We brave misunderstood balding English, standing in battered bus stops under angry regimental downpours. This courageous underrepresented British minority desperate to reassert our identity against all that…you know…stuff. Them dragons…them dragons…THOSE WELSH ARE STEALING ALL OUR JOBS!Anyway, let me tell you - there was no way I was going to miss out on celebrating St Georges Day like THEY want us to. Them…you know the ones with their ‘Political Correctness’, their endless bullying that tries to curb our lazy hate. And there I was on the great day itself realising well over a minute before half seven in the evening that it was actually St Georges day (I’d walked past a pub that said ‘It’s St Georges Day’ on a sign [it also said ‘Why don’t you come in and slay a dragon?’ which didn’t so much make sense as rather not make sense, but look at me mum I’m using square brackets(probably haven’t done it correctly though[I’m so out of my deapth])] ) I stopped for a minute, watching a Y-reg Nova sub-woofer its bored moulds towards me, its special blue light illuminating the under-car - its spoiler increasing its aerodynamics intangibly.’Boom, boom, boom’ it argued as it passed And I stood there entranced as the big spoon of patriotic pride forced love for my country into my smiling English mouth. It tasted like Rosemary.
That said, (what said?) I was just popping out for a little emergency convenience shopping. All my big words and xenophobic attitudes and I was unable to actualise my love for England’s ( and Aragon’s, Catalonia’s, Ethiopia’s, Georgia’s, Greece’s, Lithuania’s, Palestine’s, Portugal’s, and Russia’s, and the cities of Amersfoort’s, Beirut’s, Bteghrine’s, Cáceres’s (Spain), Ferrara’s, Freiburg’s, Genoa’s, Ljubljana’s, Gozo’s, Pomorie’s, Qormi’s, Lod’s, and Moscow’s) patron saint due to it being 7:30pm and not really having anything planned. THAT’S JUST WHAT THE NANNY STATE WANTS!
But then on my casual evening wander across England’s green and pleasant land I walked into the shopping sensation Sommerfield. And this haven of Englishnessnessness had patriotically produced a little St Georges day display so that disorganised people short of milk could enjoy a brief little reflection on how great it is to be a citizen of here.
A single table: tableclothed with polyester English flag, brown with the labour of hanging on to some disinterested Corsa during the 2006 World Cup. And on it, a display of proudly spaced objects (And if you do not believe that you can proudly place objects then you know not pride) with a handwritten sign, ‘Celebrate St. Georges day with us!’.
The objects: white sliced loaf, six pack of scones. 12 white sliced sandwich roles, Jacobs cracker selection. Two litre bottle of Blackthorn Cider, Bag of carrots. Bag of purple headed broccoli…… Remember they were proudly spaced!
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