Oh England My Lionheart.

The Old Dark Country...Logres...Albion...Land of the Giants...

Spitfires doing victory rolls over Biggin Hill…mists and mellow fruitfulness…Mr Kipling’s cakes… the great ladybird invasion of 1976…David Niven flying through Hitler’s legs…the smell of a vicar…pressing a hot cheek against the cool of the pantry wall…six of the best…the smell of leather on wicket…Elgar…Britten…Mrs Slocum’s pussy…we invented all the sports but we're not very good at them...

Ann Widdicombe failing to complete a sudoko in a single visit to the toilet…an angry mob protesting Speedos…a proud history of missed dental appointments…. “Over the river at this time of night? …carefully hanging a bag of dog-shit on a tree branch…a single seven year old child in the back seat of a Range Rover Discovery Sport…CCTV footage of women urinating in the street…dogs are better than children…sentimental gangsters… “You can’t say anything now”… “I don’t mean you, mate – you’re alright”

…a dead cat in a skip…mods and rockers – we will fight them on the beaches…perfectly hideous Albion…ladies who lunch, there will be rivers of brunch…a smiling politician cutting a ribbon outside a food-bank…Bertie Wooster up before the beak with a hangover and a policeman’s helmet… a proper, Victorian murder…drilling into masonry at seven in the morning on the first day of summer…a night club built into a multi-story car park…a special costume to disguise your toilet brush...the smack of trainer on puddle behind you in the dark...football on in every pub in the land...holding your shoes while they swab your belt at the airport...hobbies dying out...news agents are long gone...

…an angry dog in a Burberry jacket…a curtain being twitched at an Asian family…being outraged by a vegan sausage roll…men with their arms folded shouting jokes at one another in the pub…unpretentious, meat and potatoes pornography, featuring doughy women and hairy backed men doing the bare minimum… “Fine, I’ll do it myself”…writing to a newspaper about traffic…we used to have the best pop stars in the world…we used to have the best comedy in the world…we used to have the best empire in the world…liking the Irish now…smiling Christians in matching cagoules…hearty lesbians in tweed not putting up with any nonsense…preferring bad food…letting the barista deal with the kids…knowing your rights (but not really knowing your rights)…a weave ghosting down the platform like tumble-weed as the tube approaches...massive fields with nothing in them...pub shoes...who owns all those big houses? Rural communities adopting American culture...not liking students even though students aren't like students anymore...adopting a snow leopard...regular "pupdates"..."I mean, in my day, paintings looked like the things they were supposed to be..."

...sexy TV historians...soap on a rope...The Beano Book...a mottled greenhouse in winter, a single glove, half inside out, lying on the floor like a worm caste...TV programmes about antiques..."characters"..."banter"...a swift back-hander...being up yourself...too clever by half...full English...Sunday roast down the carvery...all you can eat buffet...antiquated farming machinery pinned to the wall of a country pub, next to a Tuk Tuk and a series of prints by Hogarth...an attractive Romanian girl hand-washing your car in the depths of winter...dirty, dead high streets..."I've paid more for a coffee..."

…politicians are all the same but we still vote for them…irony as a saving grace…favouring the underdog but not backing a loser…poverty porn…when rich people commit adultery its quite stylish… schizophrenics are the last people still feeding pigeons…the underside of the bridge is damp with pigeon shit…clapping for the NHS...voting for people who want to kill the NHS...guilty pleasures…naughty but nice…weight-watcher sins…going for a long walk on your own… “It’s just a bit of rain”…aggressively high end barbecues featuring a two day old marinade…Jamie Oliver’s jizz of olive oil…it always rains in Manchester…it always rains on holiday…it always rains…I’m a traveler not a tourist…a rainbow in a pot-hole by the side of the road...day-drinking football fans in a stand-off with European riot police…I don’t give a shit what’s in this pie…bring back the birch… “Gay was such a lovely word”…a commemorative spoon…"This offer is not available in the shops..."...Morecambe and Wise at Christmas...Jools Holland with Beverley Knight tinkling into eternity... 

…the smell of piss in the house of Lords…folk singers on children’s television…New Towns aging badly, quickly…vandalising the Blue Peter garden…the lady’s not for turning referencing a play that nobody had heard of, because you could do that then…the curse of Strictly…treading dog shit over the carpet…shouting approval at a dropped pint glass in the pub…trying to get away with shit on the “ten items or less” counter…granny keeps a used tissue up her sleeve…accessorised mobility scooters…a decorative commemorative plate ...daytime TV advertising about not burdening your children with your funeral…some people being oddly body confident…rubbing a donkey's nose through a barbwire fence...still, secretly, thinking that rich people are better than you..."Art? Pretentious bollocks..."

…spending money on a tattoo you have done very little research about in a language you don’t speak…old people refusing to pick up dog shit… “litter gives people jobs”…homophobes fine with gay people if they’re famous…pre-drinks…unattractive male celebrities (but no unattractive female celebrities)…creamed rice…middle-aged mods smoothing out their helmet hair…going through a turnstile to urinate…quiet communal laughter as the tube driver makes a self-deprecating joke over the tannoy… the fart smell of an egg sandwich as the Tupperware box is opened…the primordial horror of “On The Buses”...

…a nation of shopkeepers with empty shelves…shriveled bunting like rotten leaves…a street party consumed by a deluge…hayricks on fire in forgotten fields…a man in a camel coat swinging from a lamp-post, the pint miraculously un-spilled in his hand,  artisan bakers shot at check-points over a handful of breadcrumbs…Boris Johnson killing everyone in glasses, just in case...five a side footie on the bone shards of intellectuals...Oxford and Cambridge merged as one super-call-centre, scamming pensioners for their cat food over toll-free Zoomcalls...freedom loving Brits, hair spiked with clay, pot bellies daubed with woad, shrunken penises trembling nobly in the breeze, reclaim London from so-called experts, filling the crater with diluted lager piss by the light of a super-moon...while Eton and the Sons of Eton never let go and never give in, safe in the knowledge that droit de seigneur will deliver the cast of Babestation to their Tudor style bunkers and the nation will prosper...