To be English = to be weird and wonderful

One of the advantages to studying anthropology is to make the familiar exotic. This, in combination to having friends who are not English sometimes makes me realise just how remarkable English people are. Our quirks are unique. Everyday, mundane stuff we take for granted is actually rather bizarre to other people! There are many eccentricities the English have which are celebrated in our culture: self-deprecation; eccentricity; having a “stiff upper lip”; being good at queuing; our curious sense of humour... the list goes on. Other people would not see those English foibles as something to be proud of.

Class as we know it is exclusive to the English; it doesn’t have quite the same connotations in any other part of the world. The English evaluate class by heredity rather than money or jobs; i.e. what your parents are; you most likely are too. No-one thinks a “rich chav” is upper-class. The linguistic aspect of British English reflects this. Some examples of the class differences in language (among many others) are: loo/toilet, napkin/serviette, scent/perfume, sofa/couch, pardon/sorry/what. As a little girl, I was taught to say certain words rather than others because “saying pardon is so naff”.

Kate Fox, who wrote the layman’s anthropology book ‘Watching the English’, uses a brilliant example of garden gnomes. Her theory is that the English class system is split into upper class, upper-middle, middle-middle, lower-middle, and working class. Garden gnomes are viewed by the majority of English people as crass and tacky. A working class person might have a gardening gnome because they really do like them. The middle-middle and lower-middle classes would not have a garden gnome for fear of being mistaken for working-class. A member of the upper-middle class might own one as an ironic statement. A member of the upper-class, very secure in their status, would own a garden gnome because they do really like them.

The English disregard for appearance is rather anti-European. When I went to Rome two years ago, I was struck by the fastidious appearance of all the native Romans. For example, the women all wore stiletto heels - no mean feat in a city covered in cobbled pavements - and men donned jackets, even under the oppressive August sun. One morning, I woke up early and was walking along the street; I noticed two women jogging. They had perfectly coiffed hair, pearl earrings and full make-up on, despite their running clothes. When I go running in the park, I - in common with my fellow joggers - have the following: bed hair, old T-shirts, holey leggings, and/or yesterday’s makeup. This isn’t just a one-off; going to the corner shop, often people are in their pyjamas (with a coat to cover it up!). Personally, I love it. Not having to dress up every time I leave the house is an absolute godsend. I think that not getting gussied up all the time makes one appreciate it all the more when actually making the effort. Primping and preening in front of the mirror shouldn’t be a daily occurrence.

Ultimately? I am proud to be English. I love the fact that we think we are the best nation in the world; looking down on the Americans as being too loud and obnoxious, the French as being smelly and rude, the Italians as too flamboyant und so weiter. 

[picture by Kevin Lyons]

It takes a long time to grow an old friend.

In our book club this month, we read The Slap by Christos Tsiolkas. (An interesting book, although not one I would necessarily recommend!) One of the things we discussed at our meeting was friendship.

Two characters in the book, Rose and Anouk, who met when young, still saw each other socially because of a mutual best friend. However, under the surface, they had grown apart and secretly despised each other. One scene in the book was illuminating; Rose was upset because of her difficult relationship with her mother. She spoke to Anouk on the phone, and, in that moment, was able to feel a true connection with her old friend. Rose also had two new friends - Shamira and Bilal, who she initially felt much warmer to than to Anouk. In spite of this, at the first hurdle in their friendship, they abandoned her with ease.

Some of the people I consider to be my best friends, I barely see. Months can go by with no contact. Yet when we meet, we pick up where we left off and it feels as if no time has gone by at all. Being with them is easier; fundamentally, they know and understand me. My idiosyncrasies, faults and uncertainties are familiar to them.

It depends on how you term friendship. I don’t think there is a universal set of requirements. Should you have prerequisites: loyalty and honesty; someone you can “be yourself” with; who you can learn from and helps you to grow; who is fun? I cannot explain what sets those closest to me apart from the rest (excepting the above!). It is a million indefinable qualities that make them my best friends.

One could argue that you need to have something in common; shared interests or values. Equally, it is important to have friends who are different to you and who can provide a perspective you would never have otherwise. I have monumental, passionate, never-ending arguments with one of my best friends. It can get to the point where I am beside myself with fury that he “just does not get it”, and vice versa. However, I don’t think our conflicting opinions on certain issues devalues our relationship at all.

As I get older, increasingly I have had to face the dilemma of whether to persevere with or relinquish an old friend. Is a shared history or mutual effort more important in friendship? On one hand you have an old friend who you love, but never see. On the other, there are a myriad of new, exciting, untried potentials out there. In the course of human events and activities, people grow up, change, and can naturally drift apart. Should you say, “I appreciate all the good times we have shared, and will cherish those memories, but we are no longer friends”?

If they are a true friend, I don’t think so. 

NB The title is a quote from cultural critic John Leonard.