Zen and the Art of being English
Created | Updated Feb 14, 2002
It can be said without doubt that there is no one such thing being English. This essay intends to understand what being english is and what it means for the future. We must ask ourselves, how we can achieve unity through understanding and strive to unify our understanding so that we may understand our untity and maybe one day unite under a single flag. Information kills ignorance and so, my friend, become informed. It could save your life.
England is best described as a series of almost invisible tribes.
In the same way that Europeans find it difficult to deal with the fact that the country next to them prefers garlic crammed sasauge to snail shells stuffed with garlic, - or the fact that they invaded them 60 years a go - so it follows that the `scousers` - as the idigenous of Liverpool would label themselves - can not stomach the fact that `mancs` - from Manchester - support a different football club.
While these subtle differences may seem subtle to an outsider, it should be understood that locally, these cultural differences allow these disparate tribal groups to function in a symbiotic relationship. For a start - people from Manchester much prefer the colour red to any other colour. And so do the people from Liverpool. This is a whole bone of contention but ultimately means that their tribal outfits can be made by the same five year olds in Viet-Nam, all at once in the same building and for a fraciton of the cost of one of the tribes having to resort to wearing Reebok. (oh wait, i think that they might actually...)
In London, the crowds in the North are viewed as uncivilised and vulgar savages, mainy due to the different and unintelligible dialects that they speak. This is a very unfair view, because not many Londoners while next eating a deep fried, battered kebab with battered chips, orange stuff, no vegetables and a piece of pitta, will remember where this exquisite dish came from. How would they feel without battered chip batches? What would Soho be like without it`s famous Midland culinary experiences. And Brixton, with it`s famous `northern` style clubbing experiences.
Londoners should never be confused with people. They are and will always be quite seperate entities. At no time should anyone ever feel pity for Londoners when they are seen to suffer. It may seem cruel, but when they die it is really for the best. Just like rats and foxes. In fact the ancient art of fox hunting - the most sacred preserve of the Buddhist English - was based on Londoner hunting before European food laws prevented this, saying that Londoners could contaminate other countries meat stocks. Ideas of a cull were mooted but decided against when it was realised that the Queen - who is actually German - lived in London and could get accidently caught up in a sausage extruder. And stuffed with garlic. Which as I explained earlier, would upset the French - who are best explained from a socialogical point of view as being a genetic cross betweem Asterix and Emmanuelle.
Those of the West County are a simple folk who like nothing better than eat and drink and generally make merry with anything that comes to hand. They rarely leave their beloved fields and so can be quite difficult to find. This fact usually leads to the fact that when you do meet one, you will start mimicking their accent, believing that, really, they are just like you and that they too are taking the urine out of the bladder - a Danish expression lent to the English as thanks for their help in making the Danish video tape so utterly popular. Especially the `farm animal` specials so favoured by the West country.
So, as we can see, there is no quantifiable thing that we can call Engish. England, being comprised (comprimised) of so many different tribes is what is known as a `mongrel` race. A little bit of everything. So, therefore, `being English` was in effect the first real branding that was ever used. Rather than being a race, it was a brand of inequality. Wherever, in the world that you went, you knew that it was the same. The English were good, you were a donkey.
Comparisons are often drawn between being an Englishman and being a Big Mac. The French can`t stomach you, the Germans prefer sausages and the Americans could just eat you up with a large sheik and any middle eastern country they felt like at the time.
I hope this goes some way to promoting love and understanding in my fellow middle-men.
England is best described as a series of almost invisible tribes.
In the same way that Europeans find it difficult to deal with the fact that the country next to them prefers garlic crammed sasauge to snail shells stuffed with garlic, - or the fact that they invaded them 60 years a go - so it follows that the `scousers` - as the idigenous of Liverpool would label themselves - can not stomach the fact that `mancs` - from Manchester - support a different football club.
While these subtle differences may seem subtle to an outsider, it should be understood that locally, these cultural differences allow these disparate tribal groups to function in a symbiotic relationship. For a start - people from Manchester much prefer the colour red to any other colour. And so do the people from Liverpool. This is a whole bone of contention but ultimately means that their tribal outfits can be made by the same five year olds in Viet-Nam, all at once in the same building and for a fraciton of the cost of one of the tribes having to resort to wearing Reebok. (oh wait, i think that they might actually...)
In London, the crowds in the North are viewed as uncivilised and vulgar savages, mainy due to the different and unintelligible dialects that they speak. This is a very unfair view, because not many Londoners while next eating a deep fried, battered kebab with battered chips, orange stuff, no vegetables and a piece of pitta, will remember where this exquisite dish came from. How would they feel without battered chip batches? What would Soho be like without it`s famous Midland culinary experiences. And Brixton, with it`s famous `northern` style clubbing experiences.
Londoners should never be confused with people. They are and will always be quite seperate entities. At no time should anyone ever feel pity for Londoners when they are seen to suffer. It may seem cruel, but when they die it is really for the best. Just like rats and foxes. In fact the ancient art of fox hunting - the most sacred preserve of the Buddhist English - was based on Londoner hunting before European food laws prevented this, saying that Londoners could contaminate other countries meat stocks. Ideas of a cull were mooted but decided against when it was realised that the Queen - who is actually German - lived in London and could get accidently caught up in a sausage extruder. And stuffed with garlic. Which as I explained earlier, would upset the French - who are best explained from a socialogical point of view as being a genetic cross betweem Asterix and Emmanuelle.
Those of the West County are a simple folk who like nothing better than eat and drink and generally make merry with anything that comes to hand. They rarely leave their beloved fields and so can be quite difficult to find. This fact usually leads to the fact that when you do meet one, you will start mimicking their accent, believing that, really, they are just like you and that they too are taking the urine out of the bladder - a Danish expression lent to the English as thanks for their help in making the Danish video tape so utterly popular. Especially the `farm animal` specials so favoured by the West country.
So, as we can see, there is no quantifiable thing that we can call Engish. England, being comprised (comprimised) of so many different tribes is what is known as a `mongrel` race. A little bit of everything. So, therefore, `being English` was in effect the first real branding that was ever used. Rather than being a race, it was a brand of inequality. Wherever, in the world that you went, you knew that it was the same. The English were good, you were a donkey.
Comparisons are often drawn between being an Englishman and being a Big Mac. The French can`t stomach you, the Germans prefer sausages and the Americans could just eat you up with a large sheik and any middle eastern country they felt like at the time.
I hope this goes some way to promoting love and understanding in my fellow middle-men.
