Being English, like being French, Russian, Japanese, or any other nationality, is not simply a matter of where or to whom you are born. To that is added life experience and the attitudes, behaviour, outlook and opinions that you absorb, assimilate and adopt throughout your life. It is progressive process involving both personal development and the embracing of shared community activities and values. You grow into your identity; you grow into who you are; you grow into being English. My learning curve began in the 1940's and 50's, in what was then semi rural and rural north-west Kent where people still lived in defined villages. Today those “villages” have been devoured and assimilated into the concrete monster that is expanded London. Gone are many of the village greens, small shops and schools that I recall, but I digress. In my growing up, I was blessed with the accompaniment of parents and grandparents of the war generations, along with a wide extended family of aunts and uncles. My grandparents had fought in and survived the First World War, going on to keep the home fires burning when The Second World War came along. There they successfully dodged bombs and rockets, while my parents joined that war effort. Thankfully they all came through it but, without question, they were inevitably marked by their direct involvement in human conflict. To have actually experienced the absolute awfulness of trench warfare and then, just over twenty years later, to crouch under your kitchen table while a seemingly invincible war-machine dropped bombs all around you, doubtless coloured the wisdom, heritage and values they embraced as being part and parcel of being English. I would like to think I absorbed and embraced much of it, and still hold it dear to this day. In those days immediately following the end of “the war” even as a small child, all around where Kent bordered London, there was unmissable evidence of cataclysmic destruction. The home of my paternal grandmother, living in Woolwich, was surrounded by whole areas where houses had been destroyed as a result of the Luftwaffe targetting Woolwich Arsenal and London's docks. These “bomb sites” became our playground. We rode our scooters and bicycles through what had very recently been living rooms and kitchens. Rationing was still in operation. Some foodstuffs were only available if you had, not just money, but tear-off coupons to give to the butcher or grocer. Just about everything was in short supply. Nothing, especially food and clothing was wasted. Nothing was thrown away, until it was clear that no amount of repairs or bodging-up could squeeze any more life out of it. My general memory was of a happy time. Despite almost all materials being scarce, there was a real sense of community. Everyone knew everyone. People had come together to fight a war, and that togetherness just carried on after the fighting stopped. One of the first things for me about being English was just that, life maybe tough, but your don't complain, you might even make a joke about it. Another was that was a cup of tea was a balm for almost every occasion. There was a problem; let's have a cuppa and think about it. You fell off your bike; let's put a plaster on it and have a nice cup of tea. Tea was so much more than a drink. There was resilience. There was community. You got on with it, you had each other's back and, most importantly, you didn't give up. Qualities of Englishness a certain Mr Hitler apparently never understood. For a small boy growing up in all this “togetherness” could be a bit restricting if you wanted to get up to a bit of mischief as almost anything you did would be observed, and the observer, almost certainly, would know your parents or the village bobby [policeman].

Good morning and welcome to the world of increasing senility. As I struggle to pull my socks on, I try to remember just when it was my knee joints started to crack. Going into the kitchen I boil a kettle to make a cup of tea and then wonder why it is I'm trying to put, not just the milk back in the fridge, but also the electric kettle, and puzzle for a moment as to why it doesn't fit. Ain't live grand! Finally, realising the futility of my efforts, I turn on the TV to find what I knew I would. Today's version of Armageddon accompanied by forecasts of economic implosion. It crosses what's left of my mind, that the nightmare I had woken from this particular morning, which featured zombies working in cornish tin mines was preferable. Strange that! Unfortunately I will have to venture out to the supermarket today as my supply of pork pies is running low. The view from the front window is not too encouraging - damp and dank. Let's hope the car starts. She's getting on a bit, like me, and the cold and the damp get to her as well. Now, what's that that has suddenly illuminated the eastern sky? Could it be the sun, bringing with it a hint of warmth to loosen my old joints? Let's go and see. Bye for now.

The late, great Sean Lock was a genius and a real ambassador of true Brit humour. He is sadly missed. https://youtu.be/-m054hsCFr8?si=y-1voIuYmcKk7h9z

“All things English” - What are the common attitudes and behavioural traits that meld together to produce an Englishman or English woman. When you start contemplating that it produces another question - Blimey, how long have you got? That founding objective for this site certainly guarantees an endless umbrella for comment and debate. So while the state of play is at the “genesis” stage, I though I would seize the initiative and disturb the tranquillity of this empty pool by jumping right in. That in itself is a demonstration of an English characteristic. Namely, get in there before anyone else does! So where do we start? For me, and apparently at the top of the list of many a foreign [not English] Johnny or Janet, is our love of queueing. Why is it that, when resources are being distributed or public transport is being used the English, usually without direction, form themselves into an orderly line? For me, it speaks of another characteristic, “fair play”, but it took a Russian born immigrant Konstantin Kisin speaking recently on YouTube to remind me how much more is encapsulated in queueing. He used a one word definition, and that was “civilisation”. The more I thought about it, the more my head started nodding. In this seemly simple action is contained so many other bits of Englishness. There is fairness and equality. Whether or not you are the biggest or the strongest or of exalted social standing, you wait your turn. Within that, allowances are made for those with obvious difficulties like infirmity or pregnancy. That consideration leads on to cooperation. Not only are the vulnerable considered but the order of the queue is defended. Just try and jump a queue to hear a crescendo of tut-tutting. There is silent order and a coming together to achieve mutual benefit. Anything else just “isn't cricket”. Now cricket – that's a subject for another day. Fingers are showing signs of fatigue. That's all for now. Nurse, the screens!

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