I never thought to compare the back of a ten dollar vs a ten pound note. We are greater indeed.
Great Britain is greater
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Category Archives: britishness
No more ‘heavy legs’ for the French
As you may remember, I was born and raised in Italy, went to school and graduated in the UK, worked in France for seven years, then Italy for another three and since 2002 I have been back in the UK.
I have therefore experienced healthcare (fortunately, as a fairly healthy individual) in three European countries. And in the US too, if you count losing a contact lens while on holiday and having to go see a friend’s doctor for a prescription to buy a new one (being uninsured, it cost me a small fortune).
In Italy and in France, when you go to the doctor you always leave with a prescription or a referral. You sort of feel short-changed if you don’t, as the BBC correspondent from France Emma Jane Kirby describes in her piece on this week’s From Our Own Correspondent. Her take on the French ‘heavy legs’ syndrome can be listened to on iPlayer until Sunday 21st December (skip to 17:02 to go straight to the segment), or read online.
In the UK on the other hand, three times out of four the doctor shrugs off your condition, tells you to get a grip and only to come back if the condition persists for a number of months. I have learnt to live with it and now I hardly mind it at all, unlike a couple of friends who go back to Italy for treatment when in need. And unlike most of the French who are now having a very hard time facing a new approach recommended by the government and very similar to the British attitude.
How to enter Middle Temple Lane in London
Last night I went out to hear a recital by a recent aquaintance from my Gay Rounders team. But after circling my destination for about one hour and failing to reach it, I went home.
Those who know me at this point will not be surprised, as they often joke that when sense of direction was being handed out, I was unable to find the queue. And that’s exactly why I looked up the venue on at a map before leaving, which clearly showed I could take Middle Temple Lane from Victoria Embankment or from Fleet Street.
I tried both ends and could not find the street. I checked the map again, and even my mobile’s GPS failed to take me there. So I googled for instructions, but there seemed to be nothing in the first page of results. None of my friends was going to be there, and I could not call the singer because the concert had started.
I now read that I needed to
‘Watch out for a wooden gateway with a sign to Middle Temple Lane. You might think you are going into someone’s private yard but it’s the north entry to this cobbled street of solicitors’ offices in London’s “legal village”.’ (City A.M. June 2007 review of La Grande Marque)
Of course. How could I not have known?
Free access to britannica.com for bloggers
Last Friday, when I read on Techmeme that the Encyclopaedia Britannica is giving out free one-year subscriptions to publishers, including bloggers, I contacted them straight away motivating my application, and did not think much of it.
Imagine my surprise when later that very day I received an email containing instructions on how to activate my free subscription.
As my readers, now you too have access to full articles on whatever I decide you should learn more about. The articles on individual topics are good if we are talking established, historical facts from the past, a bit less when dealing with very recent topics. For instance, the 998 words on Madonna on Britannica do not mention her forthcoming album Hard Candy, a scattering of which can be found everywhere on the web since yesterday.
However, Britannica puts together Topic Clusters, which are:
‘…collections of links to Encyclopaedia Britannica content related to current events. Topic Clusters provide quick access to material online writers may want to use in their reporting and commentary on issues of the day.’
If the link to Madonna above does not work for you, please leave a comment to let me know.
Why I want to become British
People often ask me why on earth, being an European Economic Area (EEA) national living and working in the UK, I am planning to apply for UK citizenship.
I usually ramble about how I plan to live in the UK indefinitely, and I consider this my true one and only homeland, and what would happen if fascism were to grip Italy in its vile hold again (all references to the current Italian political crisis are very much intentional) and diplomatic ties were severed with Europe, and I would be kicked out of the UK?
I now have a more rational answer, which is
“EEA and Swiss nationals have the right to live and work in the United Kingdom. This is called the right of residence. You will only have the right of residence in the United Kingdom if:
- you are an EEA or Swiss national; and
- you are working in the United Kingdom; or
- you are able to support yourself and family in the United Kingdom without the help of public funds.”
So the day I cannot work and/or support myself without the help of public funds, I get the boot. Nice.
Now, where are those forms…?
The British will not bother you
Every now and then life’s great tapestry reminds me of the reason why I left Italy and settled in the UK.
My eyes reacted badly to a new pair of contact lenses the other day, so I wore my glasses to work (I am so vain that I normally would not be seen dead in them).
Nobody commented. I am sure my colleagues have opinions, but not a single one felt that there was a need to express it.
Some people might find this impersonal, I call it being civilised. This non-behaviour has such a massive impact on me that even if my eyes seem to be fine today, I am still wearing my glasses, just in case.
All I want is to be left alone, and leaving people alone is one of the principal traits of this great country.
Update (19 January 2007 at 7:13PM): in the end I wore glasses for three days at work. On day three, four people made a comment. Their nationalities: Irish, American, Nigerian and Londoner from Irish family.
Big Ben silenced for a month
Starting this morning at 8am, Big Ben is not going to chime for a few weeks while maintenance work is carried out.
I am told that at night we can sometimes hear the bongs from our flat. But at night I am sleeping and don’t hear a thing. And how can Dr B. hear Big Ben if he claims I snore so loudly?
When Harry met Harry
This morning Dr B. bought the adult edition of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
And I have just come back from Tesco across the road with the children’s edition – so we don’t mix them up, I claimed, but really it’s because it matches the previous six in the box in the back of a cupboard. A bookcase? That would mean dusting, so no thanks.
Two years ago I was pining for not being able to buy Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince straight away. This time I was not too bothered, but it was going for a fiver if you spent over fifty pounds – which I was going to anyway, as we are having a birthday boy over from France for pre-Duckie drinks tonight, and he treated us for dinner last night at Amici, and we were going to buy champagne anyway.
Great. I have just added another 607 pages on my ever-expanding reading list, and all I seem to be able to do these days on public transport is play solitaire on my mobile.
Sunday lunch: bangers and mash with red wine gravy
British cuisine is quite special. Often, the name of the dish is the recipe itself. Cheese and beans on toast. Scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam.
Ok, I’ll grant you these are not the most elaborate of recipes, but that’s exactly why I’m so keen on them.
Today (or rather, on Thursday night, one of the rare occasions when Dr B. cooks splendidly for me): bangers and mash with red wine gravy.
Ingredients:
- sausages (our favourites are Tesco Finest Pork & Fresh Bramley Apple Sausages)
- potatoes
- butter, 1 large knob per person
- red wine
- Bisto gravy granules, beef flavour
Preparation:
- put the sausages under a hot grill, turn from time to time until evenly cooked;
- boil the potatoes;
- whisk the potatoes, add the butter, season to taste;
- make gravy according to instructions on packet, replacing half the water with red wine;
- serve sausages on potato mash, cover with gravy.
The only time Italians will not invade your personal space
Yesterday at work I overheard a colleague speaking on the phone about his recent trip to Italy:
Yes, we were in Bologna. How bizarre, you know, people, when they give you change, they don’t touch you!
And I knew exactly what he meant. Every business establishment (at least in Northern Italy, not entirely sure about other places) has a tiny saucer or a metal plate (usually glued to the counter so that it does not get stolen) where you are meant to collect the change you are given.
Stretching out your hand ‘à l’anglaise’, expecting them to deposit your change into it, only meets puzzled looks.
I should know. I do it all the time when I’m there. Once, even, the lady at the till went so far as to move my outstreched hand aside because it was above the sodding change saucer.
It’s not like Italians are afraid of physical contact. So what’s the deal with money then?
Touch Me, I’m Karen Taylor
Touch Me, I’m Karen Taylor is a new comedy show on BBC Three. Very funny – and at last a sketch show that does not rely almost exclusively on catchphrases (remember Little Miss Jocelyn? ‘It’s going to take a looong time’).
Best bit in episode 1: Cash Cow, the late-night quiz show.
Best bit in episode 2 (or so I’ve heard, as I’ve yet to watch last night’s recording): Glamorama, a WAG-hosted current affairs/politics programme.
Sunday lunch: Dalek cake
Three days ago (April 5th) was Dr B.’s birthday and I made him a cake in the shape of a Dalek.
By coincidence a few days earlier I had come across a BBC Blue Peter Dalek cake recipe that was just perfect, as it involved no cooking. All you have to do is stick a couple of Swiss rolls together, make some chocolate butter icing and cover them, and then stick Maltesers, all sorts and liquorice strings on it.
I made the plunger with a birthday cake candle and a wine gum.
The eye was a birthyday cake candle holder.
It looked wonky and not very much like the “real” Dalek, 2005 redesign that inspired it, but it make Dr B. squeal with delight when he opened the fridge and saw my little surprise cake. I guess I managed to achieve the ultimate feat of making a Dalek look sweet.
When I sliced through the Dalek cake I felt I was avenging all the thousands of children that spent part of their childhood hiding behind sofas during the scariest Doctor Who episodes. I also felt my thighs expanding just by looking at the chocolate richness, but that’s a different story, not entirely unrelated to the fact that I went running yesterday.
You say improvement, I read closures
Every Wednesday, Transport for London emails me information on tube closures for work over the weekend. I am not complaining, I have signed up for it – although I would have rather subscribed to an RSS feed which unfortunately, last time I checked, they do not provide.
This week’s email has a slightly different subject line: they are not ‘closures’ any more, now it is an ‘improvement’ – which I suppose it is fair to say. The content of the email is unchanged, as, I fear, the delays I face every single bloody Monday morning on the way to work because of what I am convinced is weekend work that did not finish quite on time.
Google stereotypes
I have had a bit of fun asking Google, our modern oracle, to spit out the general consensus on four nationalities I know well.
Here is what I found in the first page of results:
- their hard work and hard partying
- their hospitality, and when it comes to nightlife for their stamina
- their hospitality
- going crazy for New Things
- building up mammoth trucks with giant wide wheels to stay on top of the snow
- believing in ghosts, huldufolk and other creatures
- their love of the outdoors
- their warm hospitality
- liking <19012092092121112120910>” [sic] and stuff
- using forks
- mafia pizzas and mandolinos
- their impeccable style and fashionable dress sense
- many things: their great cuisines
- their use of hand gestures during conversation
- using forks
- their great cooking and a love of food
- their inherent style
- using the most body language of all European nations
- Good Whine And Cheese
- their love of seafood
- their joie de vivre
- their direct eye contact
- their sense of style
- their fine cuisine
- looking after themselves
- guarding their culture jealously, though somewhat ineffectively
- their eurosceptism and general ignorance towards anything beyond the English Channel
- pragmatism in promoting their national interests
- their twisted sense of humour and satirical nature
- starting every other sentence with the words “I’m afraid…�?
- lagging behind their Continental counterparts when it comes to learning foreign languages
- “the stiff upper lip”
- their dry wit
- drinking tea
- a propensity to understatement
- their caustic, biting humor