We're British, Innit

by Iain Aitch

  HEDGEROW

  Conceived as a natural way to break up land and protect crops from the wind, the British hedgerow has become a haven for wildlife and the source of some of our favourite fruits. No summer would be complete without some free blackberries picked in the countryside and winter would seem longer were there not sloe gin to sip by the fireside. Being natural, the hedgerow gives a soft edge to fields, and allows the countryside to be seen as a continuous green mass when viewed from above. They are also used for the ancient rural equivalent of computer file sharing, whereby pornographic magazines are placed in hedges so that others passing by may also enjoy last month’s copy of Knave.

  HOLIDAY CAMPS

  With the advent of paid holidays and the need for some serious leisure time after World War II, there was a boom in the nascent holiday camp industry, with Butlins and Pontin’s holiday camps taking the majority of the business. Like giant council estates by the sea, these purpose-built resorts catered mostly for the working classes, providing cheap food, family entertainment and nylon sheets. They often traded on socialist-sounding slogans to create an image of holiday utopia where all were equally entitled to ogle bathing beauties. They also managed to make men proud of their knobbly knees and make those who had recently been prisoners of war feel like having fun in an environment that featured crowded accommodation and a perimeter fence. The holiday camp suffered when cheap foreign package holidays became popular, but they still cater for those on a tight budget. By contrast, the more modern and far costlier Centerparcs pretend not to be holiday camps, as they cater for the middle classes, who prefer a sun-blushed tomato to a tinned one. To me at least, Centerparcs simply feels like a Pontins with the addition of a wine list and a lack of karaoke.

  HOME INTERNATIONALS

  Nothing was such a large test of the bonds of the British nation as the Home Internationals, which was something akin to a civil war with referees and linesmen that took place annually from 1894 to 1984. A four-way football tournament between England, Northern Ireland, Scotland and Wales, the Home International Championships were a source of much rivalry, heavy drinking and fighting. Often overshadowed by larger competitions, such as the World Cup, the Home Internationals began a steep decline in 1977 when crowd trouble marred Scotland’s 2-1 victory over England at Wembley. Scots fans famously broke the crossbar of one goal and dug up parts of the pitch to take home as souvenirs. A pitch invasion also marked the moment that Scotland ‘became world champions’ defeating then actual world champions England 3-2 at Wembley. Northern Ireland is current holder of the championship title, having won the tournament in 1984. It has not been played since, as hooliganism and the troubles in Northern Ireland made it increasingly difficult to hold games safely and without incident.

  HOMOSEXUALITY

  It may have been illegal up until 1967 (in England and Wales, 1980 in Scotland and 1982 in Northern Ireland), but we in Britain have always had something of a liberal attitude to homosexuality, just so long as it is confined to those who work in the arts. After all, how would theatrical costumes be made and musical theatres financed were it not for gay men? And what would purveyors of sensible footwear do were it not for the lesbian market? Usually we have been accepting of overly camp grotesques such as Kenneth Williams (see carry on), but homophobia is still prevalent in largely male environments, especially in sports where crowd and players alike could not countenance the idea of an openly gay Premiership footballer. Homosexuality is now tolerated in the armed forces, though it was not so in the days of Field Marshal Montgomery, who said: ‘I have heard some say homosexual practices are allowed in France. We are not French… We are British – thank God!’ Though Monty did fail to mention that he might have been at least a little ‘bi-curious’, as they say in the personal ads.

  HOODIES

  These current folk devils have taken the place of scary youth cults of yore such as skinheads, Teddy boys and rockers. Hoodies are responsible for approximately 92 per cent of crime in Britain, with offences such as looking a bit suspicious, being quite warm and giving the finger to David Cameron topping the list of regular hoodie outrages. Scientists have discovered traces of evil chemicals in almost all of the ordinary high street-purchased hooded sweatshirts that they tested, proving that these garments have the potential to turn the most mild-mannered teenager into a granny-slashing tearaway. In 2006 a group of elderly men and women started to wear hoodies in an attempt to make them appear uncool and scare teenagers off wearing them, though they simply discovered that they were more susceptible to mugging from proper hoodies, as their own hoods lessened their peripheral vision.

  HORNBIES

  This term of abuse for middle-class (see class) fans of Arsenal Football Club has spread to become a catch-all phrase for Johnny-Come-Lately followers of the game who sit meekly in expensive seats and were not around when their team was performing badly (‘Where were you when you were shit?’ being one the chants aimed at Hornbies and other glory hunters). The name derives from that of author Nick Hornby, whose memoir Fever Pitch spoke of his love for his team, though fans of Arsenal and rival clubs have pointed out that his devotion did not extend to actually travelling to the away game at Liverpool where Arsenal secured the 1989 league title. Such behaviour may now be described as Hornby-ish or Hornby-ite. His enthusiasm for the game and the success of Fever Pitch made football seem safe for the middle classes and also coincided with the abolition of the standing terraced areas, as well as the growth of corporate hospitality and executive boxes.

  HORSE RACING

  Known colloquially as the Sport of Kings, horse racing is actually a sport that defies class. There are divisions that define which race courses you may attend and what stand or enclosure you may watch the race from, but it is enjoyed by everyone from the Queen to that scrotey-looking bloke who you regularly see at the newsagent buying a packet of Golden Virginia and a copy of Escort magazine. But you don’t have to physically go to the races to enjoy them. Britain’s streets are littered with bookmaker’s shops, which show racing all day and where you can lose your money on ridiculous accumulator bets without leaving your neighbourhood. Unlike racing itself, the existence of a bookmaker in your neighbourhood does send a message about class. If they outnumber the coffee chains you live in a working-class area, if the reverse is true then you live in a middle-class area. If you have someone to make your coffee, place your bets and muck out your racehorses then you live in an upper-class neighbourhood.

  HOUSE PRICES

  The discussion of how much your home cost, when you bought it, how much equity you have and what the local schools are like is threatening to overtake the weather as the premier topic of conversation in the UK. In an ever-spiralling escalation, this conversation drives homeowner anxiety, which drives sales, which drives prices, which drives more conversation about houses. The huge amount of property porn on television does not help, with men being tricked into watching by generously proportioned double-fronted properties such as Kirsty Allsop and Sarah Beeny. Before they know what they are thinking they are suddenly upgrading to a three-bedroom cottage on the Fens with a pied à terre in Northampton, even though they have lived in a one-bedroom flat in Belfast their whole life. Good schools with good reputations can make property prices rocket, so I try to keep prices low in my own neighbourhood by handing out baseball bats to local schoolchildren. I also steal their textbooks and kidnap the brightest ones when they are due to sit their GCSEs, thus artificially lowering the school’s league-table position.

  HP SAUCE

  This brown, fruity, spiced sauce was always seen as the perfect accompaniment to a fried breakfast, with its label featuring the Palace of Westminster and its initials standing for Houses of Parliament. Produced in Aston, in the Midlands, HP Sauce sat with Heinz tomato ketchup at the top of the condiment tree until 2007, when its production (along with that of Heinz tomato ketchup) was moved to Elst in Holland. Upon hearing news of the switch many patriotic Brits decided to boycott the sauce
, switching instead to the rival Daddies sauce, though this did seem to be out of annoyance at Europe in general rather than any particular siding with redundant workers. This boycott did not hit HP’s manufacturers as hard as some may expect, as Daddies sauce is also produced by Heinz, in Holland. Rival brand Branston suggested that HP replace their picture of Parliament with one of a windmill, though some may prefer the image of Traitor’s Gate.

  I

  ICELAND

  In the recent past it was the trades unions or even the Labour Party that looked out for the working classes of Britain, but this duty has now fallen to frozen food chain Iceland, who provide golden brown food at affordable prices. From each according to their transfat content to each according to their need to have something with oven chips for tea (see tea as a meal). To signify this down-to-earth approach, the supermarket employs chesty celebrity mum Kerry Katona as their public face. Katona was selected for the role because she is the same colour as most of the food on sale in the store, though she also gives off the subliminal message that it may be best enjoyed pissed.

  IMMIGRATION

  This single word is the most likely to stir up controversy in Britain and always has been. When the Romans and the Vikings became immigrants to our shores they tended not to bother about passports, visas or hanging off the underside of a Eurostar train, and they were met with the same suspicion as refugees or economic migrants are today. Rumours abounded that Vikings were being allowed to rape and pillage with impunity and even received central government funding to assist with some of the more difficult pillaging in outlying areas. Meanwhile, Romans were often spotted in the markets buying an excess of mead and driving the latest in chariots, which were rumoured to have been paid for out of social security cheques. In Britain, the question of immigration is mostly one of immediate concern. Our American cousins are proud to call themselves sixth-generation Irish or Italian, but after about two or three generations most immigrants become simply British, though sometimes retaining a suffix, such as British-Black or British-Asian. Oddly, these children of immigrants often have more sense of Britishness than those whose families have been here for generations, as these more established groups tend to divide into English, Scottish, Welsh or Irish. Racists are having trouble in recent years due to the sheer diversity of immigrants, thus leaving them unsure which race it is they currently dislike most, leading to embarrassing social difficulties when they want to abuse an individual.

  IMPERIAL MEASUREMENTS

  The 1970s saw the decimalisation of our currency and was also supposed to herald a switch over from miles to kilometres, pints to litres and fathoms to something more fathomable. But as a nation we stuck our fingers in our ears and went ‘la, la, la, la, la, I can’t hear you’, so the problem went away for a while. Some metric measurements did start to creep in, however, necessitating complex calculations by those in the building trade as they negotiated the problems of purchasing a metre of four-by-two or 250 cm of quarter- inch pipe. It was decided that changing speed limits to kph would probably cause accidents and that switching our pints of beer for litres would be similarly disastrous, as no man would want to be seen ordering a half-litre. EU regulations have seen the enforcement of metric weights and measures for the measurement of foodstuffs, but many market traders stood up against this imposition and this rebellion lead to the case of the so-called Metric Martyrs, who were deported to Australia in 2004. Other popular imperial measurements include the double-decker bus and the size of Wales. Wales is said to be the size of Wales, though no one has been able to measure it in double-decker buses as yet.

  INNIT

  This piece of punctuation can be used to end any sentence in Britain, providing a simple reaffirmation of the facts therein (It is well hot, innit?) or adding emphasis to the need for confirmation of a fact from a companion (Are you going to the cinema, innit?). The genius of the word, which is used in most sentences uttered by those still at school, is that it can be retrospectively applied to classic literature or speeches and still make sense. So, Shakespeare may ask ‘To be, or not to be, innit?’ while Churchill could have added emphasis with ‘Never in the field of human conflict has so much been owed by so many to so few, innit?’.

  INVENTORS

  Innovators, inventors and engineers have always been a huge part of what has driven Britain on to success across the world (see empire). Without these single-minded individuals we would never have become the force we did in global business and politics. Without William Caxton’s popularisation of printed works we would not have been at the apex of the literary world, without railway engineer and bridge builder Isambard Kingdom Brunel we would not have had the influence we did in infrastructure or the means to grow as an industrial nation, all of which was aided by Stephenson and his famed railway engines. Nowadays we look to the likes of James Dyson and clockwork radio inventor Trevor Bayliss to lead the way, though most of our inventors now find themselves being quizzed on TV business show Dragons’ Den. Obviously Caxton would not have fared so well on the show himself, as it would have been a bit hard to get Theo Paphitis or Peter Jones to invest in printing when no one could actually read and not many books had been written for public consumption. In fact, female Dragon Deborah Meaden would have made him cry like a baby and would probably have given him a Chinese burn for good measure.

  IRN BRU

  Curing Scottish hangovers from primary school to nursing home, Irn Bru is the sticky-sweet beverage that claims to be made in Scotland from girders but is actually manufactured by wringing out wasps that have settled in cans of Tizer (see tizer). Like the super-expensive Kopi Luwak coffee beans that have been partially digested and excreted by small mammals, this process makes for a smoother, purer red fizzy pop. If you spot a Scotsman searching through the bins in your town centre it is highly likely that they are one of Irn Bru’s highly skilled ‘harvesters’, whose job it is to track down the Tizery wasps.

  IT’S A KNOCKOUT

  It may have been adapted from a French television show, but this mix of obstacle courses and ridiculous outfits captured the hearts of our nation, and even leading to It’s a Royal Knockout in 1987, where Princess Anne, Prince Andrew, Prince Edward and the Duchess of York took part in a celebrity-studded edition of the game. Pitting British town against British town, the contest sought to reveal whether the people of Slough were better than the people of Dundee or Dungannon when it came to carrying buckets of water while dressed as a giant and wearing outsized shoes. Whatever happened, host Stuart Hall would collapse with laughter, while co-host Eddie Waring would mutter something unintelligible. The show really came into its own in the international edition, when Minehead could be up against Munich and Marseilles. This truly became the peoples’ Olympics, when a baker would compete with a builder and a doctor with a docker. Attempts have been made to bring the show back, but it was very much of it’s time, and peaked in 1973 when Britain’s entry into the Common Market was decided in a special edition of the show that pitted Barnsley against Basel and Oslo.

  J

  JERUSALEM

  This William Blake poem, set to music by Hubert Parry in 1916, is what many, especially those on the political right, would like to see as an English anthem (see national anthem). This is mainly because the verse sounds stirring, nationalistic and certainly more rousing than our current British dirge. The poem talks about the possibility that Jesus may have visited England, with the most likely site being Glastonbury in the years before the annual festival got all commercial and you had to be on the internet at the very moment that tickets went on sale. So far, so ridiculously unfounded you may think, but the main problem is the opening line of the poem. ‘And did those feet in ancient time, walk upon England’s mountains green?’ it asks. The obvious answer is: ‘No, now let’s move on’. Things get trickier as the poem goes on, talking about not allowing your sword to sleep in your hand until we have built Jerusalem on a brown field site somewhere with good access to the M4. This is before we even ge
t to the question of what Jerusalem should look like and if it should have affordable housing as a condition of planning consent being granted. Obviously it would have a Tesco, Starbucks and drive-thru McDonalds, while the multiplex cinema would only show Chariots Of Fire.

  JORDAN

  The pneumatic model, whose real name is Katie Price, has been locked in a breast-size arms race with herself since she first appeared on the Sun’s Page 3 (see page 3). Having augmentation surgery meant that she could no longer fulfil Page 3’s ‘natural only’ policy, but her ever-swelling chest lead her on to a career that has seen her become one of the nation’s best-known and highest-earning celebrities. Something of a constant contradiction, she often confounds and then confirms expectations of her. Her astute business decision to retain copyright over most photographs of her means that she even makes money when newspapers are slating her, though she didn’t do herself many favours by standing for Parliament in 2001 on a platform for free plastic surgery for all, backed by the slogan ‘for a bigger and betta future’. Jordan is now a bestselling author, which helps to fund her continuing surgery. Her recent breast reduction surgery upset the chiefs of English Heritage, who were preparing to slap a Grade II listing on the star’s cleavage, reasoning that it is such a recognisable part of British Culture that it should be preserved in its prime. This would have meant that Jordan would have had to consult the preservation body before making any material alterations and that Peter Andre would have to notify them in writing before gaining access to this site of national importance.