Watching the English

by Kate Fox

  Future Stability More Important Than Fun

  Gosh, what a dull lot, I thought, when those results first came in. In the hope of finding some more imaginative and rebellious attitudes, I turned to the questions on ‘fun’. I was disappointed to find that on the issue of ‘having fun now vs thinking about the future’, where one might expect the younger generation to be at least a bit less mature and responsible, the views of young people and their elders were more or less identical. Only 14 per cent of 16–24-year-olds felt that ‘At my age it’s more important to have fun than to think too much about the future’ – and about the same minority of 45–54s were also carefree fun-lovers.

  Our discussion-group and interview findings indicated that young working people’s only major ‘fun’ indulgence is going out to pubs and clubs on Friday and Saturday nights, or perhaps a clothes-shopping spree. Many of our discussion-group participants tried to make all this sound as ‘wild’ as possible, one proudly announcing that ‘I spend most of my money abusing my body, really – going out to pubs and clubs, smoking’ but essentially it boiled down to a rather tame routine of weekend drinking, dancing and shopping.

  I was not much cheered by the next lot of findings, which showed that young people also seem to be more industrious than their parents’ generation: 70 per cent of 16–24s believe that ‘getting ahead in life is down to hard work and dedication’. Only 53 per cent of the older generation share this diligent attitude, with 41 per cent adopting the more laid-back view that success is a matter of luck, contacts or ‘the right breaks’.

  The Dangers of Excessive Moderation

  I felt like saying, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, lighten up! Live a little! Rebel a bit! Whatever happened to “Turn on, tune in, drop out”?’ All right, I did, and still do, realise that many people will find these results reassuring. Even some of my colleagues felt that I was making rather an unnecessary fuss. ‘Surely it is a good thing that most young people are being diligent, prudent and responsible,’ they said. ‘Why do you find this so depressing?’

  My concern is that these largely commendable tendencies are also symptoms of a wider and more worrying trend: our findings indicated that young people are increasingly affected by the culture of fear, and the risk-aversion and obsession with safety that have become defining features of contemporary society. This trend, described by one sociologist as a ‘cultural climate of pervasive anxiety’ – which has no doubt been further exacerbated by economic recession – is associated with the stunted aspirations, cautiousness, conformism and lack of adventurous spirit that were evident among many of the young people in our survey and discussion groups.

  There has always, of course, been a significant degree of exaggeration and even invention in the standard laments and outcries about ‘the youth of today’, their fecklessness and irresponsibility. So perhaps our findings merely showed what has always been the case: that young people are rather more conventional and responsible than they are cracked up to be. Well, yes. And in their adherence to the moderation rule, the young people we studied were to some extent just ‘being English’. Whether I like it or not, we are a deeply conservative, moderate people. But what worried me was that these young people were more conservative, moderate and conformist than their parents’ generation, that there seemed to be a trend towards even greater excesses of moderation (if one can say such a thing). And although I am in many ways very English, I can only take so much moderation. Moderation is all very well, but only in moderation.

  THE FAIR-PLAY RULE

  But, to be fair, there were plenty of more positive findings in our research on English workers as well, not least to do with fairness. Although I often use the terms interchangeably, I have chosen the term ‘fair-play rule’ rather than ‘fairness rule’ for the title of this section, as I feel that ‘fair play’ conveys a wider and somewhat less rigidly egalitarian concept that more accurately reflects the English values I am trying to describe. ‘Fair play’, with its sporting overtones, suggests that everyone should be given an equal chance, that no one should have an unfair advantage or handicap, and that people should conduct themselves honourably, observe the rules and not cheat or shirk their responsibilities. At the same time, ‘fair play’ allows for differences in ability and accepts that there will be winners and losers – while maintaining that playing well and fairly is more important than winning. Some would claim that this last element is archaic and no longer observed, but my research has convinced me that it is still a rule in the sense of an ideal standard to which the English aspire, even if it is not often achieved.

  In some respects, the fair-play rule serves us well in the world of work and business. While we undoubtedly have our share of rogues and cheats, and the rest of us are by no means saints, the English are generally still regarded, with some justification, as relatively fair and straight in their conduct of business – and there is certainly less blatant tolerance of bribery, corruption and cheating here than in many other countries. When we hear of such incidents, most of us do not shrug in a knowing, worldly manner, as if to say, ‘Well, yes, what do you expect?’ We are shocked, outraged, righteously indignant. This may be partly because the English take great pleasure in being shocked and outraged, and righteous indignation is one of our favourite national pastimes, but the feelings expressed are nonetheless genuine. And they are expressed, vehemently, even when the ‘cheating’ in question is perfectly legal – as in the recent outrage over tax avoidance by some big multinational corporations. These companies had broken no official laws: our indignation was over their serious breach of the unwritten ‘fair play’ principle.

  When asked to compare English working and business practices with those of other cultures, all of my foreign and immigrant informants commented on the English sense of fair play, and specifically on our relative freedom from the corruption they felt was endemic and tacitly accepted (albeit in varying degrees) in other parts of the world. Many felt that we were not sufficiently aware or appreciative of this fact. ‘You just take it for granted,’ a Polish immigrant complained. ‘You assume that people will play fair, and you are shocked and upset when they do not. In other countries there is not that assumption.’

  So, we may be a bit dull and excessively moderate, but perhaps, without wishing to come over all patriotic, we can still take a little bit of pride in this fair-play ideal. (And we do in my survey, ‘fair play’ came second only to ‘humour’ as the English quality of which we are most proud.)

  MOANING RULES

  The rather less admirable English habit of constant moaning is another distinguishing feature of our workplace behaviour, and of our attitude to work. The principal rule in this context is that work is, almost by definition, something to be moaned about. There is a connection here with the Importance of Not Being Earnest rule, in that if you do not indulge in the customary convivial moaning about work, there is a danger that you will be seen as too keen and earnest, and labelled a ‘sad geek’, a sycophantic ‘suck’ or ‘brown nose’, or a self-important ‘pompous git’.

  The Monday-morning Moan

  English work-moaning is a highly predictable, regular, choreographed ritual. On Monday mornings, for example, in every workplace in England, from factories and shops to offices and boardrooms, someone will be conducting a Monday-morning moan. I can guarantee it. It is universally understood that everyone hates Mondays; that we all had trouble dragging ourselves out of bed; that we really could have done with an extra day to get over the weekend; that the traffic/tube/trains/buses just seem to be getting worse and worse; that we have far too much to do this week, as per bloody usual; that we are already tired and our back/head/feet are hurting, and the week’s only just started, for God’s sake; and, look, now this effing printer’s on the blink again, just for a change, huh, typical!

  There are endless variations on this Monday-morning moan, and no two such moans are ever exactly alike – but, like the infinitely variable snowflake,84 they are all nonetheless remarkabl
y similar. Most of them start and sometimes end with a bit of weather-speak: ‘Bloody cold,’ or ‘Raining again,’ we grumble, as we shed our coats and scarves on arrival, which sets the tone and triggers another complaint, either about the weather or the traffic, trains, etc. At the end of the first morning-moan ritual, someone may close the proceedings with ‘And it’s still raining,’ or ‘Well,’ stoical sigh, ‘at least it’s stopped raining.’ This is the cue for everyone to shift from their habitual moan-position and start reluctantly getting on with the day’s work, muttering, ‘Right, well, s’pose we’d better make a start,’ or ‘Back to the grind, then,’ or, if in a position of authority, ‘All right, c’mon, you lot, let’s get some work done.’

  Then we all work, moderately diligently, until the next moaning opportunity, usually the first tea- or coffee-break, when the Monday litany of complaint is revived with a new set of moans: ‘God, is it only eleven o’clock? I’m so tired.’ ‘Well, it’s been a long week.’ ‘Eleven already? I’ve got so much to do and I’ve barely made a dent in it.’ ‘That bloody coffee machine’s eaten my 50p again! Typical!’ And so on. Followed by yet more congenial moaning over lunch, at subsequent breaks, and at the end of the day, either on leaving work or over after-work drinks in a local pub or bar.

  The Time-moan and the Meeting-moan

  There are variations in our workplace moans, but even these are largely predictable. Everyone moans about time, for example, but junior and low-grade employees are more likely to complain that it passes too slowly, that they have another seven sodding hours of this shift to get through, that they are bored and fed up and can’t wait to get home, while more senior people usually whine that time just seems to fly past, that they never have enough of it to get through their ridiculous workload, and now there’s another bloody meeting they have to go to.

  All white-collar executives and managers – right up to top board-room level – always moan about meetings. To admit to enjoying meetings, or finding them useful, would be the secular equivalent of blasphemy. Meetings are by definition pointless, boring, tedious and awful. A bestselling training video on how to conduct meetings (or at least make them marginally less awful) was called Meetings, Bloody Meetings – because that is how we always refer to these ordeals. English workers struggle to get to the rung on the corporate ladder where they are senior enough to be asked to attend meetings, then spend the rest of their career moaning about all the meetings they have to attend.

  We all hate meetings, or at least loudly proclaim that we hate them. But we have to have a lot of them, because of the fair-play, moderation, compromise and polite-egalitarianism rules, which combine to ensure that few individuals can make decisions on their own: a host of others must always be consulted, and a consensus must be reached. So we hold endless meetings, everyone is consulted, we discuss everything, and eventually we reach a consensus. Sometimes we even make a decision.

  Then we go and have a good moan about it all.

  The Mock-moaning Rule and the ‘Typical!’ Rule

  All this talk of moaning may be making the English sound rather sad and depressing, but that is not the case. The curious thing about all of these moan sessions is that the tone is actually quite cheerful, good-natured and, above all, humorous. In fact, this is probably one of the most important ‘rules of moaning’: you must moan in a relatively good-humoured, light-hearted manner. However genuinely grumpy you may be feeling, this must be disguised as mock-grumpiness. The difference is subtle, and may not be immediately obvious to the naked ear of an outsider, but the English all have a sixth sense for it, and can distinguish acceptable mock-moaning from real, serious complaining at twenty paces.

  Serious moaning may take place in other contexts, such as heart-to-heart conversations with one’s closest friends, but it is regarded as unseemly and inappropriate in collective workplace moaning rituals. Here, if you become too obviously bitter or upset about your grievances, you will be labelled a ‘moaner’, and nobody likes a ‘moaner’ – ‘moaners’ have no place in ritual moaning sessions. Ritual moaning in the workplace is a form of social bonding, an opportunity to establish and reinforce common values by sharing a few gripes and groans about mutual annoyances and irritations. It is worth a reminder here that in all English moaning rituals, there is a tacit understanding that nothing can or will be done about the problems we are moaning about. We complain to each other, rather than tackling the real source of our discontent, and we neither expect nor want to find a solution to our problems – we just want to enjoy moaning about them. Our ritual moaning is purely therapeutic, not strategic or purposeful: the moan is an end in itself.

  Genuine grievances may be raised in these sessions, about pay, working conditions, tyrannical bosses or other problems, but even these moans must be delivered with humorous grimaces, shrugs, eye-rolling, mock-exasperated eyebrow-lifts and exaggerated stoical sighs – not with tear-filled eyes, trembling lips or serious scowls. This is sociable light entertainment, not heavy drama. The appropriate tone is encapsulated in the English moan-ritual catchphrase ‘Typical!’ which you will hear many times a day, every day, in every workplace in the country. ‘Typical!’ is also used in moaning rituals in many other contexts, such as on delayed trains or buses, in traffic jams, or indeed whenever anything goes wrong. Along with ‘nice’, ‘typical’ is one of the most useful and versatile words in the English vocabulary – a generic, all-purpose term of disapproval, it can be applied to any problem, annoyance, mishap or disaster, from the most insignificant irritation to adverse events of national or even international importance. On the morning of the 7/7 bombings in London, when news of the horrifying terrorist attacks on the Underground reached the tube station where I was waiting for a train, the passengers around me incorporated this inconvenience into their standard ritual moans, with grumbles such as, ‘Of course bloody Al Qaeda had to pick the one day I really needed to get to work on time! Typical!’

  There is something quintessentially English about ‘Typical!’ It manages simultaneously to convey huffy indignation and a sense of passive, resigned acceptance, an acknowledgement that things will invariably go wrong, that life is full of little frustrations and difficulties (and highly inconsiderate terrorists), and that one must simply put up with it. In a way, ‘Typical!’ is a manifestation of what used to be called the English ‘stiff upper lip’: it is a complaint, but a complaint that also expresses a very English kind of grudging forbearance and restraint – a sort of grumpy, cynical stoicism.

  THE AFTER-WORK DRINKS RULES

  I was talking with my sister (Anne Fox, also an anthropologist) about after-work drinks, and she started to tell me about a study she had just seen on stress in English workplaces. ‘Don’t tell me,’ I interrupted. ‘It showed that employees who go to the pub for after-work drinks with their colleagues suffer less stress than those who don’t, right?’

  ‘Yes, of course it did,’ she replied. ‘I mean, duh, we knew that!’ And pretty much any English worker familiar with the after-work drinks ritual could have told you the same thing – and would no doubt add that social scientists have a habit of stating the bloody obvious. But it is nonetheless nice, I think, to have our instinctive ‘knowledge’ of such matters properly measured and confirmed by objective research. Being a social scientist is a pretty thankless job, though, particularly among the ever-cynical English, who generally dismiss all of our findings as either obvious (when they accord with ‘common knowledge’) or rubbish (when they challenge some tenet of popular wisdom) or mumbo-jumbo (when it is not clear which sin has been committed, as the findings are couched in incomprehensible academic jargon). At the risk of falling into one or all of these categories, I will try to explain how the hidden rules of the after-work drinks ritual make it such an effective antidote to the stresses of the workplace.

  First, there are some universal rules about alcohol and about drinking-places. In all cultures, alcohol is used as a symbolic punctuation mark – to define, facilitate and enha
nce the transition from one social state or context to another. The transitional rituals in which alcohol plays a vital role range from major life-cycle ‘rites of passage’ such as birth, coming-of-age, marriage and death to far less momentous passages, such as the daily transition from work-time to play-time or home-time. In our culture, and a number of others, alcohol is a suitable symbolic vehicle for the work-to-play transition because it is associated exclusively with play – with recreation, fun, festivity, spontaneity and relaxation – and regarded as antithetical to work.85

  There are also universal ‘laws’ about the social and symbolic functions of drinking-places. I mentioned these at the beginning of the chapter on pub-talk, but it is worth reminding ourselves here that all drinking-places, in all cultures, have their own ‘social microclimate’. They are ‘liminal zones’ in which there is a degree of ‘cultural remission’ – a temporary relaxation or suspension of normal social controls and restraints. They are also egalitarian environments, or at least places in which status distinctions are based on different criteria from those operating in the outside world. And, perhaps most important, both drinking and drinking-places are universally associated with social bonding.

  So, the English after-work drinks ritual functions as an effective de-stressor partly because, by these universal ‘laws’, the hierarchies and pressures of the workplace are soluble in alcohol, particularly alcohol consumed in the sociable, egalitarian environment of the pub. The funny thing is that the after-work drinks ritual in the local pub has much the same stress-reduction effect even if one is drinking only Coke or fruit juice. The symbolic power of the pub itself is often enough to induce an immediate sense of relaxation and conviviality, even without the social lubricant of alcohol.

  The specific, self-imposed rules of the English after-work drinks ritual are mainly designed to reinforce this effect. For example, discussion of work-related matters is permitted – indeed, after-work drinks sessions are often where the most important decisions get made – but both the anti-earnestness rules and the rules of polite egalitarianism are much more rigorously applied than they are in the workplace.