Of course, these rather dim-witted politicians ostensibly talk about Britain, when they are only talking to their English constituents. So much so, that I fully expect Ireland to untie & unite within the next 20 years and Scotland to return a Yes vote for independence (assuming that Keir Starmer’s continued plod towards power remains so relentlessly uninspiring). Leaving slack Ol’England floundering in the wake of its own self-importance.
The truth of the matter is: Nobody likes us and we pretend we don’t care, but we bloody well should. The English (and don’t forget I am one – have you seen the blog title?) do have an over-inflated sense of self-importance built on the shifting sands of history. The whole sun never sets on the Empire malarkey has long since evaporated and quite frankly the reparations for crimes committed in the name of the Union Flag have still to be tallied up.
Before launching into one, I should address the British v English thing. I genuinely only know of (or at least recall) a few people who truly identify as British (and they are virtually all arch-royalists or from non-aligned immigrant families), I have never met an Irishman (well maybe a couple of Mega-Oranj Prods), Welshman or Scot (Prods again?!) who declare themselves as British first. Even when corralled together in some hotchpotch sporting allegiance or two (The Lions/Olympics), being a Brit is rarely ever mentioned…
But the purpose of this piece is not to rehash the old school leftist view of Britain as being a washed-up colonial construct (even though it is #smileywhiteface). It is more about trying to embrace the reality of being a 21st Century Englishman and coming to terms with what that actually means.
I’m very aware that some of my writing illuminates an England that exists more in old photographs, unsent postcards, the distant embrace of young love, the scratched grooves of long deleted LP’s and discredited movies. My England, the one I inhabit from this distance is sinister, haunted, beautiful, idyllic, pissed, broken, vicious and only 24 hours away.
My England smells of burnt toast, cut grass, creosote and ozone. My England is cold, wet, warm, windy, freezing and has a leaking roof. My England is shuffling in the queue at the post office, hanging out by the off-licence and still waiting for the number 11 bus. My England still thinks it is good at all sports, despite the evidence.
You get the picture… I could go on forever (and I probably will elsewhere). But I’ll stop and try and keep focussed for the time being. What could the new English really become? The vague reference to Billy Bragg is very appropriate here because his book ‘The Progressive Patriot’ has led me to reappraise what being English could be.
For those unfamiliar with his book, apart from being part autobiographical Bragg explores the impact of the Magna Cart, the People’s Charter, Civil War, the Second World War, the Miners’ Strike on the national consciousness. He also grapples with what it means to be a patriot in a country where (at the time he wrote the book) the BNP were running in General Elections. And now, given the invidious nature of the Savile Row besuited bigots (Anderson, Tyce, Farage etc.) the question is even more relevant.
It is a major challenge and one that I feel ill-equipped to confront head on. That being said, I’ll be jiggered if I’m simply going to stand back and hand over the country of my birth to those members of society whose crazed claims and warped world view makes us seem positively rabid. England isn’t as bad as everyone thinks… but it could well get worse.
But how can we make it better, without more bloodshed, an armed uprising or hiding in a small hut somewhere in the Lake District. Firstly, we need to be honest with each other and perhaps more importantly with ourselves. For too long the myth has dominated the reality and we cannot head somewhere new if we don’t know where exactly we are heading from. A journey cannot end without there having been a start point!
So, time for honesty. And that leads us to the second thing, we must confront the bullshit wherever and whenever we see it. For example, the neo-liberals who seem to have grasped the steering wheel profess to hate the nanny state. And yet, these bastards have got an uncanny way of trying to get involved in absolutely everybody else’s business: From who they sleep with to which pronoun they prefer, from where to go on holiday to which religion they can or indeed cannot follow.
These charlatans must be tackled on their view of England… they relentlessly tout ‘our values’, ‘our way of life’ and ‘our traditions’ and yet they can never name a single thing that reflects these indistinct ideals. Be it poor old John Major and his “Britain will still be the country of long shadows on county (cricket) grounds, warm beer, invincible green suburbs, dog lovers and pools fillers”. Or Farage’s updated “Respect”, “Decency” and “not talking down our great country” schtick that doesn’t stop him from buggering off to the States every time Donald McDonald clicks his fake tan stained little pudgy fingers.
Instead of their warped view, we should inspire each other to live up to a higher more honest set of social principles. In short, we should aim to live up to the mantra of several high-performance sporting teams and instil a simple ‘No Dickheads’ culture.
Glib? Well, a little, what did you expect – new patriotic zeal on a stick. Valid? I think so. A starting place for a New England? Absolutely! In fact, following that theme and re-writing one of the most shameful tropes of the early 70’s ‘No Blacks, No Irish, No Dogs’ (sadly often displayed on houses for rent).
The New England mission statement should perhaps simply read as follows:
· No Racists
· No Bigots
· No Dickheads
... Oh and No Oxymorons!
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