We’re British, Innit: An Irreverent A to Z of All Things British

War games (#litres_trial_promo)

Warm beer (#litres_trial_promo)

Weather (#litres_trial_promo)

Whisky (#litres_trial_promo)

White Cliffs of Dover (#litres_trial_promo)

Wimbledon (#litres_trial_promo)

Wimpy (#litres_trial_promo)

Working men’s clubs (#litres_trial_promo)

World War II (#litres_trial_promo)

Xenophobia

X Factor (#litres_trial_promo)

X-ray (#litres_trial_promo)

Yard of ale

YBAs (#litres_trial_promo)

Yellow lines (#litres_trial_promo)

Y-fronts (#litres_trial_promo)

Yobs (#litres_trial_promo)

Zero tolerance

Z-list (#litres_trial_promo)

Zoophilia (#litres_trial_promo)

How British Are You?

Acknowledgements

Index (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher

Introduction (#u25c7178e-1fe3-5135-804d-5415d9fadf32)

Whether we see ourselves in the misty mornings of George Orwell’s describing, Bill Bryson’s fondly mocking words, the photographs of Martin Parr or the characters of LittleBritain, we Brits are always looking to work out who we are and to maintain our idea of what it is to be British. As an island race, this identity is of paramount importance to us, and one that we have literally fought to maintain over the years. Yet, ask any group of Britons what the ideas, characteristics or items that define the nation are and you will get myriad different answers. It could be fish and chips, a sense of fair play or simply the ability to form an orderly queue at the drop of a hat. Though those questioned are just as likely to pick up on our love of tea, our complete disdain for the metric system or our ability to rattle on endlessly about the weather. Whatever Britain is, it does not stay the same for long. We know what we like and we love our traditions, but we are also endlessly adaptable and willing to give things a go. How else do you explain the success of the chicken tikka massala or dado rails?

This A-Z of Britishness is an attempt to finally pin down what it is that makes us British in the twenty-first century, as well as allowing you to measure your character, loves and dislikes against what I feel is the most definitive list yet created. Think of it as a kind of Citizenship Test for those who already hold a passport or as an alternative learning guide for those who wish to get their hands on one. This is the real Britain, not one filtered through the eyes of civil servants and politicians. This is the dictionary of the Britain that you know and love, whether you ever whisper those three little words to it or not. This is not the sterile Britain shown in the photographs of a pamphlet issued by Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, rather this is the Britain that finds Barbara Windsor as inspiring as Winston Churchill, the Britain that is still mildly suspicious of the ‘continental’ quilt. It is the Britain that wept for Princess Diana yet thinks her brother is a bit smug, the Britain that knows that pub that shows the football on a dodgy satellite hook-up from Turkey. It is the Britain that keeps our manicured lawn so tidy by throwing the slugs over the neighbour’s fence and the Britain that pays the babysitter in alcopops.

This being a list of all things British, it will of course contain a good degree of the humour that we have become noted for. Endlessly self-deprecating, the British sense of humour is a huge part of our make-up. The ability to laugh at ourselves during times of turmoil, tragedy and the wrong kind of snow is what keeps us going when things are at their darkest, which is generally during an August Bank Holiday. Often painted as a pessimistic ‘glass half-empty’ nation, we merely have a point of view that the rest of Europe and the world do not understand. After all, a glass half-empty means that it is probably someone’s round. Cheers! Mine’s a pint of Spitfire. They don’t like it up ‘em the Germans.

Naturally, musing on nationhood and Britishness brings up questions of nationality, nationalism, devolution and where we stand as this uneasy alliance of England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland. Is the West Lothian question getting easier every year? And will the broadsheets soon contain pictures of gorgeous blonde twins who have answered it correctly? When are we Great Britain, when are we the United Kingdom and when are we the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland? One thing is for sure, and that is that we are Royaume Uni during the Eurovision Song Contest. This is the only time, apart from during a particularly good Euromillions rollover, when we are ever allowed to think of ourselves as a part of Europe as a whole. Camp disco and camper heavy metal, yes. Single currency and kilometres, no. Such is the complicated nature of Britishness.

Within these pages you will find reference to everything from the rolling hills to the rolling cheeses that descend them on a summer’s day. There are the people who have a special place in our history and those who have a special place in our hearts. Then there are the sights, sounds and even smells that make Britain what it is. Some of you are bound to disagree with the final selections, but let’s not fight about it. Or if we do then at least let us take our jackets off before we begin; after all we are not French. There is an email address at the bottom of the page where you can send your suggestions, condemn me for treason or simply send pictures of things that you think scream Britishness.

Though try not to send those pictures you took to ‘just try out’ your new digital camera. Readers’ Wives is indeed included in this book, but that doesn’t mean I want to see your partner spread-eagled on your DFS corner suite.

For variety, I have variously referred to the subject of this book as the United Kingdom, Britain, Great Britain and various derivations thereof throughout the book. But whichever term I have used I mean the same place: This Sceptered Isle, Blighty, the Queen’s gaff. Our home.

Please send your suggestions for what I have missed to youidiot@britishinnit.com. The five most glaring omissions will be written up by me and included in the paperback edition of the book (and you will, of course, get a copy).

A (#u25c7178e-1fe3-5135-804d-5415d9fadf32)

ALCOPOPS (#ulink_a39a12c5-7827-56f9-911e-ccdc43741933)

Although originally an Australian import, the alcopop became very much a part of the British way of life during the youth alcohol crisis of the 1990s. Teenagers were simply not consuming enough booze, which alcoboffins put down to them not wanting to acquire a taste through beer, cider or Buckfast as their parents had done. The instant gratification generation was in danger of being lost to sobriety, thoughtfulness and good deeds, so the booze manufacturers simply added a 5 per cent alcohol content to the teens’ favourite soft drinks. This allowed them to get hammered on familiar flavours and had the added advantage of allowing them to get their friends unwittingly drunk as well. The side effect of this increase in teen drinking was a correlating rise in teen pregnancy, ensuring that the pensions crisis may yet be averted. Plans to reintroduce milk to primary schools as a 3 per cent alcohol ‘alcomilk’ are merely rumours at the time of going to press.

ALE (#ulink_a39a12c5-7827-56f9-911e-ccdc43741933)

If someone comes into your local pub (see pubs) asking the landlord if his beer is alive, they are probably not some kind of extreme animal-rights type who only eats wind-fallen apples and keeps yeast as a pet. They are most likely a real ale enthusiast. An unkempt beard and enormous gut may be other clues to look out for, but nowadays more presentable human beings are enjoying the taste of our country’s ales. There have even been unconfirmed reports that a woman ordered some in the Midlands last year. It is very easy to laugh at hardcore real ale fans. So let’s stop for a moment to do that. Okay, that’s enough. Ale is one thing we do fantastically well in Britain, but it has been largely usurped by the search for the ever-colder pint of lager, with drinkers in the south preferring something approaching a lager Slush Puppy over a beer they can taste. Real ale brewers don’t help themselves by calling their brews Old Dogge Bollocke or giving it some name and back story that you need to have a PhD in naval history to appreciate.

ALLOTMENTS (#ulink_a39a12c5-7827-56f9-911e-ccdc43741933)

Like a kind of poor man’s golf club, the allotment has traditionally been seen as a place for a man to be out in the open air, away from his wife and amongst specialist equipment. The knitwear tends to be more downbeat, but there is the added advantage of a shed in which to store pornographic magazines, pipe tobacco and a bottle of something warming. Of course, allotments are also places that can be used to grow vegetables and they are becoming popular once again with city dwellers as the trend for organic and local food grows. Allotments have been around since the eighteenth century, but they really came into their own with the advent of World War II and the Dig For Victory campaign, which encouraged Britons to grow their own food. Allotments are generally owned by local councils or by allotment associations, with the annual rent being fairly cheap. In big cities there are waiting lists for allotments, which also enjoyed a 1970s boom in popularity when The Good Life showed us that self-sufficiency might lead to the ability to make our own cut-price wine or the possibility of sleeping with Felicity Kendall.

AMATEURISM (#ulink_a39a12c5-7827-56f9-911e-ccdc43741933)

Sport in Britain was initially divided upon class lines, with superior sporting character bestowed upon those who could afford to compete for the love of the game and those who took a wage being seen as belonging to the lower orders. This distinction can be seen in the naming of the famous Gentlemen versus Players cricket matches of the nineteenth century (see cricket). The Gentlemen were the amateurs and the Players were the professionals, which cast those good enough to play for a living as less-than-noble money-grubbing savages. This belief in the idea of amateurism being a more tasteful and morally superior pursuit has pervaded British society ever since, resulting in our propensity to have a go at any number of things rather than commit ourselves to becoming proficient enough to excel in one. This spirit can be seen in our bank holiday rush to the DIY superstores, our love of gardening and our desire to visit Ann Summers of a weekend. The utensils from all three pastimes may be interchangeable, but some of these things really are best left to a professional.

ANTS (#ulink_a39a12c5-7827-56f9-911e-ccdc43741933)

These tiny insects are very much a part of any British summer, be they invading your picnic, running through your food cupboards or being victims of childhood experiments in the garden. Brits see the appearance of more than three ants in one place as some kind of declaration of war (as we know that ants are the only creatures other than humans that wage wars and this brings out the combatant in us). Chemical weapons are purchased from a hardware shop, with the lightly dusted doorstep being doused with boiling water should any enemy ants be subsequently spotted. Children become the SS concentration camp doctors of the summer-long campaign against ants, melting them with magnifying glasses, trying to teach them to swim and seeing what happens when you introduce red ants to a black ants’ nest. The hottest day of the British summer is always that which is known as Flying Ant Day. This is the day (usually in mid-July) when all flying ants hatch and the skies become black with the confused creatures. Ice pops are always free on this day. Just ask at your local newsagent.

APOLOGISING (#ulink_a39a12c5-7827-56f9-911e-ccdc43741933)

I am sorry to bring this up and I know it seems a little rude, but we Brits are apologetic to the point of irritation. We are the only nation that offers an apology when someone stands on our toes, barges in front of us in a queue or when we have to send back food in a restaurant (after we have had a five-minute argument with our dining partner about whether it would be too impolite to do so) (see poor service). This character trait has lead to us slipping behind in the field of commerce and innovation in recent years, with inventors often not wanting to seem boastful by telling all and sundry about their cure for cancer or knowing how to start their pitch for investment in their product that will cure world hunger without saying, ‘I’m really sorry, but …’.

THE ARCHERS (#ulink_a39a12c5-7827-56f9-911e-ccdc43741933)

Rumty-tumti-tumti-tum, rumty-tum-tralala. These are the opening sounds of the show that keeps Britain in touch with our rural communities and Radio 4 listeners convinced that they would be able to deliver a piglet if the need were to ever arise in some kind of unlikely porcine life-or-death emergency. It is really good fun to refer to it as Britain’s oldest soap opera when you encounter an avid listener. Many Radio 4 listeners see themselves as above soaps, thinking of them (probably rightly) as full of planes crashing into bisexual threesomes at the top of an already flaming boozer run by small-time crooks with improper diction and a confusing family back story that involves siblings appearing and then reappearing with someone else’s face (see eastenders). The best bit about The Archers is spotting when some snippet of farming news or politics is slipped in, sounding like the kind of clanging, clumsy insert you may expect on North Korean radio. All farmhands speak in a subhuman grunt language, which is both scary and sexually arousing for regular listeners.

ARCHITECTURE (#ulink_a39a12c5-7827-56f9-911e-ccdc43741933)