and visited the beer tent for a fortifying ale. Whilst sipping warm beer from a plastic cup I looked around at the assembled farmers, country gents and assorted hangers-on and shed a silent tear of thanks that I was born an Englishman. These, truly, were my people, and I adored them all, for all their strange ways. Even the beardy ones.
Good God. Imahgine being foreign!
I could hack being French more easily than American. I've been thinking about it since my last visit to the states and there's definitely something about being in a place where there's just nothing old that really fúcks with your head if you're from a place where you take the presence of old stuff for granted. It gives me a strange feeling of unreality.
I frequently give the good Lord a nod of thanks for the unsurpassable blessing of being born an englishman. But I have to say the only other nationality I could bear to be is american. Rock 'n roll ya see? Without them, we would all still be singing hymns. Imagine being german.