It is years since I actually lived in Britain, well England to be exact. Go back for a few days, and the changes as well as the frozen time are evident as are contrasts with Spain and Mallorca. One forms an impression on arrival. Land at Palma and you would be forgiven for thinking that the paranoia about air travel had failed to inveigle itself into the Spanish psyche. Land at Luton and it is different. Amongst the signs and notices for no photography (who would actually want to take a photo of a queue for passport control?) and for inconvenience (couched with a somewhat menacing apology) is a large one for something called “UK Border”. It is hard to determine whether this is intended as some form of branding exercise or whether it is a statement of the bleeding and absurdly obvious; obvious as, yes, it is a point of entry, but absurd as one tends not to think of Luton being at the border. Pass through baggage reclaim to the concourse and there one is struck by more signs. “It is against the law …” There is nothing sadder than smokers outside the revolving doors of Luton Airport in a biting December wind.
Paranoia and the force of law. Years ago, before 9/11, I had observed this dual tendency in Britain; it had come in on the back of those glorious sunny first two days of May 1997. It was not what I, or anyone I would imagine, could have foreseen; at least not the strength with which it has transformed the country. Welcome to England. Welcome to Britain.
Take the culture of Britain today, and it is condensed into all forms of digital transmission. In some ways, it has stood still or gone back to the future. Take That and The Spice Girls never really went away, Gary just got fatter and Posh became Über-Chav. Phil Mitchell’s face got puffier and now offends more in high-definition. Of the new, a reformed drug addict with an artless motormouth and big hair has become an icon for God knows what. Mixed up with outrage at the failings of the rail network (so what’s new?) are controversies regarding some never-will-be winner of “X Factor” and the use of “faggot” and “slut” in a popular Christmas song of many years ago. Welcome to England. Welcome to Britain.
And yet, amongst all these things, there are the old certainties of Britain and some new ones: the enduring beauty of its countryside even on grey, damp days, the more varied but also geometric and ordered landscape; the politeness and courtesy despite condemnations to the contrary; the strength of much comedy, a Briton’s birthright, notwithstanding the Mary Whitehousian disgust at Catherine Tate’s f-words; the outstanding quality and range of shops and supermarkets, their free market of produce and creativity. All these things contrast with Mallorca, and they contrast very favourably.
Welcome to England. Welcome to Britain. Bad and good.
QUIZ
Today’s title – there’s an oblique reference to the singer in today’s piece.
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