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In order to truly make sense of this post, you do need to have read the post Without Portfolio Although, I am perfectly aware that you will ignore this and continue to read regardless, before realising I might have been correct after all, slipping off to read it and returning here with the hope you’ve not been noticed. So it’s nice to have you back; I hope it all makes more sense to you this second time.

But anyway… to the point:

This weekend’s England vs Wales six nations match has done little to help my Nationality Displacement… I thought it might inject a little pride in my team to see them battle it out in this way, but I ended up instead thinking about the move and how desperately I need to be away from here. Who knows, maybe that’s the key – maybe once I leave I will be able to think about the things I miss about England and realise that is wherein lies my own English identity but time alone will tell.

I don’t know what I was expecting; maybe some kind of epiphany through which I would suddenly feel everything fall into place and I would realise my English core; the truth is a whole pile of something else, though…

Lets start, then, at the beginning with the Anthems; the rousing, impassioned “Land of My Fathers” versus the dreary, sanctimonious “God Save Our Queen”.

Okay, I guess you are already seeing how this one will pan out: In this first play, the full 7 points to Wales as there is nothing inspiring or pride-inducing in the drawn-out drime that is our national song.

But hold on, what’s this? A shameful foul from England through not having their own anthem and taking that which supposedly represents a collection of countries (including Wales, of course!) to claim it as English. Penalty to Wales.

So Wales off to a cracking start then at 10-0.


And so it goes.


In my usual girlie manner, I have to point out that the Welsh kit looks far better. Oh and the English team has far less eye candy... but I am aware these are not the things which define a nationality!

So to make some attempt at depth and substance...


Needless to say, there was no English epiphany - in fact here is what happened:

At a couple of points during the game, I found myself instinctively cheering players through some tricky tackles and spectacular plays – a breakthrough, surely? But no, because these players were wearing red… yet still I was spurring them on, willing them past the struggling English defenders to score and cheering when they did.

And another peculiarity: As I went about my business after the game – baking cakes, cooking dinner, folding laundry and other mundanities, those times our mind shuts down and instinct kicks in – I found myself so many times spontaneously singing aloud. Nothing strange in that, I know. But for the fact that the song implanted in my mind was Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau. And yes, although I don’t know all the words, I was singing what little I knew in Welsh.

These factors are subliminal, things which just happened without thought or intention. So what does that say for my Englishness?

Just how English am I feeling right now?

Not at all, I am afraid.


I am sure I will return to this topic at some point; maybe when I do you will pay attention to my suggestion of a catch-up read and who knows maybe when I come back to it I may be able to provide something more telling... but in the meantime, I have nothing more to say.

Without Portfolio

Last night I found myself finally getting around to watching Rob Brydon’s Identity Crisis. Any amongst you who have both watched it yourselves and read more than one post of this blog will be aware of two factors which I am sure make you wonder just how I have avoided watching it thus far.

These being:

1. The presence throughout the show of the delicious Chris Corcoran
2. The fact that I actually quite like a bit of Mr C and would make the hugest effort to have him all HD and beautiful in the corner of my living room

Regardless, I have felt mostly indifferent each time it has cropped up on the TV listings until now.

It was bothering me slightly that to see it was on I just had that “Meh” feeling and got on with something else instead - not just because of the Corcoran-apathy, but because I genuinely love Rob Brydon's work too! I realise now though that the timing needed to be right.

The show was fabulous… but this is not going to be a review, mostly since it's a really old programme so my opinion is fairly irrelevant, but also because it seems to have gone deeper than purely entertainment having led me on something of a personal journey of introspection regarding my own lack of national identity.

The issue of timing comes of the fact that it coincides with the Rugby Six Nations.

Major sporting events tend to highlight the national pride (or lack thereof!) in everyone; in fact, it often feels that I personally am the only individual void of any kind of pride in ‘my’ team.

In a previous job, my colleagues were all very heavily into football. I have no interest myself, so just held back from their conversation. When international tournaments were happening, they somehow expected me to suddenly care about the game, making me out to be strange for having no opinion on how last night’s match went or often not even knowing whether there was one on. I had a heated debate with a very dear friend during the most recent [maybe World, maybe European] Cup over the fact that she had watched an England match and was gutted that we had lost: “I thought you didn’t like football?” “I don’t, but it is England isn’t it!” I don’t understand this. It makes no sense to my mind to endure *half-guessing* 90 minutes (?) of anything unpleasant just to show support for your country; but that’s just me, it seems…

It works the other way too… you may remember (or may not, here’s the page just in case!) my references to the rugby world cup back in the autumn; I do quite enjoy watching rugby. What baffled me, though, was the outpouring at the time from my footie-loving, ‘egg-chase’-hating friends giving their opinion of the plays and outcomes; challenged on their sudden interest, they expressed the same opinion; of course they are interested, their team are playing after all!

So why do I not feel the same? As much as I like to watch rugby, I still cannot muster that national pride to cheer on my team. In fact during the World Cup itself, I noted that occasionally there might have been a choice of matches and I would opt to watch the ‘other’ one, missing the England match. A Welsh friend tried taunting me after a particular match (probably the last one, although I do not remember at what stage or to whom we left the tournament) and was a little down-hearted that his goading invoked such little reaction. His final word on the matter was something along the lines of admiring me for being the bigger person; I never did tell him I just did not care! Especially given that he thought even more highly of me when I sent messages of sympathy over the theft of his Welsh team’s semi-final and afterwards the loss of their third place play-off match against Australia.

And now we are in the midst of the six nations tournament, I find myself headed down the same pathway; being mostly indifferent when ‘my’ team are playing; caring more for other teams than England; feeling I do not quite belong to this nation that supposedly owns me.

So what is the point to all this rambling?

Well, believe it or not it does bother me that I have no affiliation to my country.
Nationality matters. Even with the current pull northwards to Wales, I will still be an English person and am fully aware that moving will not change who I am. Yet if I do not know who I am, how can I teach my children to discover their own identities? There is a heavily ingrained Englishness within me somewhere, believe me; I have studied my family tree and taken at least three separate lines back to the early part of the eighteenth century (the earliest being a 1703 baptism entry) and at no point does anyone move farther than thirty miles from where I now live – that inherent heritage will not go away simply because I move fifty miles north.

So why the calling? Why do I feel such a one-ness whenever I visit Wales, even when I think back on childhood visits? Why the initial round of recurrent dreams which instigated my current need to move away? The desperate need to learn the language and the frantic house-hunting? Why do I feel such a longing, almost becoming of home-sickness when standing at the edge of the county gazing forlornly at the Welsh coastline?

I have no answers, but at least thanks to Rob Brydon (and of course the gorgeous Mr Corcoran!) I do at least have an inkling as to the right questions to ask…




And I am aware of the gleaming irony of using an image representing Cornwall whilst talking of my own heritage, but it kind of illustrates my point to say I really don't much care!

World Cup Rugby

On the rugby world cup….

Being as it is a big deal, I guess I ought at least to acknowledge the event!

Actually, I like to watch the rugby so it is good to have an excuse to sit around watching during the day when I should be doing far more important things!

But this being a feminine(ish) household, don’t expect any relevant punditry! The types of conversations we have do tend to veer around the clothing, players’ physiques and critiques of the fashion choices of the fans – but we are watching the sport too: honest!

So here is what is intriguing us mostly:

• COUTURE: Who the heck decided that the seventies-style tight sleeved t-shirts were appropriate for such top-heavy figures as the generic rugby player? I guess the reasoning is something to do with having the ability to grab at the opponents’ shirts or something, but the look is far from flattering! Baby is redesigning the rugby kits of the entire world as we speak!
• PHYSIQUE: This is quite possibly the only sport (unless you are one of those people who consider wrestling to be a sport rather than ballet for the perpetually unfit) in which the more out of shape you look the better you are considered at your game. Seeing a tall, fairly skinny guy on the pitch at the weekend we all just looked at one another as though to say “that guy is going to be killed in minutes!” Strangely, he wasn't - but there is something quite peculiar about a relatively good-looking slightly gangly figure amidst the more traditionally-shaped players!
• HAIR: Baby’s contribution was this: “They should shave their heads to stop them getting all sweaty in the head – especially that one; he’s far too beardy to play rugby!” She had thought it through though! The man in particular had quite a curly, bushy beard and in her mind the other players could grab it to stop him running. Says a lot for the type of matches she has been exposed to I think that she sees it as a possibility, but anyway I have to say she had a point – and they were all extra sweaty so maybe they should consider it!


The indoor games must be a bizarre experience for the players too. I grew up watching rugby with my dad and saw many games in the snow or in inches of mud which added enough to the atmosphere as a spectator; even more so for the players themselves; so to play completely void of any outdoor elements at all must make the game feel pretty strange.

Miss-middle and baby are both quite interested in playing. I remembered how as teenagers, my best friendling and I were once chatting with our PE teacher (mostly as a means to get out of doing any actual activity!) about how badly we wanted to not be playing cricket and he offered to teach us anything we chose instead … adding that favoured teacher expression “within reason”. I always suspected his next sentence was a lie and who knows I may meet him again one day and ask him, but he told us that in order to teach girls to play rugby required a “special licence” which none of the school staff had; but we could learn football! In reality, actually playing rugby at that time would not have been much fun (far too dirty – and as for all that running around! Ugh!!) and we were perfectly happy with our chosen fielding positions in cricket, passing entire lessons making daisy chains having opted to “go deep” far from anywhere the ball might ever reach but it made for a lively discussion nevertheless. Our request was not entirely unfounded, though; for one thing, there was a second playing field which was only used for rugby so the girls had never even seen it. That hardly seemed fair to us so we wanted to get onto that field too!

And yes, maybe the thought of being tackled to the ground by certain boys fuelled our request a little….


So anyway, that is about all I will say on the subject....



I don’t generally link to the IPlayer because the shows don’t stay on it for long enough – especially radio shows! But you really must listen to this – very funny ‘coverage’ of the rugby from the GLC boys which almost makes us sound like experts on the sport!

Rhys and Eggsy's Goldie Lookin' Cup