Myths About Britain - Debunked

 

I was sitting in a bar in Amsterdam many years ago with an British work colleague and a Dutch man who was a customer. We were enjoying a quiet conversation when we noticed two young Dutch guys on the other side of the bar lambasting a slightly inebriated British bloke who was on his own. 

“You don’t care about your children!” declared one of the Dutch guys. “You send your children away for months to school. No wonder you people are the way you are.”

We were slightly uncomfortable hearing this but we ignored them. Eventually the British guy had had enough and left. Unfortunately, one of the Dutch guys heard us talking and the two of them immediately came over to us with a view to continuing their attack on British people. 

“So, you’re English?” he asked us. 

Thankfully, our Dutch colleague turned around and said something to them in Dutch which sounded very stern. Within a minute or two they moved away. 

“What did you say?” I asked. 

He replied:

“I told them that I lived in England for four years and everything they said was a load of rubbish. I told them that their behaviour is terrible and they are letting down Dutch people by being such arseholes.”

This was a one-off because Dutch people are usually laid back and really friendly. However, this unfortunate episode leads me on to some common misconceptions about the place I call home that simply aren’t true. Let’s dive in.

All British people send their kids away to school for months

This is, as my Dutch friend said, untrue on the whole. Also, I heard a French bloke in a restaurant in Paris saying the same thing to an American colleague once. This time I interrupted and told the American that this simply wasn’t true. 

What is true is that we do have public schools such as Harrow, Rugby and Eton (which has barfed out some Prime Ministers like Boris the Clown). Public schools are fee paying and heaped in tradition and deep in the realm of the filthy rich of our country. In public school you will find the children of royalty and nobility and extremely rich businessmen etc. because they are the only ones who can afford them.

The vast majority of kids in the UK, (93%)  go to normal state schools in the same way most other children in the world do. I have only ever met one guy who went to public school and he hated every second of it. He was a really good friend at university and he had what can only be described as a posh accent. 

Talking of accents …

There are only two British accents: the royal accent and cockney

The “royal” accent is what I would describe the accent spoken by Charlie-boy, aka King Charles III. It is known as “received pronunciation”. The cockney accent is the accent of London. The truth is that there are so many accents in the United Kingdom that listing them all would take ages.  Here’s a taster:

My accent used to be “Black Country” or “Yam Yam” which is very close to the Brummie accent in the video above spoken by Ozzy Osbourne. I used to sound similar to him because he was born about ten miles away from Walsall, where I was born. But even in those ten miles, the accent mutated and my original dialect had words that perhaps even Ozzy never used. 

You may also note that the video described that accent “being rated as Britain’s least intelligent” and since I moved away from Walsall I can vouch for this being true. When I moved to Liverpool for university, people used to say “what part of Birmingham are you from?”. I was naïve and said “How do you know where I’m from?, which may have made them think that people from Walsall and Birmingham are as stupid as the accent makes them sound.

This was of course the first time I encountered the Scouse accent (spoken by people from Liverpool). When I tried to open a bank account as a naïve 19 year old, I really struggled because I could barely understand the woman I was dealing with. She was a fully-fledged Scouser and we struggled to communicate because my accent was so strong too. She got my name wrong about ten times and she probably thought I was stupid too.

Over the years, my accent has faded and now I have what Southerners would call a neutral Northern accent. Yet occasionally, my Yam Yam accent surfaces (usually when I am ranting). There is no Mancunian in there (well possibly a hint).

We all live in London

London is the capital of England and the United Kingdom but we don’t all live there. I have been asked by an American, “So what’s it like living in London?”

Now, London is a huge city but it is over two hundred miles away from Manchester. I have friends who live there and I visit the place quite often. It takes four hours to drive there from Manchester and this is why I usually take the train, taking just over two hours. 

But I am not from London and I don’t live there. And the truth is that 90% of travelling people from the UK that you will meet do not live in London either. Some even live in different countries (see below).

That said, London is a good place to visit. I love it but I wouldn’t want to live there at all. It is too chaotic and too busy for me. 

England is the United Kingdom

I was born in England and I live in England. I was also born in the United Kingdom. But the United Kingdom is not England. 

The United Kingdom consists of four countries: England, Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland. If, for example, you were to ask a Scot whether he was English, you may well get a rude reply. Each country has its own devolved government for local issues but the centre of government of the UK is in London, so perhaps I can understand the slight confusion when meeting somebody from the UK. The accent usually gives it away. 

I can imagine that there are other things that confuse foreigners too, especially when I mention the word "British". I am English and I am also British. Where does “British” fit in I hear you cry? Why are we also called Great Britain? 

Allow me to explain. 

See the following diagram.

The big island that contains England, Scotland and Wales is called Great Britain and people who live in all of those countries are British. There are a lot of smaller islands off the coast of Great Britain but they count as British too (for example the Isle of Man and the Isle of Wight). 

The other major island is Ireland and this comprises the Republic of Ireland and Northen Ireland. The islands of Great Britain, Ireland and all the other smaller islands make up the British Isles. From the perspective of Ireland, the Republic of Ireland (or Eire) is an independent country but Northern Ireland is part of the United Kingdom. Hence the full name of the United Kingdom is The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. 

I hope that clears things up and makes sense.

And Finally …

There are a couple of other myths that need to be debunked so I will do that in another post. 

Bicycle Race

I have an Australian friend who currently lives in London and is a keen cyclist. As I may have mentioned, London during the rush hour is horrific for commuters and, rather than facing day after day of crowds and frustration, he prefers to cycle to work, which not only allows him to clear his head but also keep himself fit; a good thing for somebody who is marginally younger than me.

I will call him Rocky to protect the guilty.

I don’t want to generalise about Australians, but Rocky is a typical Aussie bloke and that’s one of the reasons I like him so much. Conversations with him are amazing and funny.

We visited Rocky and his wife a couple of weeks ago and I was chatting to him about my terrible procrastination when it comes to cycling. And, of course, he was blunt.

“Bloody hell, mate. It’s only FOUR MILES! Get on your bike!”

Of course, he’s right and I really should take his advice. When he said this, I chuckled and said, “You’re right. I have cycled to work before and it’s just a small pootle for somebody like me.”

For those of you who have never heard of the word pootle, it’s a British word that means to travel in a leisurely fashion taking your journey easy and relatively slowly. That’s the way I would pedal to work because I am not competitive and, at my age, racing everyone and everything would be very tiring and also mean that I arrive at work sopping wet, flooding the office with dripping sweat. I would be an even more repulsive creature than I am at the moment.

Rocky takes a different view.

“I’m a MONSTER on my bike,” he claimed when I explained what “pootle” means. “There’s NO WAY you would find me doing that. I go FAST, man. I try to overtake everybody else I see on a bike. It’s like a race and I want to win.”

I can picture him racing along the streets of London, overtaking slower cyclists with a defiant and competitive grin on his face.

However, he told me a story where he came unstuck.

During his normal journey, he spotted another cyclist in the distance travelling at roughly the same speed. Rocky allowed his competitive demon to take control and increased his pace to catch up and overtake the man in front.

At first, he started to gain ground but after a few minutes, the man’s speed also increased and Rocky didn’t like this. The distance between them grew wider and, rather than being sensible and giving up, Rocky became the monster that he had mentioned earlier.

“I pedalled like a bloody DEMON,” he said. “All the time I was watching him and it looked like he wasn’t even trying.”

Rocky pedalled even faster to catch what was now becoming his nemesis and every time he thought he was closing the gap, the man in front surged ahead again.

By this stage, Rocky was distraught. His entire focus was on one thing: defeating this man.

Thoughts started going through his head. Was this man Sir Bradley Wiggins, Chris Froome or Peter Sagan? Was he trying to beat an Olympic athlete or a Tour de France winner?

Eventually, Rocky had to reduce his speed. Desperate in defeat he watched the man pull away again, with seemingly no effort.

Rocky was now quite angry with himself. If you are competitive you probably know why. Winning is everything and if you fail to win then you are less than a human being and a total failure. I think all men are competitive to a certain extent but I have come to terms with my flaws over the years (having failed spectacularly on occasion). When I lose I accept defeat and move on.

Rocky struggled – he really struggled.

And then fate stepped in.

Rocky, now cycling much slower, turned the corner and saw in the distance a red traffic light. Waiting there was his nemesis.

“Right,” thought Rocky to himself. “Now I’ve got you.”

Rocky found some inner strength and pushed himself to get to the light before it changed to green. He wanted to see who had beaten him. He wanted to talk to his new nemesis and find out why he had lost.

After a minute or two he pulled up alongside the cyclist and, to his horror, saw that the man was a little chubby and clearly, in Rocky’s view, not as fit as Rocky himself. The nemesis had hardly got any sweat on his face. Rocky on the other hand was gasping for breathe red faced and wild with frustration.

“Bloody hell, mate!” Rocky said to the man. “What are you? Some kind of machine? I’ve been trying to catch you up for the past couple of miles and you look like you’ve hardly broken sweat!”

The man looked at Rocky as if he were an idiot.

“I’m riding an ELECTRIC BIKE mate,” he laughed.

“FOR PHAARRKKS SAKE!” screamed Rocky.

He felt like a complete idiot.

So did I.

Why? Because when he mentioned the electric bike, I sprayed the table with beer because I had been in mid sip. A mouthful of beer and a guffaw do not mix.

“Yeah,” said Rocky laughing as beer dripped down my chin. “That’s exactly how I felt.”

Progressive Thoughts - Day 7

A progressive rock blogathon wouldn’t be complete without a song from my favourite band of all time, the Canadian power trio that is Rush.

This song is called Mystic Rhythms from the 1985 album Power Windows.

 The album is right up there with my favourites of all time and reminds me of commuting between Manchester and London. At the time I was in a long distance relationship with my ex-wife. We weren’t married yet but she had moved to the south of England as a temporary measure.

It was a real strain and expensive too. I used to listen to the album repeatedly during the journey that, at the time, took almost four hours each way, every other week. These days the journey is a lot quicker and more enjoyable, thankfully.

I don’t regret doing so but at the time, it was a challenge.

I think this happened for about a year and during that time I ploughed through more novels than I have ever done at any time in my life. I alternated between reading and listening to music on my Sony Walkman, which bizarrely was considered the height of music technology at the time. That little device saved my sanity but the problem was I had to take a bagful of cassette tapes with me.

Alongside the novels, it made my overnight luggage heavier than expected.

These days I can take one tiny little iPod with me that contains my entire CD collection plus a Kindle that can accommodate hundreds of books. It’s so much easier, although I do have to make sure that they are both fully charged, particularly for long journeys and has made them more enjoyable as a result.

Actually, when I say “more enjoyable”, what I really mean is “less tedious”. Though I am a keen traveller, the actual travelling to my destination is not really enjoyable at all. I’ve spent many a blog post ranting about travelling, particularly long distance flying so I won’t go down that road again. To be honest, back in 1985, train travel was pretty much the same.

Worse, London is a hub and for many of the towns and cities in the south east of England, you would have to get to London, cross London and then take another train out. Getting across London these days takes almost as long as actually getting there.

And if you are unlucky enough to arrive during the rush hour then you are totally screwed. You end up standing on a platform with seemingly thousands of fellow travellers waiting for the next train.

When the train actually arrives, invariably it is full and cannot accommodate the sheer volume of people waiting to get on. This doesn’t stop everyone trying to get on board and if you are lucky enough to actually manage that, you find yourself crammed up against total strangers. Personal space is non-existent during such journeys.

Most of the time, you don’t know where to look. I tend to look up simply because it is awkward when you are pressed up against a total stranger, particularly if it is a woman. When this happens, I don’t know where to put myself – and I simply don’t have a choice.

It can be embarrassing.

Thankfully, if the train isn’t crowded, the journey is more tolerable and I can entertain myself watching my fellow passengers, in a non-creepy way of course. Some of the people who live in London or just visit are actually quite eccentric – and I love eccentricity. I particularly love places like Camden Town and Camden Market where a lot of these people are drawn too.

Campden Town

It's not everyday you see the Mad Hatter on the streets of London

People-watching is one of the things that also make travel more tolerable. It is a pastime that quite a few people enjoy and I sometimes wonder what these people make of a weirdo like me.

Do they regard me as eccentric or just plain boring.

To be honest, I regard myself as slightly weird but not excessively so, and I imagine that people ‘s eyes just gloss over me in search of a more interesting person.

And believe me there are plenty of them about.

The City Life

My last post eulogised about the English countryside. I think it’s only fair to do the same for my adopted home city of Manchester.

Manchester is in the north west of England, not far from the Welsh border, about 35 miles east of Liverpool, 90 miles north of Birmingham and 200 miles north west of London.

I have lived in Manchester since 1984, that’s around 60% of my life. I was also born in a large town called Walsall, near to Birmingham, the second largest city in England, spending 18 years of my life there, before spending 3 years living in another magnificent city, one that you might have heard of called Liverpool, the birthplace of the Beatles and countless other bands.

What I mean is that city life has been good to me over the years and I simply love the vibe in all of them.

I often visit London too, as I have friends who live there and it is a short two hour high speed train journey away (I wouldn’t drive as that would take hours). In fact I’m heading that way next month for another university reunion.

Living in Manchester is fantastic, for the choice of restaurants and pubs in the city, as well as being served by the busiest airport outside London, a mere fifteen minute taxi ride from my house. It means that I can get away and enjoy travelling to foreign places should I so desire. There are hospitals nearby as well as sporting arenas. Manchester is home to two of the biggest Premiership football teams in the world, Manchester City and, the richest and most famous club, Manchester United. As well as football, there is a famous old cricket ground which is a venue for test cricket, as well as other sporting disciplines like rugby (both league and union).

We have the National Cycling Centre for those who like to ride their bikes at speed on a big circular track as well as speedway.

The city also contains lots of theatres and venues for one of my main passions – music. I have seen every one of my favourite bands in the city either in the enormous arena or one of the many other smaller venues around the city. 

We even have a Hard Rock Café.

I could go on, but instead, I thought I would share some photos of Manchester, plus one or two from London and Liverpool, in particular to give any foreign readers a taste of what it’s like to live in an English city.

I hope you like them.

Beetham Tower - the tallest building in the city

New and old Manchester together

Manchester Town Hall

New and old Manchester - I love Manchester

View from Beetham Tower

Another view from Beetham Tower

Yet another view from Beetham Tower

The Final view from Beetham Tower

The Liver Building, Liverpool as seen from the famous Ferry Across the Mersey

John Lennon statue outside the Cavern Club/Pub

You may recognise this bridge in London

Had I been alive in Henry VIII's time I might have ended up here waiting to have my head separated from my body

Coincidence?

In the UK we have a motoring organisation called The Automobile Association (or AA for short). A man who works for them had a day off and had used that time to drive to the country and go for a walk, effectively in the middle of nowhere. 

He passed a public phone box and at that moment, it started to ring. Feeling curious, the guy decided to answer it, only to find that the person on the other end of the phone was somebody he worked with at the AA. 

The caller had meant to ring the guy’s mobile phone number but had mistakenly dialled the guy’s staff number instead. And that staff number just happened to be the same number of the phone that our hero was walking past at that precise moment.

What are the chances of that happening?

I love stuff like this, however hard it is to believe. Statistically it would be nearly impossible for the phone call to happen at that precise time given all the variables and scenarios that could have happened.

It’s mind boggling.

Sadly a coincidence on that scale has never happened to me. That said, a couple of things have happened in recent years that have surprised me. Here are two of them. Names have been changed, as usual, to protect the guilty.

A couple of years ago, Mrs PM and I decided to have a long weekend in London. Mrs PM wanted to be a total tourist in our capital. We took Friday off work and checked into our hotel on the south bank of the river Thames at about lunchtime.

We strolled to Tower Bridge and mingled with other tourists taking photos of one of London’s most iconic sights before crossing it and having a late lunch in a nearby pub. After that, Mrs PM decided that she hadn’t seen the Crown Jewels so our next destination, just over the river, was the Tower of London. We spent the rest of the afternoon looking around one of our most historical buildings, culminating, at the end, in a queue to see the Queen’s jewellery box. 

After that, we were about to leave when Mrs PM told me that she just needed to answer a call of nature. I decided to try too because it was a fair walk back to the hotel. Of course, public toilet etiquette dictates that men are not supposed to talk to each other or look at each other while doing the business, so in my blinkered cave-like world I just answered the call as quickly as I could. 

On the way out, I walked behind another man and a thought entered my head: “that guy in front looks just like Ben from work.”

I was unsure so I didn’t say anything. When we left the loo, the guy walked over to his wife and kids who were waiting for him. It was Ben after all.

I had taken a day off, come to London, decided to visit one of the thousands of attractions in that city at precisely that time and decided to relieve myself at exactly the same moment as him.

I stood waiting outside the ladies toilet for Mr PM and watched Ben and his family walk towards me. I stared at him with a huge grin on my face. I don’t think I have ever seen a better double take in my entire life.

He glanced at me, glanced at his wife and then stared straight back at me, with recognition dawning on his face.

“What the PHHAAARKKK are you doing here?” he asked incredulously. Just at that moment, Mrs PM came out of the ladies and I saw my second favourite double take. Mrs PM saw Ben, looked at me and then stared at Ben and said “What the PHHAAARKK are you doing here?”

The second coincidence also involved a work colleague who I shall refer to as Walter. On our desk at work, whenever Walter goes on holiday to the sun, he makes it known to the entire desk, gloating for weeks in advance until the week before when he steadily becomes insufferable! To him, a holiday is a way to totally destress with absolutely no reminders of work. For the period of his holiday he can totally relax and cast away all of his work woes, popping them into a little box so that he can enjoy himself. 

A couple of years ago, he had just booked his holiday and walked around to my desk to gloat. 

“Guess where I’m going on 20th August?” he said with a grin. 

“Who cares?” I said. 

But then I remembered. 

“Actually, we’re going away that week too,” I said with some satisfaction. I showed him my calendar with the week clearly highlighted in yellow to indicate “Annual Leave”. 

His face dropped and he returned back from gloat mode to normal mode. 

“Going anywhere nice?” he asked. 

“Turkey,” I replied.

His face dropped further.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Turkey’s a big country,” he said. “Where exactly?”

“I think the place is a little town next to Bodrum called Gumbet,” I said. 

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!” he yelled. 

His face was a picture and I wish I’d had a camera.

“Don’t tell me you are going to Gumbet that week too,” I said. 

Of course he was!

I had already ruined his holiday because if he bumped into me while enjoying a relaxing time, it would remind him of work and raise his stress levels. 

What followed for the next few weeks was the best period of winding poor Walter up that the entire desk has ever enjoyed. He stupidly let slip the name of the hotel he was staying at and I pretended that we too were in that hotel. We were in a different one.

“Maybe we’ll be in the room next door,” I suggested. “We can go the beach together and enjoy the sun in our speedos!” 

What he really feared was me telling his missus all sorts of funny things about him – I had never actually met her at that point.

I think, to be  honest, he thought the entire thing was a massive wind-up and that I wasn’t going on holiday to the same place at all – that is until the day that Mrs PM and I were sitting at a table on a beach in Gumbet, enjoying an evening meal. I saw Walter walk past and shouted:

 “OY! WALTER!!”

His exact words were: “OH PHHAAAARRKKK!! Oh I mean – Hi Dave!”

Of course, I didn’t drop him in it at all and told him that we had no interest in stalking him on his holiday. That said, we did meet up a couple of times for drinks and had a good laugh.

Of course now, he refuses to tell anybody where he is going on holiday just in case. But you can’t fool fate and I am sure it will happen again, no matter how impossible he thinks it is. 

I really hope so!

Personally, the only coincidence I really want to be part of now is that the lottery balls drawn tonight match the lottery balls I have selected.

It could happen!

And now over to you, dear reader. 

Have you experienced any weird coincidences?

Apples And Pears

Last week Mrs PM and I were visiting friends and spent  a delightful weekend down in The Smoke or, for any foreign readers, London.  The nickname was coined from the 19th and early 20th century when every cockney heated his home with coal fires which, when combined with fog, created a thick smog that gave the city it’s traditional Victorian atmosphere made famous in tales of Sherlock Holmes and Jack the Ripper.

To many English people, London currently represents affluence and wealth and there is a feeling that the rest of England and the United Kingdom as a whole misses out on everything because London gets it all. Consequently there is some resentment and a North/South Divide.

I have never really resented London and don't really care to much about the North/South Divide; I genuinely enjoy my trips down there, visiting friends and immersing myself in the big city atmosphere with all that entails. A rather splendid train service gets me to London in just two hours.

Mind you, I don’t think I could live there. If you have ever been unfortunate enough to find yourself on the Tube (the underground metro system) during rush hour then you will know what a scary, overcrowded place it is. If you do manage to hop on a train you suddenly find that you don’t just infringe upon the personal space of random people, you actually invade it. Pressed up against a total stranger isn’t pleasant – particularly if that total stranger is a Plastic Mancunian.

Everyone's thinking the same thing: "I hope the Plastic Mancunians's not on this train!"

That said, if you can avoid the crush of rush hour, the Tube is a wonderful place to watch people. London is a diverse place with a wide range of cultures visiting or living there.  The Tube is by far the best way to explore the city and its surroundings. There is always a Tube station near to most places at the heart of the city.

You could also catch a cab if you are feeling rich, although you probably have to endure a conversation with a good old cockney cab driver who stereotypically have their vast opinions on the world and how to solve all its problems. I’m certain that Boris Johnson, the Mayor of London, gets most of his ideas from cab drivers.

Mind you, they are impressive simply because in order to be a taxi driver in London, you have to pass a punishing exam called The Knowledge where they have to learn the best routes around the city without ever having to look at a map or relying on satellite navigation systems. They need to learn over 25,000 roads and 50,000 points of interest.

That's an exam I would NOT like to take!

"Where do you want to go? Tower Bridge?"

Talking to cab drivers might be okay for Londoners but the further away you live, or if you are from a foreign country, you may find it difficult to understand the cockney accent, particularly if they start using cockney-rhyming slang.

Basically, cockney-rhyming slang developed out of a need by the dodgy characters in London trying to disguise what they were saying in order to hide stuff from the police. Here are some examples:

Apple and Pears – stairs

Trouble and Strife – Wife

Tea Leaf – Thief

Boat Race – Face

Hampstead Heath – Teeth

Plates of Meat – Feet

Barnet Fair – Hair

Brown Bread – Dead

Duke of Kent – Rent

Does this video make any sense to you?



This man is a cockney:

This man isn’t:

That’s just embarrassing!!!

Next year, we’re planning a two centre holiday, starting off with a weekend in London before catching the Eurostar under the Channel Tunnel to spend a few days in Paris. Basically we’re going to be total tourists for a week in two of my favourite European cities.

In the meantime, I’ll leave you with a couple of photos of London from previous visits.

The Queen's everywhere. She is now Britain's longest serving monarch. Well done!

Tower Bridge on a sunny day

I have to be nice to royalty otherwise I'll end up here ...

... and these guys will arrest me!

Puttin' on the Ritz!

The Queen lives here!

David Cameron makes bad decisions here!

The London Eye - Forget it! I'm scared of heights!

No fog today!

St Paul's Cathedral.

Tower Bridge opened especially for me!

I'm sure you'll enjoy it if ever you get the chance to visit London. Remember - just nod when cab drivers try to solve the world's problems - and whatever you do, don't say nasty things about their Boat Race or Trouble and Strife!

England Rocks!

This post deserves a soundtrack so press play on the following clip:

The song is England Rocks by Joe Elliot’s Down N Outz. Joe Elliot is of course better known as the lead singer of Def Leppard.

This post is a celebration of my wonderful country – England – the biggest country in the United Kingdom. I am proud to be BOTH British and English so really this post is also about every part of the United Kingdom – however I can’t deny that England is my favourite part.

Although I have travelled the world, I always look forward to returning home to a country where the weather is always a subject of conversation simply because we all complain about it. We’re never happy with the weather here. In the winter it is too cold and wet and in the summer it is too cold and wet. Even when we had a wonderful July, last year, with day after day of wonderful sunshine and heat, some people moaned that it was too hot.

We grumble a lot to be honest but we do so with a hint of self-deprecation and in a humorous way that most other countries typically don’t understand. As a nation we are funny, choosing to laugh at ourselves and other people. Our use of humour, sarcasm and self-deprecation is arguably one of our most appealing characteristics.

And I love that.

There are many other things I love too – such as the widespread accents. For example, Liverpool and Manchester are only just over 30 miles apart (around 50 km) yet the accents are completely different as illustrated by John Bishop, a comedian from Liverpool, and Jason Manford, a Mancunian comedian:

I’m from Walsall, around 70 miles from Manchester, and this is what I sounded like for the first 18 years of my life:

Did you understand any of that? My accent is now “neutral” but having lived in Walsall, Liverpool and Manchester there are elements of all three when I speak. Of course, these aren’t the only accents in England and if you include our Welsh, Scottish and Irish brethren the number increases dramatically.

One of my aims over the next few years is to explore more of Britain. We have such history here and sometimes we don’t appreciate what we have on our own doorstep. I’ve travelled to places like New York, Moscow, Sydney, Hong Kong, Beijing and Johannesburg, yet I have never been to places like Oxford, Cambridge, the Cotswolds, Loch Ness, Belfast or any parts of Scotland outside Glasgow and Edinburgh.

That fills me with a sense of shame and I aim to do something about it.

The countryside in Britain is phenomenal and our cities are full of history. In the summertime on a brilliantly sunny day, the rolling hills of the British countryside are a beautiful sight to behold.

Here are a few photos from my collection that illustrate what a fantastic country I live in:

England winning at cricket in Nottingham. The less said about cricket the better given recent events in Australia!

Street Party in Manchester (Diamond Jubilee)

Manchester Town Hall - or should that be City Hall?

"It's hot with this animal on my head"

Whitby

Let's Have a Beer

Tower Bridge

The Queen lives here

A House full of politicians

Newcastle at dusk

Another thing I love about my country are the people themselves. Despite rumours that we are cold and unfriendly and walk around with an air of arrogance and the typical “stiff upper lip” mentality, we are funny, friendly and warm. Some of us may be reserved but when we let our hair down there are few nations that can enjoy themselves as much as we do.

Of course there are exceptions, like Piers Morgan, Simon Cowell, Katie Price, Jamie Oliver, Boris Johnson, Gary Barlow and most politicians and the stereotypical “Englishman abroad” can be guilty of portraying us as arrogant, insular thugs but I like to think that most of us are like me; nice guys who are willing to embrace other cultures.

Finally, we have given the world some of the greatest music of the last five decades. I am fortunate enough to have been alive during a period when British bands from The Beatles to Led Zeppelin, from The Rolling Stones to Pink Floyd, Black Sabbath to The Sex Pistols have dominated world music and have been responsible for huge movements in the musical world influencing some of my favourite bands from other parts of the world.
I’ll leave you with one of my favourite songs by The Beatles.

England really does rock – and so does Britain.

The Adventurers

I used to think I was quite adventurous, a man who approached the edge, albeit with caution, and peered over, satisfied that I had actually dared to go close enough to regale friends and colleagues with tales of valour and adventure.

Last weekend I realised that there are people who march up to the edge and throw themselves off with wild abandon and a spirit of adventure that makes my tales and experiences pale into insignificance.

Mrs PM has a friend called Ryan, a man lives life to the full. I met Ryan way back in 1999 in Hong Kong when Mrs PM and I were working together. He was immediately likeable and extremely outgoing. He had left England’s shores and moved to Hong Kong with no plan other than to do something different. When I met him he was writing for a local magazine, mainly as a source of income so that he could remain there.

After Hong Kong, he continued to work his way around Asia teaching English as a foreign language.

The last time I saw him was early in the 2000’s when he returned to England for a university reunion, which coincidentally took place in Manchester. Before too long he was off on his travels again.

I heard snippets of his adventures and eventually found out that he had met an American woman called Tasha and had moved to New York.

Earlier this year, Mrs PM asked if I fancied a trip to London for another of her university reunions. The answer was yes, of course. Not only would it be a good excuse to visit the capital again, I would also get to see her friends again, all of whom are great fun to be with.

“Ryan will be there,” she said. “In fact, it’s really just for him we’re going. He’s going to sail part way around the world.”

The words slowly sunk in.

“You mean on his own?” I asked.

“No – in a clipper with a crew of people.”

His adventures had cranked up a gear.

“We get to go on a spectator boat as his guests,” she added.

Even then I didn’t really sense the full impact of what I was about to see.

We arrived in the East End of London at Sarah and Rob’s who were kindly putting us up for the night. On Saturday night, we arrived at London Bridge station and made our way to St Katherine’s Docks just next to Tower Bridge and the Tower of London, where we met some of Mrs PM’s other old friends.

It was then that I realised that this event was much bigger than I initially thought.

There were twelve 70ft racing yachts, each manned by a team of 20. The race was fairly big news, making the national papers and the BBC news. St Katharine’s Dock was very busy with security prohibiting people from getting close to the yachts themselves.

We saw Ryan on one of the yachts and after a brief exchange on the phone with his wife Tasha, we were allowed to bypass security as guests of the crew and have a chance to explore the yacht itself. My first thought was:

“Twenty people on this boat?”

Yes indeed – and there was not much room, particularly below decks. Ryan told us that crew took it in turns to sail the boat, getting four hours sleep then working for four hours before getting more sleep, sharing bunk beds in the cramped space.

Even more surprising was the fact that the teams were largely made up of novices, each of whom had undergone intense training. Ryan and his wife were actually sailing on different yachts.

The trip itself consists of several legs; Ryan and Tasha are sailing the first leg (London to Rio de Janeiro) then the third leg (Cape Town to Western Australia). They are going to visit Rio, then fly to Cape Town before the yachts arrive and explore the area before rejoining the race to Australia. From there they are leaving the race and exploring Australia before heading off to Asia for more adventures.

To me the boat seemed really small for the number of people and I was in awe of the crew. It soon became clear that this was the edge that I would peer at as people like Ryan and his wife marched over gleefully.

Later that evening we had dinner with Ryan and Tasha and their family and friends and I had a chance to talk to Tasha, who was suddenly aware of the enormity of the task in front of her. Her nerves were evident but I sensed that she it was nervous excitement; her enthusiasm was almost infectious.

I chatted briefly to her about my travels but compared to her I had travelled the easy way. For example, I love telling people that I spent three weeks in a hotel in the middle of a Russian winter. Tasha told me about spending many more weeks in Russia in the middle of winter teaching English but in a place where for one reason or another, the electricity was turned off, leaving her effectively living fully clothed in a sleeping bag reading book after book.

She and Ryan seem made for each other, kindred spirits keen to try something new and adventurous while travelling the world.

The next day we arrived at St Katherine’s Dock again just in time to see Ryan’s team being interviewed before departure. The whole place was absolutely packed; in fact there were people along Tower Bridge and the river side waiting for, what turned out be a fairly large flotilla that would escort the yachts down the River Thames towards the race start.

I realised how lucky we were because we were privileged enough to be on a spectator boat. Such was the significance of the race that Tower Bridge was raised to allow the yachts through so that spectators could see for themselves.  I had never seen Tower Bridge raised.

Our boat was one of a quite a few and we sailed beneath Tower Bridge and got the best view as we approached each of the yachts in turn before they set off towards Greenwich. Crowds cheered and applauded from the boats and the riverside as well as Tower Bridge itself.

We cruised down the Thames, following the yachts which, at this stage were all in sequence, the crew on board dancing, waving and shouting to the cheering crowds offering encouragement. Whenever we passed a yacht, family and friends screamed encouragement to their loved ones in the team, waving flags furiously to attract attention.

Ryan actually spotted us and did a little dance on the front of his yacht. Other teams were clapping, singing and dancing.

After a couple of hours of accompanying the yachts, we reached the Thames Barrier and this was the point where we said goodbye to them. The spectator boats lined up to watch the yachts sail past, with every single one of them receiving raucous cheers.

We returned back up river to St Katharine’s Dock and chatted about the task that lay ahead for the intrepid sailors. One of Mrs PM’s friends asked if we should do it.

“I’m a little too old I think,” I said.

“You’re NEVER too old,” she replied. “LET’S DO IT!!”

I suspect that she was joking but there may be an element of true desire to do it. From my own perspective, I may have been tempted to have a go in my younger days but I really don’t think I could now. I feel unable to step over the edge into the unknown.

Yet there is a little part of me that wouldn’t mind – and feels envious.

Nevertheless, I would love to just pack in my job and fly off on a round the world trip; it is still an ambition of mine. It would be an adventure, but not a true adventure like the one Ryan and Tasha are embarking on.

To finish off, here are a few photos of the weekend.

Tower Bridge and The Shard

Spectators next to the Tower of London

Tower Bridge opens for the occasion

Ryan's yacht

Tasha's yacht

River Thames and a few boats

You can read more about the race here.

I am off on my travels again on Friday, this time back to Turkey for a relaxing holiday with a couple of friends.

Not exactly sailing around the world but it will do me for now.