We're British, Innit

by Iain Aitch

  OLD MONEY

  Pre-decimal currency was a three-tier system of such inane complexity that even the simplest of purchases required a logarithm book, pen and paper to work out. German spies during World War II were said to often hand themselves in when faced with the near-impossible task of splitting a bill into pounds, shillings and pence in the local tea rooms. This was especially difficult for the newcomer, as each coin had its own nickname, which often had nothing to do with its value. Working things out in old money is a favourite pastime of Britain’s retired population, and they can often be heard exclaiming loudly how expensive something is when you recalculate it in old money. ‘Thirty pence for an apple? You must be joking. That is two pounds, four groats and a cat’s bicycle in old money. You could have bought this whole street for that back when I was a boy.’ Pounds, shillings and pence were abbreviated to Lsd, which made even less sense than the bizarre system of how many pennies made a shilling and may simply have been a reference to the kind of drugs taken by the person who invented the system in the first place.

  ORDNANCE SURVEY

  We may only be a small island, but we do have one of the most thorough, accurate mapping systems in the world in the shape of the Ordnance Survey. As the name suggests, the maps were initially researched for military use, but they are now a trusted standard for walkers (see rambling), surveyors and terrorist cells across Britain. This mapping began in the mid eighteenth century; the maps we know today started life in 1791 with the acquisition of an accurate theodolite. Theodolites have been used to survey ever since and the twentieth century ‘trig points’ and pillars on high points that they could rest upon have become trusted landmarks for walkers, and inevitably, a growing number of spotters and enthusiasts count off these markers in notebooks as they find them. OS maps, as they are known, were used in the trenches of World War I, with special maps being commissioned to show the battlefields in which so many fell. Generations of children were taught OS map symbols in geography at school, which was fairly pointless, as the maps all come with a comprehensive guide to the abbreviations and symbols used. The only one most Britons remember from their schooldays is PH, which stands for public house.

  ORWELL, GEORGE

  Born Eric Arthur Blair (no relation to Tony), the unwitting creator of Jade Goody’s celebrity and the gurning success of Davina McCall is best known for his novels 1984 and Animal Farm, the latter of which has given its name to both an animated film and a notorious bestiality video. But as well as being one of our greatest twentieth-century novelists, the Big Brother creator was a great writer and thinker on Britain, nationalism, patriotism and our way of life. Anyone doubting Orwell’s Britishness (despite the fact that he was actually born in India) need only consider the fact that he took the time to write an essay on the correct way to make tea. He stood firmly against totalitarian regimes and even spied against those among his peers who were considered political extremists. This collaboration with the state against alleged communists and his attendance at Eton make him a difficult hero for the left wing, though, equally, his socialist politics make him an unlikely hero for the moderate right. But both still regularly quote his works. The term ‘Orwellian’ has entered our language and refers to the kind of surveillance-heavy dystopia that many claim ID cards and blanket CCTV are leading Britain towards.

  OVALTINE

  We don’t do excitement too well in Britain. You only have to look at Sir Alex Ferguson’s awkward touchline celebrations when Manchester United score a goal to see that, as he tries to imitate what he thinks pure joy should look like. Catholic countries do it far better than we do, as we value reserve over enjoyment and a nice nap over festivals. Ovaltine is the national sedative that assures we stay that way. If we feel ourselves getting too emotional, thrilled or have simply drunk some real coffee then we can use the malted milk drink as a downer in order to bring us back to a dozy equilibrium. Rumour has it that the Government was considering introducing it to the water supply in urban areas in the early 1980s to quell the growing civil unrest. It is said to be the drug of choice for Radiohead. Horlicks is the alternative to Ovaltine and its name can also be used as a polite alternative to the word ‘bollocks’, which is ironic for a brand name that, as any schoolboy will tell you, sounds like oral sex with a prostitute.

  OXBRIDGE

  This conflation of the names of the universities of Oxford and Cambridge is a signifier of the interchangeability of our most famous educational institutions. Those who have attended either may be willing to attest to the greatness of one over the other, but for those who have not they simply represent the places where our political leaders and captains of industry come from. In recent years, moves have been made to make this pair of universities more inclusive of those who don’t own most of the Home Counties and do not have some kind of distant chance of ascending to the throne should the Windsor’s annual coach party beano to Bournemouth crash, killing all aboard. But the entrance exam for both does still include questions such as ‘What part of India did your ancestors own?’ and ‘Who is your favourite polo player?’.

  P

  PAGE 3

  First appearing in the Sun newspaper in 1969 and going topless the next year, Page 3 models hold a strange place in British culture. Appearing on page 3 from Monday to Friday, the young women showing off their breasts sit somewhere between saucy seaside postcard, sexy pin-up and girl next door. The practice has been heavily criticised by some feminists over the years, though some now see the models as the image of independent womanhood, as they make a very comfortable living from their modelling and other business interests. During the heyday of the Page 3 girl, Linda Lusardi and Samantha Fox became household names, appearing on chat shows and often being seen as clean-living role models. This trend toward acceptability has continued, with current favourite Keeley Hazell being lauded as an environmental role model by the Conservative Party leadership, as she insists that those photographing her use digital cameras rather than shoot with film and use chemical processing. Keeley has stopped short of advising readers to recycle their soiled tissues once they have enjoyed her latest photo shoot.

  PANIC BUYING

  We in Britain are blessed with a plentiful supply of most things we need and have a vast number of outlets that can provide us with anything from fresh fruit to a new computer, many of them 24 hours a day. But should we hear that any item, no matter how minor a part it plays in our lives, is in short supply then we rush out to the supermarket and join others in stripping the shelves bare. This in itself causes a shortage and so the problem goes on until someone in authority tells us that all is okay and that more Butterscotch-flavoured Angel Delight is in production as we speak, or that the story about bread being discontinued was just a rumour.

  PANTOMIME

  Deriving from the Italian word for ‘out of work soap actor’, pantomime has become a seasonal staple, keeping the theatres full and providing an income for that bloke who used to be in The Bill and that woman who you are sure was in Emmerdale, or was it Casualty? Panto season starts just before Christmas and goes on into the new year; the cast is made up of jobbing actors, reality TV floor scrapings and former stand-up comics who are camp enough to play the dame or rough enough to star as an ugly sister. Pantomime provides a kind of amnesty on failure, where the big fish who left town to fail miserably in the wider world is welcomed back with open arms as a local hero, even though he or she simply a former-weather girl from the local news station. Pantomime gives you licence to shout in the theatre, with ‘Behind you!’ and ‘Oh no he’s not!’ being favourites, though ‘Oh Christ, this is still really disturbing, even after all these years’ is most popular when panto regulars The Krankies appear on stage.

  PASSPORT

  As we do not have a written constitution, this document is really the most tangible totem of our Britishness, allowing us visa-free travel to all the places we have previously invaded and something to flick at the noses of petty bureaucrats the world over. Issued in the
name of the Queen, our passport bears a message from her Secretary of State, requesting that we are given free passage and any protection or assistance that may be necessary, as well as the right to our choice of scented lubricants during a cavity search. The passport also bears a photograph of us looking really awful and, preferably, nothing like we actually look in the flesh. Controversy raged in 1988, when the UK passport was switched from the traditional blue hardback cover to a more flexible burgundy European model that is machine-readable. Many right-wing commentators saw this as the end of Britain, Empire and civilisation as we know it, but thankfully a middle ground was agreed. The solution was for those who get patriotically and overly upset by such things to buy leather or card pre-1988-style covers for their EU-model passports. These should be made in China and can be a fairly good guide of who to avoid sitting next to on a cheap flight.

  PASTIES

  Let’s get this straight. A Cornish pasty should be made, sold and eaten in Cornwall. If you catch someone eating one on, say, a railway station platform anywhere else in the UK you should bat it from his hand, spit on it and then kick it onto the tracks. You will be doing them a favour. This traditional food of the Cornish tin miner combines meat, potato and onion in a pastry shell, with a crimp on the side that allows it to be eaten with grubby fingers before the crimp is thrown away as an offering to the mine’s spirits. Pasties vary in size, with the traditional miner’s version being big enough to serve as both breakfast and lunch. A number of variations on the traditional filling are acceptable, such as vegetable, cheese or even curry. A pasty should be eaten warm and should preferably come from a small baker’s shop, not the fridge of a petrol station forecourt.

  PEA SOUPERS

  These thick, impenetrable fogs were a regular feature of urban life in the second half of the nineteenth century and the first half of the twentieth century, bringing with them respiratory infections, accidents and the perfect cover for maniacal serial killers. The pea soupers (dubbed thus by the New York Times) were at their worst in London, where overcrowding and the burning of fuel in homes and in power stations eventually lead to the Great Smog of December 1952 wherein Buckingham Palace was completely mislaid for two days and 40,000 fans turned out to see West Ham United play a football match against what turned out to be two small boys and a dog. The match was abandoned at halftime when the referee realised that the opposing Fulham team had not turned up. The Clean Air act of 1956 did away with the smogs, moving power stations outside the cities and introducing smoke-free fuel zones. Some tourists are disappointed when they visit London and don’t see the pea soupers they may have seen in films, though plans are afoot to rectify this in time for the 2012 Olympic Games: a giant dry-ice machine is set to participate in the rebranding of the Whitechapel area of London as The Fog Zone.

  PEBBLY BEACHES

  Being an island, Britain has a huge amount of beach, though a surprisingly large proportion of this is made up of pebbles rather than the fine golden sand we expect on a beach holiday abroad. We have learned to love the lumpy, uncomfortable surface they offer, with pebbly beaches like Brighton still being among our most popular. Pebble beaches often play their part in the class divide in Britain, with the fact that they are devoid of the donkeys (see donkeys), sandcastles and ‘kiss-me-quick’ culture that some find vulgar making for higher house prices and a more genteel atmosphere in the towns surrounding them. Others may suggest that the more middle-class settlements around pebble beaches simply reflects the fact that these homeowners feel safer in an atmosphere where no one can kick sand in their faces.

  PERRY, FRED

  The last British winner of the men’s singles at Wimbledon managed an amazing hat-trick of wins in 1934, 1935 and 1936, twice beating Baron Gottfried Von Cramm and his evil Nazi henchmen. From this series of victories, Perry went on to become involved in sportswear by inventing the sweatband and then the distinctive cotton piqué shirt with the laurel logo with which his name is associated to this day. The shirt was taken up by fashion cults such as mods and skinheads in the 1960s and 1970s and the simple design is still the basis of a successful British fashion brand to this day. British tennis, however, has not been such a success and has not been similarly integrated into youth culture. Andrew Murray is the current British hope in tennis, though he may rapidly become known simply as a Scot by English fans if he does not win anything.

  PIE, MASH AND LIQUOR

  This traditional meal combination from London has been eaten since the eighteenth century and provides cheap nutrition for the working classes in the south and east of the capital. The pie is usually filled with minced beef and gravy, with both pie and mashed potato liberally doused in the parsley sauce known as liquor (some mistakenly think that the pie is served in a puddle of booze). Jellied eels are another popular accompaniment to the meal, providing a cheap source of protein in a disgustingly slimy package. London taxi drivers ensure that they eat this meal at least once a day to keep up the mental and physical strength needed to simultaneously remember routes across the city and offer passengers insightful solutions to most of the world’s problems.

  PIERS

  The seaside pier (see seaside) has now outlived its use as a place for pleasure cruisers to land parties of daytrippers, but the iron and wood structures remain an important part of the architecture and atmosphere of our coastal resorts. Fifty-five piers still remain around our coastline, Southend being the longest, with most featuring a mixture of amusement arcades, fairground rides, food sellers, bars and theatres. Pier theatres are associated with comedy and traditional music hall acts, with the term ‘end of the pier’ becoming shorthand for a cheap, bawdy kind of show featuring saucy jokes, dancing girls and musical acts. These days the end of the pier theatre is likely to feature former Eurovision song contest entrants, stand-up comedians who have been axed from television and 1960s bands who have no original members left at all, though the bass player will be the original singer’s second cousin’s husband.

  PIES

  Pies are popular cheap fare in pubs and cafés around Britain, and each region have their own specialities, such as the flat, round pies of Scotland and the pork pies of Melton Mowbray. The popularity of pies in the UK lead to sandwich toaster manufacturer Breville introducing the Pie Magic in the 1990s, which was a home pie-making device. Sadly it didn’t catch on, following pop-ska band Bad Manners’ singer Buster Bloodvessel’s idea for a hotel in Margate that served pie sandwiches 24-7 to the great pie idea graveyard. Pies are often eaten at football grounds, with the spicy chicken balti pie being one interesting recent development in what must be considered ‘fusion cuisine’. The Fray Bentos tinned pie is the traditional Friday night meal for sad, single, lonely men who enjoy a dinner that looks a little like dog food with a puff-pastry topping.

  PIGEONS

  The way that you view pigeons is a signifier of where you stand in the class systems in Britain. If you race them as a hobby then you are working class, if you eat them in a jus then you are middle class and if you shoot them on your estate then you are upper class (the exception being if you are shooting them with a air rifle and your estate happens to be one that is owned by the council). Pigeon fancying is a big hobby among men in working class areas of Britain. The fancying bit is about them admiring the birds and preparing them for shows rather than them wanting to establish any kind of sexual relationship (usually).

  PIMMS

  Posited as the summer drink of choice for sophisticates, Pimms is, in reality, little more than a fancy alcopop (see alcopops) for the middle classes. Mixed with ice, lemonade, mint, strawberries, oranges and lemons the drink seems like an innocent way to liven up a village fête or school fair, but the fact that it tastes like sweeties makes you forget how potent it is. This means that you then down glass after glass, leaving you to wonder if you really did make a pass at the vicar just before collapsing on to the tombola table.

  POLICE

  Famously unarmed, apart from when they are carrying weapo
ns, the British police are known the world over for fairness, calmness and wearing a comedy replica of a breast on their heads. The service is run on a regional rather than a national basis, which can cause problems when major investigations inconveniently cross regional borders, though it also maintains a sense of being policed by your peers rather than an amorphous national body. Height restrictions for joining the police have been slowly phased out, meaning that constables of both sexes are now getting shorter as well as appearing younger. If current trends prevail then diminutive pre-pubescents will soon be arresting the likes of those of you who have chosen to shoplift your copy of this book.

  POPPIES

  Inspired by the dramatic red flowers that grew up through the disturbed earth in the fields of World War I, the Royal British Legion adopted the poppy as its symbol of remembrance for those lost or injured in battle. Millions of paper replica poppies are sold each November; members of the public donate a few pence or a few pounds and attach the flower to their lapel in advance of Remembrance Sunday. Some see the red poppy as being a political statement of being pro-war, or possibly pro-whatever conflict Britain may be involved in at that time, but this feeling has subsided in recent years. Channel 4 newsreader Jon Snow recently caused controversy by not wearing a poppy. Most television newsreaders and presenters wear them in November, but Snow has spoken against the pressure to display any kind of symbol, no matter what its meaning. Recent health and safety initiatives mean that poppy sellers are no longer permitted to attach the poppy to buyers with a pin, though some World War II veteran sellers are ignoring this advice, especially when the buyer is an attractive young woman who needs assistance pinning the poppy to her cardigan.