Cool Britannia

I really do believe there’s only one country in the world where people would turn up for a concert in a car park at the end of 3 weeks of unseasonably cold and wet weather to watch an evening of music from a brass band and a symphony orchestra. In fact it’s a testament to their national pride that not only do they turn up in their thousands, they bring champagne, cool boxes (the temperature has barely dared above 17 celcius for the last month or so), patio furniture and wigs, waving small union jack flags.

For the last few years now the newspapers, and I’m excluding The Daily Mail here, have been asking where “the peoples'” sense if national identity and national pride have gone. Where everyone who holds bulldogs, stiff upper-lips and bowler hats in high esteem is hiding. Now I can answer that question. They’re all in car parks on Saturday evenings roused into a standing regimental posture from their teak patio chairs belting out Land of Hope and Glory whilst clutching little plastic union jack flags.

People say that the the country is now too polite to boast its successes, and that political correctness has made us embarrassed to show our national pride, but nobody told these people. With picnic rugs spread across the grass and wearing enough layers to restock their local Primark store, it was like middle-england’s answer to the Gay Pride parade. Sure, they listened politely to music by Wagner, classical music’s closest ally to Hitler, and Nessum Dorma briefly reminded us of past World Cup losses, but it was just a polite nod to other countries before the main attraction. The British Sea songs and music from local hero Elgar, and man whose mustache was reportedly the inspiration for both the set-square and the spirit level.

Then we reached Rule Britannia and they began to come out of their shells. I have no doubt that everyone was aware that they were in the middle of a field, but we had the spirit of the front lines of World War One. It’s a song which has lost much of it’s meaning. We no longer rule the waves, as we have a navy of sailors who cry if someone takes away their Ipods. We’ve also been nice to our Scottish friends by removing the verse about them. But in the light of recent attempts at creating public anxiety and fear there was a heightened sentiment as they sang ‘Britains never ever ever shall be slaves’. I defy even those most floppy-haired liberal to sit in front of thousands of people singing that and not at least feel a small wibble deep in the cockles of their hearts and a tiny quiver down their spine.

And then it occurred to me. American children pledge allegiance to the flag every morning at school. I think I can cure teenage delinquency, stop those people whose week reaches a pinnacle as they urinate on public statues every Friday. It’s very simple – everyone must sing Rule Britannia once a week. It doesn’t have to be public. We could open football matches with it. It could be piped out in lifts. Radio 2 could play it every day before Jeremy Vine comes on to talk about religious unease with his usual editorial slant based on the ramblings of the Daily Mail.

There’s only one possible drawback I can see. Ultimately, we’ll all be standing out in fields waving plastic flags and drinking champagne from plastic cups off of plastic furniture and I have a feeling the rest of the world will be watching thinking we’ve all gone cuckoo…