Happy St Georges Day
As I write this, I am watching the sun set on another St Georges day.
St Georges day always brings to mind ideas of Englishness and national identity. Weirdly, we never seem to muster the same enthusiasm for the celebration of our national day as either the Irish, Americans or even the French - all of whom feel no embarrassment when celebrating what it is to be Irish, American or French, whilst downing pints of whatever beverage they can lay claim to as their national drink. Actually do Americans have a national drink? Probably something with a soldier on the label, called Victory Beer.
I have to admit to not feeling much national pride. The sight of a cross of St George often leaves me feeling at best, faintly uncomfortable and at worst, fearing the attention of the group of clone football fans that are waving it at the other people on the train.
I’m not sure that this is entirely my own personal issue, I think that the far right nationalist sections of our society have to shoulder at least half of the blame - although I doubt they care.
So how was I reminded that today is our national day? Sitting in a black cab after a meeting I had the good fortune to be behind a builders truck, filled with drunk women wearing the cross of St George, drinking Becks (our national drink?) and shouting at passers by. Brilliant.
Later on, for balance, I was reminded again of the date, when a semi naked tattooed man erupted from the train toilet and stumbled down the carriage clutching a beer in one hand and a flag in the other.
I am not one of those calling for a new flag, national day, national anthem or even new patron saint. I am confused as to what I do want on St Georges day.
I think I would like to feel an unashamed sense of pride and happiness at being English. I would like to have a clear and certain knowledge of my own cultural identity and how that fits together with the identities of all the other cultures that make Great Britain.
In short, I would like my national day to be represented by more than a flat bed truck filled with pissed up laddettes and a hairy semi-naked fat bloke being sick on a train.
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(apparently printed in The London Paper today - here)
Written by exmonkey on April 23rd, 2007 with
3 comments.
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gilesbooth
#1. April 24th, 2007, at 8:37 PM.
More or Bore, that is the question.
Made me chuckle on the way home, but stopped short of pointing at the paper and saying “hey, I know him!” to total strangers.
I saw those ladettes on the truck on their way down the Strand. Or maybe it was another bunch? Cursed myself for not having my camera to hand for some ironic Martin Parr ‘Think of England’ style action but then the whole thing was too seedy for Martin Parr.