Sunday 10 June 2012
I missed it! I actually missed it! "What did I miss?", I hear you asking? The bloody jubilee, that's what! And do you know what makes it worse? I'm flying to London on Tuesday! Couldn't Her Maj have held it off just one more week? Just for me? Please?
Well, there's no point begging now. It's over. No Paul McCartney, horse racing or street parties for me. All I got to do was to change the wallpaper on my iPod to the famous "Keep calm and carry on" poster. Yippee for me.
But I suppose that's a good thing really, because our way of celebrating on a national day has always puzzled me. You all know what I'm speaking of, oh yes: the street party. How on earth did we come up with that? If any of you have ever set foot in Britain, you will know that we are not the most social bunch when it comes to dealing with strangers. Every single one of us, no matter how old or young, we all know that there is a rule that we do not talk to our neighbours. We do not speak of this rule, but it is there; kind of like Fight Club. Occasionally you will get one odd-bod in your street, though, who will think that they are above this, and they'll go round to new residents and introduce themselves, often bringing a traditional peace offering (wine). Now, instead of thinking, "That was nice!", or, "How kind!", as they think you would, our only reaction is, "What a weirdo. I wonder why he did that?"
Now, if you keep that information in mind, just think for a minute about street parties. Got it? There we go. How does it work?! Introductions must be odd, "Hello there, I have lived two doors down from you for the past eight years. It's nice to finally meet you after having ignored you for all this time! Fancy a beer?" It doesn't sound like my thing, to be honest. But is that really going to be what brings us together as a nation? Will it only take a royal celebration to bring people together? Probably. That sounds about right. And to be honest, I am quite thankful for that. Not because of any issues of social akwardness, no, but because of something much more embarrassing: I do not know the national anthem.
Now, I know the tune and some of the words, but after something about sending Her Maj victorious, I am completely clueless. How has this happened?! How can I proudly parade around calling myself British whilst I have to look like Wayne Rooney trying to recite Shakespeare when the national anthem comes on?! It's ridiculous! But then again, in my own little world, nobody knows the full set of lyrics, and more importantly, we're not supposed to ask. Ok, well that sounded a lot better inside my head. Now it looks like a perfect recipe for a dictatorship! Yes! I can see it now! There's the Queen and Prince Phillip sitting round one of the many fireplaces in Buckingham palace, their feet placed upon a corgi, plotting their evil plans. "Oh go on Phillip! It will be funny! Let's make all them all wear their scarves on their elbows and walk backwards on Wednesdays!" It would be chaos! And what if Prince Charles ever becomes king?! He'll probably have us replacing our morning Weetabix with those ruddy Dutchy Organic Biscuits of his! And they won't soak up the milk half as well! Oh dear, it could be such an odd future for us all.
Thankfully, though, I doubt that day will ever come, because I'm sure that in our little country there is a small group of people (none of whom will ever be invited to my house for supper) who bother researching the words just to make sure we're not unconsciously agreeing to have burly officers in trench-coats march down Oxford street barking orders at us and swinging their truncheons. Good on them, that's what I say. Sitting in their attics with a pair of slightly dusty glasses and a memo-pad, they are the unsung heroes of our nation. And I will add, although I greatly appreciate their work, I am in absolutely no hurry to meet any of them. Sorry.
Well, with my flight home fast approaching, I feel that all there is left to say is to wish a big British congratulations to our dearest Queenie (who I know is a big fan of these posts), and I propose we all raise our glasses (or tea cups) to a very happy 60 years! Huzzah!
Well, there's no point begging now. It's over. No Paul McCartney, horse racing or street parties for me. All I got to do was to change the wallpaper on my iPod to the famous "Keep calm and carry on" poster. Yippee for me.
But I suppose that's a good thing really, because our way of celebrating on a national day has always puzzled me. You all know what I'm speaking of, oh yes: the street party. How on earth did we come up with that? If any of you have ever set foot in Britain, you will know that we are not the most social bunch when it comes to dealing with strangers. Every single one of us, no matter how old or young, we all know that there is a rule that we do not talk to our neighbours. We do not speak of this rule, but it is there; kind of like Fight Club. Occasionally you will get one odd-bod in your street, though, who will think that they are above this, and they'll go round to new residents and introduce themselves, often bringing a traditional peace offering (wine). Now, instead of thinking, "That was nice!", or, "How kind!", as they think you would, our only reaction is, "What a weirdo. I wonder why he did that?"
Now, if you keep that information in mind, just think for a minute about street parties. Got it? There we go. How does it work?! Introductions must be odd, "Hello there, I have lived two doors down from you for the past eight years. It's nice to finally meet you after having ignored you for all this time! Fancy a beer?" It doesn't sound like my thing, to be honest. But is that really going to be what brings us together as a nation? Will it only take a royal celebration to bring people together? Probably. That sounds about right. And to be honest, I am quite thankful for that. Not because of any issues of social akwardness, no, but because of something much more embarrassing: I do not know the national anthem.
Now, I know the tune and some of the words, but after something about sending Her Maj victorious, I am completely clueless. How has this happened?! How can I proudly parade around calling myself British whilst I have to look like Wayne Rooney trying to recite Shakespeare when the national anthem comes on?! It's ridiculous! But then again, in my own little world, nobody knows the full set of lyrics, and more importantly, we're not supposed to ask. Ok, well that sounded a lot better inside my head. Now it looks like a perfect recipe for a dictatorship! Yes! I can see it now! There's the Queen and Prince Phillip sitting round one of the many fireplaces in Buckingham palace, their feet placed upon a corgi, plotting their evil plans. "Oh go on Phillip! It will be funny! Let's make all them all wear their scarves on their elbows and walk backwards on Wednesdays!" It would be chaos! And what if Prince Charles ever becomes king?! He'll probably have us replacing our morning Weetabix with those ruddy Dutchy Organic Biscuits of his! And they won't soak up the milk half as well! Oh dear, it could be such an odd future for us all.
Thankfully, though, I doubt that day will ever come, because I'm sure that in our little country there is a small group of people (none of whom will ever be invited to my house for supper) who bother researching the words just to make sure we're not unconsciously agreeing to have burly officers in trench-coats march down Oxford street barking orders at us and swinging their truncheons. Good on them, that's what I say. Sitting in their attics with a pair of slightly dusty glasses and a memo-pad, they are the unsung heroes of our nation. And I will add, although I greatly appreciate their work, I am in absolutely no hurry to meet any of them. Sorry.
Well, with my flight home fast approaching, I feel that all there is left to say is to wish a big British congratulations to our dearest Queenie (who I know is a big fan of these posts), and I propose we all raise our glasses (or tea cups) to a very happy 60 years! Huzzah!
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