We're British, Innit

by Iain Aitch

  MILKMAN

  The milkman, or ‘dairy-based produce dispersal node’ as they should probably be called nowadays, is very much an endangered species in our society, yet one we still hold dear to our hearts. This fondness is so strong that many of us feel inclined to beep and wave as we drive past the milkman and his electric cart on our way to the out-of-town supermarket where we buy our milk. Like the postman, the milkman provides a useful social service, for it is they who are often first to notice uncollected milk on the doorstep, which may mean an elderly customer may have fallen ill or passed away. These selfless vendors of semi-skimmed think nothing of breaking down a door and raising the alarm, having first rooted around the customer’s stricken body to see if they have the £3.50 to settle last week’s bill. The milkman is also a popular character in British comedy, often being seen as some kind of door-to-door lothario who has a regular appointment with any woman who has ever donned a negligee and pair of fluffy mules. Often jokingly said to be the father of unexpected babies or those who bear no resemblance to their father.

  MINI

  From its inception, this car showed off everything that was good about post-war ingenuity and invention in Britain, mixing style with practicality in a package that the whole world admired. Designed by Greek-Briton Sir Alex Issigonis, the Mini provided a practical, compact, fuel-efficient car and a fillip to the car manufacturing industry with its affordable good looks and ability to slip straight into the growing pop culture. Produced from 1959 to 2000, the Mini was seen as the antithesis of the American gas-guzzler and was associated with the swinging sixties, the best of British rally driving and landed high-profile roles in films such as The Italian Job. The car’s handling may not have been the best and it may have been a little cramped, but it has become an icon of Britain, as recognisable as Big Ben, the Routemaster bus or the Union Flag. After being killed off in 2000 the Mini came back in 2001 as a kind of evil, undead version. Now manufactured by BMW and much larger in size, the car looked similar but behaved differently, appealing almost exclusively to estate agents. What had once marked a Briton out as cool now marks them out as an arse.

  MINI SKIRT

  London designer Mary Quant is credited with kick-starting the sexual revolution with this minimal garment in 1965. Quant’s chic innovation brought the skirt way up above the knees (which was something that men had been struggling to do on the back seats of cars since the 1950s) and left little to the imagination, with some christening the tiny garment the ‘pussy pelmet’. The mini skirt was a boon to those who admired stick-thin girls with great legs that went on forever as well as for those who preferred homely girls with blotchy thighs. The mini skirt went on to become the official costume of Tyneside, where proud Geordie women can be seen celebrating their regional identity every Friday night in the pubs and bars around the Bigg Market. Local legend has it that if you hold back a mini-skirted girl’s long hair while she vomits into the gutter then you will marry the following summer.

  MODEL VILLAGES

  These tiny replicas of the real world used to be a feature of almost every seaside town, capturing Britain in miniature and in time. Mostly built before the television age, the wooden models portrayed an idyllic Britain of village greens, bobbies on bicycles and people on their way to church in their Sunday best. The very best model villages had a model village of the model village in them, which in turn would feature the model of the model of the model village, and so on. In one case a model village model maker in Torquay was sucked into an infinity vortex and never seen again. Some model villages still survive, with the Bekonscot model village in Buckinghamshire being one of the finest examples. The village, which was built in 1929 features a tiny model of British literary icon Enid Blyton (see blyton, enid) as well as some wonderful business names, like the firm of solicitors known as Argue and Twist.

  MONARCHY

  The debate over whether we should or should not have a monarchy in Britain looks no nearer to going away in the twenty-first century. As we are a constitutional monarchy (without an actual constitution) (see constitution) the Queen has no real power, but she does get a good deal of taxpayers’ money and as many stamps as she likes. Many say that the monarchy is outdated, outmoded and costly, though others claim that the monarchy is worth keeping for diplomacy, trade and tourism reasons. Personally, I believe we should keep the royals but switch the funding from the taxpayer to the TV licence fee payer, with a one-hour fly on the wall-style update on BBC3 each night and a live online feed from all royal palaces and visits. Obviously Prince Philip would have to be kept locked up until after the watershed, but the entertainment, oddity and freakish behaviour would far outstrip anything that Big Brother or The Osbournes could muster. If things got dull then we could vote in new members of the monarchy, with Prince Doherty and Princess Winehouse being two obvious candidates.

  MONTY PYTHON

  Derived from the Latin for ‘students will still be repeating this 40 years later and thinking they are hilarious’, Monty Python was the name given to the grouping of six writers, performers and artists whose surreal sense of humour was allowed to run wild in the BBC television show Monty Python’s Flying Circus, as well as in a number of feature films. Dispensing with the boundaries of traditional sketch comedy, the Python team created a safe interpretation of the satire boom, unwittingly creating memorable catchphrases and unforgettable sketches. Even now it is hard to talk about childhood hardship with someone intoning the Four Yorkshiremen sketch or to return a deceased tropical bird to a pet shop without suddenly realising you are banging it on the counter shouting ‘wake up Polly’ while you and the shopkeeper have fits of giggles. Many Americans believe that Monty Python is the only funny thing ever to have come out of Britain. This explains why they always enquire ‘What, like Monty Pie- Thon?’ when you try to tell them about something both British and amusing, which is really fucking annoying.

  MORRIS DANCING

  Debate still rages over whether or not the name of the style of dance most associated with Britain (though it is more or less exclusively English) derives from ‘Moorish dancing’ or if it was simply dreamt up by some bloke called Morris who was a bit odd. But either way this complex mix of steps, stick banging and handkerchief waving has a pretty poor reputation among the natives. Visitors from abroad find it quaint and charming, as we do their national dances, but the combination of beards, flowers and bells is a turn-off for most Brits. Despite this general disdain, Morris dancing is on the rise again, with some goths figuring out that they may as well have a go, as they are already figures of fun. The sticks also come in handy for beating off teenagers who may attack them or ridicule their black, ragged outfits, with which they have replaced the traditional white Morris attire. A well-used anonymous witticism, often misattrib-uted to Oscar Wilde, states that you should ‘try anything once except incest or Morris dancing’, which is easier said than done if you were born in Norfolk.

  MUSHY PEAS

  This gloopy accompaniment to fish and chips is made by soaking wholly unappealing sounding marrowfat peas overnight before simmering them and adding a little sugar. Green food colouring is sometimes added, with mint being another possible addition for taste and colour, though this is horribly, horribly wrong. Some fancy restaurants will try to commune with the peasants by serving mashed petit pois as mushy peas, which should probably be a capital offence. For those who don’t feel there are enough deep-fried components in their fish and chip supper, some takeaways offer the pea fritter, which is a wondrous fistful of mushy peas that have been battered and thrown in the fryer. Former Labour MP Peter Mandelson was said to have once confused mushy peas with guacamole, but this is an apocryphal tale credited to former Labour Party leader Neil Kinnock, who transposed the indiscretion of an American party worker to make it appear that Mandelson was out of touch with the common man.

  MUSTN’T GRUMBLE

  Oft-suggested as the two words that should be on a British coat of arms, this is a phrase that you wil
l hear across the nation, especially when one Brit asks another how they are. The beauty of the phrase is that it is often used as the punctuation at the end of a lengthy list of complaints. ‘Well, my hip’s playing up again and you should have heard the noise from next door last night, mind you her at number 22 should do something about that gate, I think Eastenders is getting worse you know, my Jack has a cough again, have you seen the price of petrol? Still, mustn’t grumble.’ The phrase can also be a signifier of the stoicism that we are famed for (see stiff upper lip), with many simply talking about their cancer or the wife they have lost before ending with a cheery ‘mustn’t grumble’. The use of the phrase was picked up by cockney music duo Chas and Dave, who recorded a song of the same name, which would probably make a passable national anthem.

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  NATIONAL ANTHEM

  There is no denying that Britain’s current national anthem, God Save The Queen – not to be confused with the Sex Pistols track of the same name, especially if you have them both on your iPod and have to play the correct one on an important public occasion – is a bit of a dirge. No one really knows who wrote it, so there is no one we can blame. Maybe if there were and we knew they were a nasty piece of work or, say, German then we might have an excuse to try out a new one. It has been around since at least 1744, though it is increasingly being seen to be the anthem of England and some parts of Northern Ireland, as Scotland and Wales have largely abandoned it for any national events. The Welsh prefer Land of My Fathers and the Scots usually plump for Flower of Scotland, and it is hard to blame them, especially as the sixth (largely unofficial) verse of God Save The Queen contains a line about crushing rebellious Scots. Alternatives such as Jerusalem and Land of Hope and Glory are often offered up as viable alternatives, though none seems to fit for Britain as a whole. Themes from The Archers (see the archers) or even Match of the Day could work and have the right upbeat feel, though it would be hard to trust anyone to come up with lyrics that would work for a twenty-first-century Britain. Monty Python’s Always Look on the Bright Side of Life is another popular suggestion that crops up regularly, but not all Britons could manage the difficult whistling parts.

  NATIONAL HEALTH SERVICE

  The NHS was founded by the National Health Service Act of 1946 and was brought into being in 1948, with the aim of providing ‘free’ healthcare to anyone that needed it. The NHS is now one of the world’s largest workforces, with around 1.3 million staff and a budget of over £100 billion, which is funded by taxation. Cuts in funding and increases in the services that have to be paid for are a constant political controversy, though our love of its nurses has been a constant throughout its existence and the largely female workforce are seen as both national treasures who deserve more than they earn and lightly-starched sex objects who might give you a quick flash as they empty a bedpan. This image was fostered by the Carry On series of films (see carry on), which showed nurses in short, tight uniforms. Replicas in this style can now be purchased at the likes of Ann Summers, or so I am told. Those of a more ‘specialist’ persuasion will be reassured that these uniforms do come in Bernard Bresslaw size. Government ministers will sometimes use NHS facilities, rather than go private, though only when they think it will improve their image and their ailment is no more serious than an ingrown toenail. These rare hospital stays also allow them to participate in experiments surrounding the efficacy of drinking nurse ‘s urine in tea. Results are expected to be published anonymously on the internet somewhere around 2014.

  NATIONAL LOTTERY

  It has often been labelled a ‘tax on stupidity’, usually by those who have never experienced the thrill of getting four numbers quite near to the actual ones drawn out during a double rollover, but the National Lottery has become an integral part of our lives since the first draw in 1994. Many of us are members of a workplace syndicate, while others are casual players who only buy a ticket when there is a big win on offer. Obviously this is a completely illogical state of affairs, as these players are, in effect, saying that they can’t really be bothered to win £2 million, but they might just manage to get out of bed and down to the corner shop if there is £5 million or more on offer. Since the launch of the National Lottery the game has expanded to take in several different drawers, with varying and increasingly complex ways of playing. This means that the draws themselves should take approximately one minute to complete, though the whole process is wrapped up in a light entertainment show that goes on for about six hours, or at least it seems that way.

  NATIONAL TRUST

  This society for preservation of monuments, buildings and countryside in Britain has become one of the largest landowners in the country since its inception in 1895. A National Trust sticker on a car is very much a middle-class signifier, which can move a battered Volvo or Morris Minor up the social scale. It says: ‘Yes, my car may be falling apart, but I am your intellectual and moral superior’. During the Cold War a secret plan was hatched to only allow National Trust members access to nuclear shelters. This would guarantee a caring, middle class that would be able to rebuild the nation with dry stone walls and forge a better future through craft-weaving practices. Trust members were also considered the part of the population least likely to riot over food shortages.

  NATION OF ANIMAL LOVERS

  We are famed for being sentimental about soft fluffy animals as well as for the time and energy we devote to caring for our pets. In France, all animals are merely something to force-feed and then wash down with a glass of red wine; in Britain we buy them Christmas presents. Charities like the Royal Society for the Protection of Animals receive vast sums from wills each year and we have even started to feed cats and dogs with gourmet equivalents to our own ready-meals, and sometimes we even hide the packaging from them so they believe we cooked it ourselves.

  NELSON

  Admiral Lord Nelson, Horatio to his friends, is one of the most celebrated Britons largely due to his efforts in the 1805 Battle of Trafalgar, which lead to a victory over the Spanish and French fleets, as well as his own untimely demise. Nelson was seen as a master of battle tactics, with his head-on attacks confounding the opposition. His last words are often misquoted as being ‘kiss me Hardy’, but this was said sometime before he died from a bullet wound. His last actual recorded words were: ‘Drink, drink. Fan, fan. Rub, rub’. Many British men repeat these words as a tribute to the great naval hero whenever they visit a lap-dancing club or massage parlour. The Admiral is immortalised in London’s Trafalgar Square, where Nelson’s Column features an 18-foot statue of him atop a 181-foot column.

  NET CURTAINS

  These flimsy pieces of fabric act as both social defence and helpful cover from which to spy on the neighbours. A decent pair (preferably from John Lewis) should prevent anyone from seeing in and realising what a mess your living room is in and also allow you to see exactly what it is that number 23 are having delivered. Nets of sufficient density should enable you to see boring neighbours or friends dropping by before they can see you, thus enabling you to perform the drop-and-roll manoeuvre, before crawling on your belly to the safety of the kitchen.

  NEWSNIGHT

  As well as actually being an intelligent news programme that covers world news and politics as comprehensively as it does home stories, Newsnight is a very British affair. Its principal presenter is the spiky Jeremy Paxman, who manages to combine being deadly serious with pugnacious fun as only a Brit can. Paxman often openly sniggers at the standard answers that come from politicians and in 1997 asked former Home Secretary Michael Howard exactly the same question twelve times in quick succession, with Howard squirming and trying to give a mildly different reply each time. The introduction of attractive economic editor Stephanie Flanders has even brought a flirtatious overtone to financial news, with many hoping that Flanders may eventually present a report from Paxman’s knee. The highbrow show introduced a weather report in 2005, which was to replace the stock market report. This was treated with disdain by viewers and p
resenters alike, with Paxman once reporting ‘It’s a veritable smorgasbord. Sun, rain, thunder, hail, snow, cold, wind.’ The weather report was dropped soon afterwards, proving that British maxim which decrees if you don’t like a job then do it badly and in a really half-arsed way until someone else decides that it just isn’t worth the hassle and asks you to stop.

  NIGHTIES

  The cold winter weather in Britain means that nightwear is often essential. For men, the choice is limited to pyjamas or a T-shirt and boxers, but women must make a choice that will define them as either minx or matron. This is because the choice of nighties is limited to something revealing that will bring milkmen (see milkman) to their knees or something in winceyette that can be used by the NHS as a visual antidote to a Viagra overdose. Doctors have found that adding teddy bears saying cutesy phrases to the garment can significantly decrease treatment times.

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  OAK TREES

  The British love trees and every schoolboy is familiar with the dates when horse chestnut trees bear their fruit. But it is the oak that we hold in greatest esteem, admiring it for its size and power as much as its historical importance. It is most famous for being the kind of tree that King Charles II hid in when escaping from the Roundheads after the 1651 Battle of Worcester. The tree in question was then named the Royal Oak, inspiring a plethora of pub names. An oak was also said to have been the base of operations for Robin Hood and his band of outlaws and famous Brits have hiden in their branches throughout the ages; Edward Heath hollowed out a large oak near his home shortly after Britain joined the Common Market and David Beckham spent two weeks in one after his sending-off in the 1998 World Cup Finals.