Being British

It is on occasions such as these when I feel forced to consider what it is to be British.  More British than English I surely am, having ancestors that spring from the four corners of the Queendom, and yet it is a vague and unsatisfying classification, more about colonialism than identity, more about guilty domination within the islands than a rejoicing of a birthright.

I have spent most of this rainy Jubilee Weekend trying to gain control of my own small dominion and assert myself over the contents of my home all of which bits and pieces have their own story and personality.  It is the paper that has causing the problem today - or more precisely those black marks which convey meaning and messages that I may need someday.  Unread, they laugh at me - so to subdue the rabble I must glance at every one before deciding the sentence: to shred or to save, and then where to store.

Taking a break, I switched the TV on and caught the last half hour of the Jubilee Concert outside Buckingham Palace with a stressed looking Sir Paul McCartney trying to recreate the old magic.  He sounded lonely. He looked old.  He is. We are.  I thought Live and Let Die a curious choice for the climax to such a happy evening.  The apocolyptic pyrotechnics were alarmingly reminiscent of the London Blitz, possibly intentionally.

For the grand finale walk down we had a not only a host of knighted pop stars: Sir Cliff, Dame Shirley, Sir tom, Lord Lloyd Webber but the real royals too, standing shoulder to shoulder with the plastic people.  The heir to the throne has learnt to speak like a nice normal person and call the Queen "Mummy".  She didn't look amused.  Fascinating family dynamics: perhaps it's just as well they can't easily execute each other any more.

Despite the inevitable association of the Union Flag with the abhorrant BNP I felt very proud of those thousands upon thousands of good plain folks standing steadfastly in the Mall and yesterday by the riverside (my London riverside) in the driving rain. From the comfort of my settee I was well placed to appreciate the gesture of solidarity from the Monarch as she, and in consequence her entire retinue, stood for four hours to witness and wave as the many canoes, rowing, fishing and rescue boats, gondolas, tugs and barges came bobbing along the ancient waterway until finally the entire London Sinfonia Orchestra floated into view playing Rule Britannia while young, beautiful and wet music students sang their hearts out through a deluge.

To see the freezing Royal Family gently jigging to the Sailors Hornpipe was worth the wait.

Yes - that is what being British is about: weathering the weather together. Even from my sitting room.