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Beckham
Local Government
Chronicle - 12 June 2007
Ruth Kelly thinks we should celebrate a Britishness Day. We need, she opines, to bring together the diverse cultures, races and creeds which make up modern Britain (action note: remember to ask her whether she includes Scots, Welsh and Irish!) together in a sort of ceremonial bonding session.
She even has an idea for it: State Opening of Parliament day. Or, I suppose, more colloquially Queen Day. Or Democracy Day. Oh dear. It just shows how out of touch you get in Government. What planet does Ruth live on if she thinks the State Opening of Parliament sets the nation’s pulse racing?
I have a much better idea. We need an event to touch the spirits of contemporary Britain, to glorify an icon of modern society, to have a universal reach, to touch the hearts and minds of millions of people not just British, but world-wide.
There is only one thing which could do that. We need a Beckham Day. What other Briton alive is there with such universal recognition? From the back streets of Japan to the massage parlours of Bangkok to the slums of Shanghai one English name resounds- David Beckham.
He is certainly the best known Briton since Princess Diana. Born David Robert Joseph Beckham in Leytonstone on May 2, 1975; educated in that quintessentially bedrock of Britishness Chingford (he’d have no trouble persuading Norman Tebbit which team to root for) and married to an older woman (Victoria Adams aka Posh Spice came into this world on April 17, 1974) he is fashion idol plus New Man. He even plays football. And the last time he played England won. Vive Estonia!
So that’s the date: Beckham’s Birthday, conveniently just after the May Day Bank Holiday. So we can add Beckham’s Birthday to May Day which takes care of the first Monday and Tuesdays in May. That gives us four clear days to celebrate Britishness.
Doing what? Well, I have a range of helpful suggestions. We could instruct the television channels to show mass repeats of the 1966 World Cup Final. After all, football commentators seem to evoke the spirit of ’66 as if it were the final battle in the third world war of the twentieth century. It is also one of those unusual things- a first-class football match played in England with English players in it!
Whilst we are glued to the screen we could have street parties where the national dish is served (chicken tikka masala) washed down with the nation’s favourite tipple – chardonnay. For those obstinately refusing to accede to the coming trend of balti with white wine I am sure the cross channel ferries would arrange special day trips for beer to the liquor emporia of Calais.
Of course if we had four clear days off (plus the very British early finish to Friday) large number of compatriots would chose to celebrate their national identity in the best possible place- abroad. Thanks to Mr Ryanair (Irish) and Mr Easyjet (Greek) getting away from it all is cheaper and easier than ever before. And where better to parade our Britishness than on some agreeable foreign beach or treating the locals to the inventive community singing in the town square for which we are internationally renowned? Just imagine how blissful a British Day would be if Britain were largely emptied of….Britons!
I think I would retire to my greenhouse and vegetable garden to talk to my seedlings: after all, what could be more British than discussing the garden and the weather? I would turn the compost heap, get the runner beans, leeks, squash, courgettes and sweet-corn out, fret over the mange-tout peas, re-pot the tomatoes and, above all, put the straw under the strawberries. There might even be a decent football match on Five Live though I fear that Radio 3 will have been hi-jacked by patriotic renditions of Edward Elgar and Vaughan Williams. Then a good soak and onto the terrace for a glass of good Bordeaux to listen to the blackbirds’ soft whistling and the leaves at the top of the poplar tinkle as they catch the evening’s last breath.
I would drink a toast to David Beckham- the Englishman who put England on the map in places where there aren’t even any maps. And perhaps spare a grateful thought for Ruth Kelly.
© Local Government Chronicle
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