Come on Engerland!

How dare anyone suggest I am not patriotic. Those who put flags on lamposts are not ... err... patrioticer than thou. Or me. And they have no grounds to suggest otherwise.

In the first place I was at the World Cup Final in 1966 shouting myself hoarse in support of the lads in red. It were the Germans that were in white that day. What's more I have loyally watched countless miserable England football matches since, where we have failed to live up to our promise, sometimes snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. Iceland - I'm not mentioning Iceland. Almost the same with English cricket where my hopes and support have been raised and then cruelly dashed as other nations have beaten us at our own game. Who oh why have we taught so many other countries to play cricket?

Cars - most of the cars in my life have been British made. I stuck by them, kept the faith, even though they let me down more often than I am happy with.

I'm old enough to remember a time when the national anthem boomed out in the cinema at the end of the evening and stood still till the notes faded away. Did I cut and run? Certainly not. I turned out to watch the Queen drive by, though that was my mother who was a bit obsessed. And I met the future King when he was the Prince of Wales. Shook his hand and everything.

At every election I have accepted the will of the people - my people. Even though I haven't agreed with them - most of the time as it has turned out.

I love this green and pleasant land with its dodgy summers and mild winters. With its newspapers stunned by any kind of weather that isn't light drizzle.

My chest fills with pride that we gave the world Shakespeare and the Beatles, Elgar and novelists to boot. Poets that live for centuries after. Great actors who moved us all. There is no doubt that this is a great country for which I have a strong love and devotion - I live here don't I? 

I just don't like the flags at half mast on the lampposts elevated there by hate. They claim patriotism - "the last refuge of the scoundrel". And those scoundrels are on the streets in their blackshirts - full of intimidation and hate.

I lived through the hippy dippy sixties when all you needed was love. That was fun, but how is - "All you need is hate" -  working out for you?