By Douglas Kruger
A friend of ours just got his British passport. To celebrate, he did several things.
First, he added a Union Flag to his social media profile photo, and changed his own face to black-and-white to make the colours on the flag pop.
Then he acquired some luggage with subtle flag inlays, so that onlookers at every airport he visits might look upon him admiringly and say, “Ah, yes! There goes a subject of His Majesty’s realm”. In case they fail to do so, there’s also the Union Flag on his windbreaker.
Then he booked a flight to New York. He did this solely so that he could stand at the Arrivals counter wearing an elegant English coat, and, upon request, hand his British passport across the counter (while mentally humming Rule Britannia).
It was a moment for him. An accomplishment. He’d dreamed about it for years, and he was happy to shell out for the experience.
I completely understand.
I have a Jersey flag on my keychain, a Union Flag on my gym cap, the Jersey coastline viewed from the air as the wallpaper on my phone, and aspirations to do the same thing at airports once my own passport says, “This traveller officially belongs to King Charles, so hands off”.
Several years into life in the Island, I still can’t believe I live in a place that has actual castles… that was once invaded by actual Vikings… or that still eats beans with a straight face.
For anyone born here, this wonderment at all things British may seem odd. What’s the big deal?
Here’s an insight that may help to explain.
Last December, I sent photos of the Dreaming Trees at Howard Davis Park to my family in Johannesburg. The first thing my sister noticed was that we were walking in a park at night without even worrying about our safety.
And it’s not just the absence of negatives that informs our enchantment with all things British. Britain’s disproportionate contribution to humanity factors in too.
Shades of Monty Python: “Apart from the sanitation, the medicine, education, wine, public order, irrigation, roads, the fresh water system, and public health…what have the Romans ever done for us?”
It’s charming to see a culture that celebrates its own heritage the way we see in the UK, and even here in Jersey.
I may have my man-card revoked for this, but I got a little choked up when I saw the Corbière Lighthouse lit up to commemorate 150 years.
So I’ve been thinking about how I might celebrate once I get my grubby little paws on that beautiful document. I have a few years to go, but I’m already planning it.
For starters, I will no longer merely get on or off of a train. That sort of plebeian behaviour is strictly for the colonies. Instead, I intend to “alight”, like a proper Brit.
Instead of mere walks, I shall take “constitutionals”. If in trouble, I won’t do anything as mundane as calling a cop. No, I intend to “alert the constabulary”. You just see if I don’t.
Next, I plan to start rounding my “O”s. I’ll do this until I sound like Matt Smith playing Doctor Who: “Nooo, Pond! We wooon’t gooo sooo slooow.” (I dearly hope you pursed your lips as you read that).
I also intend to become entirely more awkward. Polite, but in a strained, pained sort of way.
I read about a British gentlemen who was told by a stranger, quite mistakenly, that the bus had just reached his stop. So he got off. Four blocks early. He’s my idol, and I plan to do precisely that sort of thing.
I will also become more self-deprecating. Mind you, I have to be careful with that term. My mother taught it to me when I was younger, and I once got it wrong, mentioning to her that it was a good thing for a person to be self-defecating. She laughed until she needed assistance.
Some things, I believe, will come easily. I already obsess and talk endlessly about the weather, it’s just the terminology that needs tweaking. I’ve been practising the phrase, “Really chucking it down”. Or the more vulgar option, depending on who I’m with.
I will most certainly do the overseas trip, solely for the opportunity to stand at a counter and hand over my British passport. “Sir, you appear to be glowing. Are you quite all right?”
I haven’t yet decided whether to hum Rule Britannia, Land of Hope and Glory, or Englishman in New York. I’ll play it by ear on the day.
There are a few purchases I’ll need. A Range Rover, a labrador, a jaunty wool-peak cap, some Hobnobs and a pair of perpetually muddy wellies for countryside rambling, just for starters. I’m in two minds about the mounted elk head, though I suspect that’s just for royalty.
Then I’ll need to start engaging in some bonkers activities that only truly British people enjoy. Cold-water swims in the middle of winter. Burning to a lobster-red in the middle of summer. Eating things off the forest floor that most people only ever step on, because it now has a fancy name: “foraging”.
Some activities hinge on age. Once I’m older, I’ll need to buy a place in sunny Spain, live there, but fly a Union Flag and speak at length about how I long to be back home. I believe that’s traditional.
For now, though, I can get myself a favourite pub, with a name like The Skunk and Burmeister.
It’s going to take a few more years. But it’s going to be worth it. Until then, I’ll use the time to swot up for the citizenship test.
I have to admit, I don’t currently know when George Michael switched to cardigans, or who styles Boris Johnson’s hair.
-
Douglas Kruger is an author and ‘Hall of Fame’ speaker, who lives in St Helier. His books are available from Audible and Amazon. Meet him at douglaskruger.com.
