First and foremost, I’m English, not British, and I’m as proud of being English as the Scots, Welsh and Irish are of their birthright. It’s not a perfect country, but I happen to think it’s the best place to live there is. Even these uneasy days, there’s a tolerance that’s rare elsewhere, and above all a supreme sense of humour, wedded to a conviction that there’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a nice cup of tea.
It’s not the place I remember from my childhood, of course: for better and worse there’s been change that would have astonished my parents… but you can’t live in the past forever, and I for one wouldn’t care to go back to when I was born, with an outside toilet and no central heating. That said, in some – many – ways times were better back then. Much more than now, there was a true spirit of community, of belonging. I miss that, and social media is no substitue whatsoever. In particular, children seem to be missing out on having a childhood.
The physical country never fails to enchant and enthrall me: so much history, so many fascinating little corners. I cannot think of any other country where the gentle landscape forms such an important part of the national character. Even now, it can move me to tears with its sheer understated beauty.
England… my country, and I love it so.
