We are an anxious public, self conscious, island dwelling, afraid that we can be seen from all sides. I think this is why so many of us live in terraces, closely and suspiciously and lending each other sugar. This is why we wear hats. We feel safest in cars, so are most likely to be rude when behind a steering wheel.
We understand dogs. We often feel like dogs: under dogs, bull dogs, mad dogs. We appreciate doggishness: loyalty and obedience. Cat loving is somehow un British.
We fear water. British men can look very dubious on beaches, squinting at the horizon as if waiting for a fleet of invaders. And floods. Our rivers are always swelling. But if they do, and we must float down the high street on an upturned table, you can be sure we will be cheery, waving heroically, helping our neighbours, for we are good at disaster. There is a kind of British joy that explodes when the worst happens. We can really make the best of things. We join together in adversity.
Things must be fair. You must never jump queues. If someone bumps into you, you say 'sorry.' You say 'after you.' But inside we are seething with rage, furious with the women with a large hat who obscures our view, and impatient with bad service, even though we are so used to it, that it can make us oddly secure.
We are always watching to see if something unfair is happening. If it does we bristle, turn bright red, and simmer like a large kettle.
And sometimes the simmering erupts and we begin to dance and roar and turn wild. The Great British Public can go mental and dance naked all night round a blazing fire, as if something within us misses the days of public hangings and burnings. But the next day we will be stiff as cardboard boxes, folded in on ourselves, the opposite of fun, for the Great British Public is a connoisseur of embarrassment. We are skilled at falling from dignity, at losing face, at slipping on banana skins, and it's usually when everything seemed to be going so well. You are never safe. But if this happens you must laugh at yourself.
We laugh at ourselves a lot. We watch ourselves being British, going to garden centres on Sundays, and IKEA (we feel uncomfortable about IKEA, but it's so cheap). We throw pancakes in the air, roll cheeses down hills, and we have broken all the pianos in Cornwall, for we love an eccentric ritual, especially when we have forgotten why it is we must do these things.
We are territorial, in our gardens, our cars, our beach huts, on our rugs in parks. We like tea with cold milk, hot water bottles, views, real fires, greaseproof paper, enamel mugs and calor gas. A part of us all longs to live in a wood.
We like a uniform, a face with no expression. We like both upper and lower lips. We like things buttoned up, but we also like to see them fall apart. We do not always like ourselves. We are nervous that our hearts will come undone and that we might leak
We believe in justice. We will come out of our houses in our thousands to express our views about the war in Iraq, joining together to tell our politicians that this is not what we want, not what we had in mind. We will tie ourselves to railings, climb trees, be passionate and true. And if no one listens, we shall never forget that we were not listened to, for the Great British Public has a long memory, and is not easily fooled.
We are turnip eaters, marmite spreaders, boiled egg spooners, princess lovers, sofa dwellers, and we are unlikely to say that anything is totally wonderful, or to agree with one another, for we like to be un British, to tell ourselves that we are different to the rest. We are all outsiders, looking for our lost tribe.
Copyright © 2004, Julia Darling
The Great British Public was broadcast on BBC Radio 4's Off The Page in the week beginning 29th February 2004, and repeated on Pick of the Week.
On other pages: How To Behave With The Ill, Inside Out, National Poetry Day 2004, Sudden Blossoms, The Manifesto For Tyneside Upon England, The Lost Birds of England, Attachments, Cold Calling, The Writer's Choice, Personal Belongings, The Last Post and Posties, Doughnuts like Fanny's and Eating the Elephant.
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Created by Julia Darling and Cornwell Internet. |
Last updated on 3 April 2004 by Roger Cornwell.
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