it was just as bad under the last Labour Government."
What is needed is to threaten offenders with a steep fine, he suggests. The Government is planning a £100 penalty. Bryson recommends something more like £500. Plus an advertising campaign appealing to love of the countryside and more litter bins, including at every bus stop.
"There needs to be at least some sense you might get caught and punished for it and that it will be painful," he says.
For all the stridency of his views, however, Bryson has had enough of the soapbox. "My dream is just to write and not do any of the other stuff like public speaking and ending up as a spokesperson for various causes. I would like to retire from public life altogether and just write books."
• The Road to Little Dribbling: More Notes From a Small Island (Doubleday $50) is out now.
