Who do we think we are?

 

WHO IS THE YOO KAY?

Belgium. France. Spain. Portugal. Ireland. The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Spot the odd one out. OK, I may have exaggerated for comic effect, but it is a weird name. And a weird state that has, and always has had, a serious identity crisis.

I lived in England for 35 years. Early on in my residency I gave up trying to correct locals in their usage of words to describe their own country. England seemed to suffice for many to cover England itself, Britain, Great Britain, and the UK. Some even appeared to scoop up the whole of the island of Ireland into their terminology. Ofter the four in my list were exchanged randomly, without thought. This is not something that happens in the other countries that make up the UK, where our sense of national identity is stronger. (Well, unionists in Northern Ireland are a pretty confused bunch sometimes...)

This identity confusion is continued in the media. If a UK newsreader talks about 'the largest city on the northeast' we all know where they are referring to. And it isn't Aberdeen. They frequently talk about 'UK politics' and then it's clear their subject is only England.

But if you want to see real confusion then have a look at the UK in international sport, which proves, maybe more than anything else, what an anomalous state this place is in global terms.  In sport is the UK ever 'The UK'?  I can't think of an example where it is.  In the Olympics, and a few sports like ice hockey, there is a 'Team GB', even though it is supposed to include Northern Ireland.  But in most international cometitions 'the UK' doesn't exist.  It's the national teams that play.  England.  Scotland.  Wales.  Sometimes Northern Ireland.  Is there any other state on the planet that does this?  And in one major international sport, one element of the UK's territory plays as part of the national team of the neighbouring state.  (Ireland plays rugby union as a complete nation, including the still-occupied territory in the north east of the country..)  That is an anomaly...

And now, for the first time, the UK will have First Ministers in two of the nations who want to take their country out of the UK, and another who favours reunification with the rest of their nation.  While the largest nation appears to be heading in a very different political direction.

It's easy to conclude that the UK is a bit of a mess, a place of uncertainty and confusion. But also that my title question was the wrong one. Maybe we should be asking - Why is the UK? (And for how much longer...)

It might not be wisdom, but here's a few thoughts

Some thoughts that keep buzzing around my head, and felt a need to be released…

Being, or wanting to be, a billionaire is a mental illness. I mean seriously… why? How deep is your sense of inadequacy? And why are you inflicting it on the world?

And related to that…

We need to make a lot more use of the word ‘enough’, and the concept it embodies. Do you know when you’ve had enough? Do you know when you’ve done enough? Do you know when you’ve got enough. It’s an imperfect world filled with imperfect people. Understand what’s important and necessary is one key to a contented life, and surely enough is… well, enough. Isn’t it?

The right bang on about rewarding ‘wealth creators’, and I couldn’t agree more. Where we disagree is on who those people are. The true wealth of a country lies in it's people, not an accumulation of money (which is, after all, merely conceptual). Our real wealth comes from learning, and teachers are the true wealth creators, to be rewarded as such. Oh, and the myth of the ‘self made man’ is just that – a myth. We are all interdependent. (Ditto the ‘alpha male’…)

The right bang on about immigrants and poor people as if they were your enemy.  But they're us.  Whereas the scumbags and companies that don't pay their due taxes... yeah, they're the real enemy.

The right bang on about the Starmer government being left wing, or 'socialist', or even 'marxist'. Would this be the same Starmer who purged most of the decent left wingers and socialists from this supposedly socialist part?  (And as for Marxist...🤣🤣)  The last time the UK had a government that could be seen as left wing was the 70s.  It's been downhill since then.

Never be afraid to use the F word when it's the right one to use.  Deform and other far right groups are Fascists.  Use the word, own it, and use this list from the great Umberto Eco to prove it.

I was chatting to a young person on social media and they asked me if, from my great age and experience, I had any wisdom to pass on. At first I thought “no, the best learning is your own experience”, and wasn’t going to say anything. But then I realised that maybe I did have something to pass on, in 2 parts :

First, learn to ask the right questions. They aren’t usually the ones that politicians, the media and advertisers want you to ask. So maybe don’t ask how to stop ‘the small boats’, but why these poor, desperate people are having to take that route? What are the barriers, where is their motivation? It’s not what Niggle Fuhrage and the Daily Fail tries to con you into believing…

Second, look after your knees. That’s the big one!

How did the US elect a moron to be president? Dubya now looks like a towering statesman in comparison. And if you doubt the ‘moron’ tag… try drinking some bleach.

And related to that…

Janey was 100% right (and fat ol' Donnie doesn’t understand how percentages work).

Anyone want to agree or disagree?  What would you add to that list?

The smile remains

 

IF CARLSBERG DID SATURDAYS...

I woke up smiling this morning. Not for the reasons you might think, if you're have a sordid turn of mind. No, this was a memory, a very recent memory, but one that has had me grinning every day since when I remember the perfect storm that came my way. Saturday 7 March 2026 was a good one.

On Friday I'd given Daffy a good clean in preparation for her big day out, and the chance to meet some of her family. On Saturday morning she emerged into the sunshine, the roof was flipped back, and we made our way across the city to the southern reaches. Swanston golf club. There to join the line up above. 14 2CV cars, and one van. In the (almost) 2 years we've had her she's only once encountered a familiar, and that very briefly. And here she was in a convoy of these weird little upturned prams, making our way down into the city centre, and across to Murrayfield. To be cheerfully received by the crowds making their way to the stadium, especially the French amongst them. Cheers, shouts, smiles, laughs and thumbs up came our way. Fun for us, fun for them.

If that had been the end of the day it would still have been memorable. But at home we sat and watched the match they'd all been walking towards, and an unexpected thriller it was. Scotland taking apart the championship favourites in stylish fashion, running in 7 tries against one of the world's best defences, making the world's greatest #9 look ordinary on the day. Elation.

Not finished yet. After eating, Daffy took us back to Murrayfield, and we went into the rink this time. Caps were playing Kirkcaldy Kestrels, our big local rivals. A 5-1 win was a good way to end the day. But with the added frisson that this leaves us needing just 1 point from our final 3 games, which would make us league champions. A special feeling, after 3 years of finishing in second. The title could (should?) be ours on the twenty first of this month.

3 special moments in one day. No wonder I'm still smiling. And yet I haven't mentioned the little cherry on top. Checking social media and seeing the Six Nations result in Rome. OK, a little schadenfreude isn't always something to be proud of, but... who can resist a wee grin when they hear the English have lost 3 in a row? Not me.

You don't get many days like that. ☺️

An unexpected discovery

 

SERENDIPITY ON A PLATE

We rarely have need to go to the Morningside area, way out on the south side of the city. It was somewhere I went several times in my old volunteer role, but there's not been much reason recently. However there was a hospital visit out that way this morning, and once it was over and done with we sought out a suitable replenishment hole.

The first couple of cafes we passed were rejected. One too busy, the other with uncomfortable looking seats (heh, these things matter at our age!). And we found one we'd not seen before. Narrow frontage, but going a long way back. Fresh and bright interior, cakes that looked top class, and the seats were OK too. A more extensive, and imaginative, menu than most others too

A friendly welcome inside, a glass of water served up as we checked out that menu. I went savoury, Barbara sweet. The coffees were good as we waited for our meals to be cooked. When they arrived the presentation definitely had impact. You can see mine above - colourful, artfully arranged. Barbara's pancake stack came topped with with an upside down cone, complete with ice cream inside (Luca's ice cream, the owner wanted to make clear - if you're Edinburgh you'll know why). Both plates tasted as good as they looked. OK, the cost was a bit above most cafe meals, but the quality was way way up too.

To the extent that if we don't have excuses to got to that part of the world then Fourdish itself (for such is the name) might be reason enough. For us it's easy to get to - only 35 minutes on a bus that passes five minutes walk from our door - and there are always some shops to have a look into out that way. Or maybe a trip to the Dominion cinema.

Some days life can bite back, on other it hands you an unexpected gift. Today definitely fell into the latter category. Not just a nice cafe, but a great pleasure.

When is a dream not a dream?

 

THE DREAMS THAT REMAIN

This morning I saw a writing prompt that asked about the link between dreams and memories. I certainly don't know the scientific answer to that, but it is clear that the two can be linked. Some dreams remain with us for many years, some have dream status placed upon them, because they lie in the strange zone of mystery, where dream, imagination and reality get so jumbled up they are impossible to disentangle.

That led me to recall two childhood dream memories. The first clearly a dream, a weird little movie clip that I woke with one morning, and has always lingered on the edge of consciousness. But the second... that's in that mystery zone I mentioned, where I am uncertain of its real status, and will never know.

I grew up, an only child with my parents, in a small mid-terrace 1950s villa. The dream I remember probably emerged when I was about eight. But it could have been anytime in the following four years I guess. The house had somehow become detached from its neighbours, and plonked on a beach on a tropical island. There were palm trees, waves and sand. We were under attack. From 'natives'. (UK school education in the 60s still carried a strong whiff of imperialism, so this word came as a generic term that wasn't then as questionable as it would be today.) We had barricaded the windows in my parents' bedroom, and were firing back at our attackers. The one detail that stands out is that the wallpaper was the original decor, red with white stars, that had been replaced some years before the dream took place.

That's it. I recall no more, if there was anything to recall. I have no idea about the possible psychological significance, or the factors that fed into creating this brief scenario. Although I did read a lot of "boy's own" type stories in books and comics, so that is likely source material. But why should that odd dream, of all those I must have had, still be with me six decades later? What was so powerful about that particular sequence, other than I think I awoke feeling frightened? The questions remain unanswered.

My second 'memory' is from my teenage years. In the same home as above. It's the wee small hours, say 4am. I've been lying awake. Get up, go to the bathroom, open the cabinet on the wall. Stare at the contents. I have not turned the light on, but there is sufficient illumination from the window to allow me to read the labels (oh for such young and perfect eyesight once more...). I place the jars containing tablets and medicines on to a flat surface. I stare at them for a long time. I contemplate taking them all. But then, eventually, after who-knows-how-long, I put them back. One by one, into the places whence they came. The cupboard door is closed, and I return to my bed.

Dream? Story? Reality? To this day I cannot answer that honestly, because I don't know if it 'happened' or not. It's a 'memory' for sure, but an unreliable one. And doesn't every teenager dream of their own death at some point, be it an accident or by intent? So did it 'happen' because it's a memory, or a dream, or a story, and that's all it needs it to be? Do you have these tales that could be any of the above? That are woven in to your life fabric and that's all you really need to know about them? Because who cares if this is 'real' or 'dream' or something even more nebulous? It's a part of me, of my history, a memory of a thing that may or may not have happened or been dreamt or imagined, and that no longer matters in any real sense.

We are our memories, our dreams, our past both real and imagined. The trick is to accept them all and let them be a part of who you are, the stock cube in your stew of life.

One final thought. We have friends coming to stay with us next week, and I have been thinking through what I might cook for them on their first night here. This morning, the morning when the dream-related prompt presented itself to me, I woke from a dream of cooking that meal. It was all there - shopping list, ingredients, method. And I typed that up when I came to my desk, not wanting to waste that valuable timesaver my subconscious had gifted me. Will it be any good? I'll let you know next week.