Ahhh … Mrs Sun. Brown knees. Red noses. That sleepy feeling – when the heat drags out what little energy you have left and you’re really up for a snooze.
But! How does that work? How come our miserable country with its wind and rain, its Brexit loons and high streets full of charity shops, hit the highs of 25 degrees and an early summer calmness? Could it be the wedding? You know … the one between the American chick and the English bloke. I bet Meghan didn’t want to grow up to be a princess. I bet she had greater ambitions than that. A high-flying lawyer. A UN ambassador. The president of the US (yes, please). But, she’s gone and done it now. She’ll be kissing babies forever … but.
Maybe not. Maybe, even though they’ll never be King and Queen, maybe, just maybe, they’ll help drag this jingoistic country into the 21st Century. Remind the old and uneducated that we are the world’s entrepreneurs. That our arts are the best. That our history enables us to see through the popularist politics of today. That we are indeed sat at the world’s breakfast table – helping others to toast and marmalade. That we are for the common good – the whole world’s common good. We helped forge this planet – we discovered its shores, mapped its coastline, built its bridges, laid its traintracks and, with the help of the Sinclair C5 and Heath Robinson, proved that we are innovators and fixers. Our smart double-breasted suits are sharp and in fashion – and are worn to take us all forward, not to make Britain great again. Because we are already great. They’re worn because we want to help make everyone else great.
Our artists and musicians, even that young ginger bloke, are at the leading edge of what is excellent. Our comedians are funny – in a non-German sort of way. And our scientists know their onions – and our climate change experts know a lot about carbon dioxide. We now produce more energy with wind power (its those onions again), solar and biofuel electricity than coal and gas – which, let’s face it, are so ‘the previous-but-one century’. And we are not a bunch of small-minded, xenophobic gammons who want to pull up the drawbridge and stick two fingers up at the rest of the world. We are, by history, a country of invaders – of immigrants, and proud of that diversity. We don’t care what your religion is. Nor do we look at you in a funny way if you’re a person of colour. Or if you wear a headscarf – (like Ena Sharpels). Or if you’re gay – or any other letter in the ever extending acronym. Because we are all multicultural, multi-ethnic, multi-religion, multi-gender British. When we’re like that we are great. Really we are.
Because of all that.
So well done to the English bloke and the American (is she Canadian?) chick for making that point yesterday – in spades. Stuff you lot who think otherwise. If you want to live on both a physical and metaphorical island, then pack your bags and move to … I don’t know. I could say the US, but they won’t give you a visa. And when you eventually get your paperwork sorted out His Trumpkleness will be behind bars and you will no longer want to go over the Pond as they won’t be selling guns across the counter at Walmart.
Me? I’m staying – I think. We live in a small street which has at least 3 Polish residents. And they’re great. Professional and charming. They’ve worked hard to speak our language and worked harder still at fixing other people’s plumbing. They don’t moan about the state of anything – they just get on with it. And so should we.
Oh … and for the record. Mary came to stay to watch the wedding. I extended the patio and today we went out to NT Tyntesfield. It was fab. And Mrs Sun was omnipresent. Just perfect.