Thursday, 8 October 2009

Are you familiar with the writings of Shan Yu?

He said, "Live with a man forty years. Share his house, his meals… speak on every subject… then tie him up, and hold him over the volcano's edge, and on that day, you will finally meet the man."

It is said that in order to truly know a thing, you must become that thing.

I’ve just read an article that can be viewed as a slur on the American President, whilst I’m no great fan of the good ole U S of A, I have been, thus far, impressed with Mr Obama. I know that being a significant media figure, such as he, brings both positive and negative attention. I do not agree with slighting a man who has the best interest of his country at heart. If there’s one saving grace for our colonial cousins, it’s their sense of patriotism. I, for one, understand the concept of national loyalty. It’s something I was raised on. So many people forget what it means to be English. We are an island nation, an unwritten constitutional monarchy. It really annoys me when I’m stopped in the street so that some market research numpty can ask me how I view my citizenship. My response is always the same, “I’m not a citizen, I’m a subject of her Britannic Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the Second. So now comes the rant, for which I apologise for any offence caused! Why is it that we celebrate Saint Patricks Day, Saint David’s Day and, to some extent, Saint Andrews day. But, when it comes to April 23, the powers that be hush it up and make every effort to get through the day with minimal fuss. Now I appreciate that Saint George was from Nicodemia, not a very English place, but he’s our patron saint all the same, there are also rumours amongst scholars that he may have fought alongside the French at some point. The accuracy of this is, of course, dubious at best. Now answer me this, dear reader, if you will. Why is it that a man from the northern side of Hadrian’s Wall is openly referred to as a Scotsman, if he comes from the eastern side of the Brecon Beacons, the he’s a Welshman, there’s lovely, as for the fella who resides in the republic of Ireland, he’s an Irishman. So why are those who live in England constantly termed “British”? I’m all for the commonwealth, not so keen on the whole Europe thing. But why can’t I be English? Duncan Spaeth once said “I know why the sun never sets on the British Empire: God wouldn't trust an Englishman in the dark.” Now he didn’t men that in a good way, but I like it. I remember the times when you drove along the M4 and saw signs that read “Windsor, heritage and Empire” the signs now read “Windsor, Legoland”. What went wrong? Where did the days go when people rose to the national anthem, how many people actually watch the Queens speech on Christmas day? I feel fairly confident when I say that more households will be more concerned with the last days of a certain Time Lord, than our own Monarch. Personally, I shall watch the Queen and record the Doctor. Our national identity is being stripped away from us piece by piece. Apparently, there’s a plan afoot to force children to take the pledge of allegiance to the queen in schools. You start forcing people to swear allegiance; you take the freedom of choice away from them. Then we are no better than those we have fought against to maintain our freedom. It’s not that I disagree with her majesty’s government, actually I have no particular political view, but they seem to be working against the people who put them there, and there I was thinking they should be working for us. A short time ago I was asked if I could live in a different country, there was a time when my answer would have been an outright “NO!” but the more I think about it, the more I feel that I’m prepared to reconsider. Given the right choices, I possibly would consider repatriation. I would, of course, keep an eye on events back home. I think the hardest thing to leave behind would be the sea. I couldn’t see myself living somewhere that was more than a ten minute bus ride from the sea.

Anyways, I’ve ranted incessantly for too long and I believe my bed is calling me, so I shall retire for the night and bid thee well. Goodnight fair reader, my you find yourself well on the morrow!