Wednesday, April 19, 2006
I KNEW THAT PATRIOTISM WAS HIDDEN SOMEWHERE...
I had a thoroughly lovely Easter. No really, I'm not even being sarcastic.
Sometimes in London it's easy to forget what's great about England and being English. Most of the time I live a life probably not that different to life in any other city, with it's mish mash of influences and cultures (but with better high street clothes). I've often listened to London based friends from other countries complain about the food and the lack of culture. I can't think how to explain that we do have culture, and good food, you just wont find it if your experience of England is limited to a 2 mile radius of Oxford Circus, and you refuse to associate with English people. I am apparently an exception, not being like a 'typical' English person. I used to take this as a compliment but really it now seems like another back handed way to slag off the English. I am not 'typical' because my diet isn't based on processed food, I don't dress like Jordan and I don't holiday in Ayia Napa. Well, neither does anyone else I know.
Anyway, veering away from the negativity and back to the loveliness...
What's great about England and being English? The Sunday papers, long country walks with the (cover your ears Lola) dogs, stopping for a pint and a bloody mary at the village pub, gorgeous home cooked meals, home made bread, amazing cheeses, having the correct alcoholic beverage to go with each and every thing you consume, aggressive CROQUET matches, waking up to the sound of birds tweeting and a view of green hills, people who say 'good morning' when you pass them on a path, the explosion of colour from daffodils, hyacinths and blossom everywhere. On our walk - more of a clamber up an extremely steep hill I was introduced to the ancient (apparently) tradition of egg rolling, where swarms of local kiddies roll brightly painted eggs(they might not be painted, I didn't actually see any eggs but that would make it even more fun, and easier to identify your egg, no?) down the hill.
Now home and posting to the dulcet tones of a police siren, I must remember to get out of the city more often.