We're British, Innit
Page 4
CHURCHILL, WINSTON
Widely regarded as one of Britain’s greatest leaders and often pictured on a Union Flag background giving his distinctive two-fingered salute, Winston Churchill has become the standard by which other Prime Ministers are measured. Churchill is famed for his leading of the UK through most of World War II, serving as Prime Minister of an all-party group from 1940-1945, with a second term as Conservative Prime Minister from 1951-1955. Often seen with cigar in hand, it was Churchill’s skills in speechmaking and in soundbites that kept British spirits high during the war years (see blitz spirit). Turning adversity to strength, his speeches such as his pre-Battle of Britain one which included the line ‘We shall fight them on the beaches’ are still remembered to this day by many. Chamberlain saying ‘Oops, this has all gone a bit tits up’ may not have had the same rallying effect. Sadly, most school children now think Churchill is ‘that dog in the insurance adverts, innit’. There is some irony in this, as Churchill suffered from depression, a condition he referred to as his ‘black dog’. If he had known his memory was to be overshadowed by an animated nodding bulldog then his black dog may have come visiting more often.
CHURCH OF ENGLAND
For many years this was the default setting with which all Britons were born; the Church of England is the religion for people who don’t really do religion. Often shortened to C of E to do away with the overly religious overtones of the word ‘church’, it is the religion you can enjoy between worships without ruining your agnosticism. Mostly there for christenings, weddings and funerals, your C of E vicar is always up for attendance at village fêtes, tea dances or jumble sales (see jumble sales). A surprising 37.3 million of us identified ourselves as Christian in the 2001 census of England and Wales, vastly outnumbering the 3.7 million who claim to have no religion and the 390,000 who adhere to the Jedi faith. Hopefully, state-funded Jedi faith schools should be introduced within the next decade.
CIDER
With Britain’s wealth of orchards it is no surprise that we soon worked out how to turn apples into a passable alcoholic drink, which has kept tramps, teenagers and farmers topped up since time immemorial. Premium ciders enjoy massive sales, but the real stuff comes from the West Country, where everyone talks, drinks and sings like The Wurzels. Popular brands have fantastic names like Cripple Cock, with a slippery slope of rough cider and scrumpy available to explore in rural boozers. One of the best things about cider is that many Americans use the same name for what is simply apple juice. So when a coach party stumble across a cider outlet in Bristol they are always tempted to try the local beverage, not realising that they are imbibing an 8 per cent brew that will have them under the table. This is the best time to tell them about the ‘tradition’ of visitors buying a round for the whole pub.
CIVIL SERVICE
With its name deriving from the Latin for ‘to lose documents and mislay CDs full of data’, the Civil Service is the backbone of British bureaucracy. Its stated purpose is to retain as much of your money as possible while also making it nigh on impossible for you to claim any of it back in times of need. The Civil Service includes the Government departments that deal with taxation, social security and prisons, though its name is most often linked with the administration and running of the Government itself, with Whitehall’s civil servants being some of the most powerful employees in the country. Despite having the word ‘civil’ in its title, the Civil Service does not insist on civility being a requirement of its staff when recruiting. In a 2002 survey only 14 per cent of civil servants surveyed identified as mildly to reasonably civil, whereas 45 per cent responded by simply hanging up the phone after leaving those asking the question on hold for 20 minutes.
CLASS
Foreign visitors are amazed by it, politicians claim it no longer exists and the rest of us struggle to work out where we belong within it. The class system in Britain is second only to the Indian caste system in terms of rigidity and complexity. Our place of birth, parent’s jobs, income, accent and even what we call our evening meal (see tea as a meal) can dictate our place on the class scale, which can then affect education, career and even marriage. Within the confines of working, middle and upper class there are any number of micro-classes, such as lower-middle or Duke of Cornwall, though it is hard to be mobile even between these. Jumping class boundaries is notoriously difficult: moving from working to middle requires acquiring a taste for olives and houmous, while middle to upper means knowing which fork goes where and which servant should polish them. Class envy is one thing that is upwardly as well as downwardly mobile, with the middle classes often affecting working-class accents to fit in. This is most in evidence when they have to call out a plumber and constantly refer to him as ‘mate’, even though he actually earns twice their salary.
COMMONWEALTH
Formed from the ashes of the British Empire (see empire), the Commonwealth is a grouping of 53 nations that come together to discuss and promote common aims around matters such as law, trade and peacekeeping. Additionally, this gives us in Britain something to feel in charge of, as well as bringing together a set of nations that we have some hope of beating in sporting pursuits. Our Queen is the current head of the Commonwealth, as well as head of state of some of the Commonwealth nations, such as Canada, Australia and New Zealand. These countries have been retained in this way as they are some of the tougher Commonwealth nations to beat at the Commonwealth Games and the Queen can simply order them to throw races or matches as she sees fit.
CONSTITUTION
In Britain, we have an unwritten constitution. This works in much the same way that unwritten homework or an unwritten note from your mum to get you out of PE does, in that it does not exist and is therefore pretty much worthless. For example, this means that any old dictator can come along and say ‘Don’t you remember? Killing of the firstborn is part of the unwritten constitution. I am reading it now, in my head.’ There have been many calls for a written constitution or Bill of Rights, but these things are always best agreed upon when a society is in its infancy. Once a country has evolved towards having reality TV shows and worshipping Graham Norton then you just know that the whole thing would be decided in a lengthy vote at primetime on BBC1. Sensible clauses would be voted out in week three, only for ones like ‘the right to visit the corner shop shirtless’ (see corner shop) and ‘the right to urinate in public swimming pools’ ending up as irrevocable law.
COO-EE
This homely greeting is mostly used by ladies of a certain age, usually to call across to a friend who is toting a wheelie bag or zipping by on a mobility scooter. Often called at frequencies that are inaudible to male ears, a call of ‘coo-ee’ can simply mean hello, though it will often be a prelude to an invitation for cake. As everyone knows, British old ladies spend a good amount of time refining and re-refining their fruitcake recipes and this word can act as a code or boast about a particularly fine cake. If you are lucky enough to hear this call then be ready to follow, as it could lead to a secret cake sale, which is kind of like the old lady equivalent of the underground rave scene.
COOKING LAGER
With the spread of pub chains, the growth of vertical drinking establishments and the pressure for breweries to maximise profits, what was once considered an exotic, premium drink has fallen to the very bottom of the heap. This means that standard strength lagers with identikit flavours are now referred to as ‘cooking lager’ rather than by the overseas brand names they bear. Cooking lager is usually brewed in the UK under licence and is the drink for those who have abandoned all hope that their drink will taste of anything at all. They don’t need to ask for it by name, all they want is the worst lager the house has available. Still, at least it is preferable to the ‘wife-beater’ sobriquet that one premium brand has acquired among drinkers.
COOL BRITANNIA
Inspired by the resurgence of British music and fashion, as well as the changing mood of the country in the run-up to the 1997 Labour Party General election
win, Cool Britannia was a handy media tag that encompassed anything that was on the up in the UK at that time. US magazine Vanity Fair summed up the time with the Carnaby Street-inspired headline ‘London Swings Again!’, naming designers such as Alexander McQueen and artist Damien Hirst as prime examples of what was cool about Britain. The cover of the magazine featured celebrity incubator Patsy Kensit sprawled on a Union Flag bedspread with Liam Gallagher. Cool Britannia even made Geri Halliwell look good, with a million middle-aged men committing to memory the image of her in that Union Jack dress. Sadly, the sham fad lasted for less time than the average Kensit marriage and was over by the time Tony Blair was breaking manifesto promises.
CORNER SHOP
No British community is complete without its corner shop. The shop need not actually be situated on the corner of a street to be considered a corner shop, but it should provide the focus for a community by providing overpriced items that you may have forgotten to pick up from the out-of-town superstore. Principal among these items are Pringles, bourbon biscuits, cigarettes, pornographic magazines and bizarre cakes you never see anywhere but in corner shops. Often run by Asian immigrants and their families, some corner shops are still known as ‘Paki shops’ by those locals whose knuckles drag along the pavement as they walk. This tendency towards casual racism and the linking of Asian families to these stores was acknowledged by British-Asian band Cornershop in their choice of name. The band’s tour rider consisted mostly of firelighters, out-of-date boxes of Milk Tray chocolates and Lemsip.
CORONATION STREET
This reality television series about life in northwest England has been running since 1960, giving the rest of Britain a fly-on-the-wall look at the small suburb of Weatherfield, where simple pleasures such as adultery, murder, abduction and having a pint in the Rovers keep the mostly working-class populace happy. Teacher Ken Barlow has been featured in the show since it began, but residents have come and gone over the years, with most getting to sample Betty’s hotpot in the pub and sex with Ken’s wife, Deirdre, though never at the same time (at least not yet). Most fans will have their own view of what constitutes classic ‘Corrie’, though many name motormouthed harridan Hilda Ogden as their favourite character.
CRICKET
The sound of leather on willow and the long shadows on county grounds are often cited as being two of the things that most evoke an image of Britishness, though cricket is really most popular in England, where the sport was invented. It is thought to have been around in the southeast since the fourteenth century in some form, though the development of the cricket tea and the five-day test came somewhat later on. The modern game was given nobility and popularity in the nineteenth century by cricketing legend W G Grace, who is as famous for his lustrous beard as for his skills as a batsman. In recent years the cricketing authorities have tried to sex the game up by introducing ever-shorter matches, but true fans enjoy the endurance and possible letdown of the five-day game, where hours of nothingness are interrupted by the most fleeting moments of action. Watching such a game is as close as the average British male ever comes to a state of Zen, though this is often aided by several pints of lager. Those unable to attend big games should listen in to Radio 4, where commentary on the game is squeezed in between audio clips of elderly men eating cakes.
CRICKET TEST
The cricket test, as opposed to test cricket, is derived from a question posed by former MP Norman Tebbit in a 1990 interview with the LA Times newspaper. He asked who second-generation immigrants would support in sporting competitions, stating his belief that many would ‘fail the cricket test’ by rooting for Pakistan, India or the West Indies over England. Tebbit saw this test as an indicator of how British immigrants and their descendants felt, despite the fact that most of Scotland would also root for any of those nations over the English team. Then there is the fact that those of Indian heritage will cheer for England when they play Pakistan, with those of Pakistani origin doing the same when England are up against India. Tebbit claimed vindication of his views when homegrown suicide bombers attacked the London transport system in July 2005, though it seems unlikely that a lengthy interrogation about their views on Freddie Flintoff would have stopped the terrorists from carrying out their mission.
CRUMPETS
As with most baked goods in the UK, there is an almighty bloody row just bubbling beneath the surface over the naming, appearance and origins of crumpets. Some say they are those things with holes in that look like a circular bath sponge, which you cover in butter, jam or something savoury, but others say that they are thin and floppy – more kitchen scourer than sponge. Those in the Midlands confuse matters further by calling anything vaguely crumpet- like, a pikelet. I mean, can’t we all just get along? Crumpet is also slang for an attractive woman, though the word is now more associated with the attractive older woman. The phrase ‘thinking-man’s crumpet’ is used to describe celebrities who have both brains and beauty, with Joan Bakewell being the most cited example. Generally, the term applies to a woman who looks like she may be willing to be a whore in the bedroom, an enthusiastic cook in the kitchen and a jolly useful addition to the pub quiz team.
CUCUMBER SANDWICHES
In aspirant middle-class circles, the cucumber sandwich is seen as the bread-based snack to be seen with when sipping afternoon tea on the lawn. It is a little known fact that the invention of this sandwich was actually down to mischievous minor royals out to prove that the middle classes would eat anything if they thought it would make them appear to be higher up the social scale than they actually are. Best eaten with the crusts removed, for added affectation.
CUSTARD
In fancy circles, such as the marketing meetings of ready- meal manufacturers for upmarket supermarkets, our beloved milky yellow pudding lubricant is known as crème anglaise, which makes it sound like some terrible Gallic euphemism for semen, perhaps in revenge for us calling condoms ‘French letters’. Traditionally, custard was made from eggs, milk and cream, but everyone knows that the real thing is made from Birds custard powder or simply comes ready-made out of a tin. Our love for custard was highlighted by a news story in January 2008, in which banged-up bad boy Newcastle United footballer Joey Barton was reported to be warding off attacks from fellow prison inmates by buying them custard. After all, what hardened lag could resist its soothing yellowness? Custard powder is highly explosive in large quantities and can create a delightfully vanilla-scented explosion if not handled correctly. For this reason you are not encouraged to take your custard powder as hand luggage when you take your two-week package holiday in Spain and should instead stow it in the hold alongside your tea and Marmite.
D
DAFFODILS
This flower is often associated with the Welsh, as it can be worn on the lapel to celebrate St David’s Day. But the bright yellow flower also serves to welcome in the spring and remind the whole of the UK that it is Mother’s Day. Florists open early on Mothering Sunday to catch the trade as we go to visit parents, but tradition states that the correct gift for this day is daffodils that have been stolen from a public park, grass verge or, if all the free daffs have gone, bought from a petrol station forecourt.
DARWIN, CHARLES
From relative obscurity in the field of geology, Shropshire- born Darwin rose to be one of the most unpopular men of all time, so we are naturally proud that he is one of us. The disdain and even outright hatred for Darwin grew from his 1859 book The Origin of Species and other progressive works, which have long been used as a benchmark in disproving the existence of God, as well as putting forward the idea that we may have evolved from other primates. Some see his worst crime as perpetuating the career of the ever so slightly creepy Richard Dawkins, whose books, such as his recent Tooth Fairy: All Lies, regularly top the bestseller lists.
DECKCHAIRS
Now, let us get this straight: deckchairs are not all that difficult to put up. From 1945 to 1962 an estimated 65 per cent of British comedy was based on the conc
ept of deckchairs being hard to assemble. Not a lot of funny stuff was happening during this period, obviously. What is more revealing about the deckchair is its design, in that it is very much about a slight lying back but not really about lying down. This is because we see lying down as being a sign of continental laziness, suspicious shiftlessness and loose morals. We may be on a day or week off by the sea, but we don’t want to be seen as slovenly. What the deckchair says is that we want to sit almost upright and possibly listen to a man playing an organ on the pier (see piers). Sunloungers are very much something to argue with Germans over when overseas.
DEEP-FRYING
I once ordered a dish in a Chinese restaurant in California and my local friend said: ‘You do know that is deep fried, don’t you?’ His tone of voice would not have been much different if he was informing me that my choice of dinner was made from fresh babies and cooked by a team of sex offenders who used their fetid drool as a marinade. He did not realise that in the UK the words ‘deep-fried’ are seen more as a term of culinary reassurance than as a threat to health. We know that it means that whatever we are about to eat has been encased in some kind of batter or coating and then cooked at mind-numbingly high temperatures (see fish and chips). This means that it will probably be free of most viruses and will also probably at least taste of something, even if it is only four-month-old cooking oil. The logical extension of our love of deep-frying has been the invention of the deep-fried Mars Bar – a batter soaked hot chocolate treat – and the deep-fried kebab. These dishes are mostly found in Scotland, where even salad is often deep-fried, as are soft drinks, schoolbooks and most furniture.