In a speech at Chatham House, Liz Truss – our foreign secretary for those, like me, who can no longer keep up with the shuffles and resignations within the Tory party – claimed that “Britain is the greatest country on Earth. Whoever you are, wherever you come from, you can achieve your dreams”. What an outrageous statement. Never before have I heard two sentences about Britain sound so very un-British.
First, Truss appears to have forgotten the very British attribute of understatement. Saying Britain is “the greatest country on Earth” is far too boastful. Plus, how can she even think of using the word “greatest” when we hardly ever describe anything as “great”. “Not too bad” is probably the best accolade we can give.
But second, we don’t have dreams in Britain and, even if we do, we certainly don’t follow them. Dreams are a 1950s American notion. That new world with refrigerators, Coca-Cola and supermarkets where earning enough money to buy a pristine new house in the suburbs was seemingly possible for everyone. Britain was never, and will never be, that sort of place. No, as Brits we keep our dreams locked away; it isn’t realistic to dream. Instead we put our heads down, plod on and just simply try to do OK.
So, I’ll rephrase her statement: “Yeah, Britain is fine. Whoever you are, wherever you come from, you’ll do all right.”
Bye bye sequins
The upper middle classes are on a mission to protect the environment. How? By ditching sequins. Yes, Boden, the prep-school mother’s favourite fashion retailer, has decided to remove the shimmering plastic offenders from its collections “to keep our oceans happy”. I know, I breathed a sigh of relief as well.
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Although there is one concern: what will the ladies who lunch wear to their ultra-glamorous, prosecco-fuelled, low-calorie vegan Christmas party now, assuming they’re still allowed to have it? Before this causes you sleepless nights, let me ease your turmoil by reminding you that if there’s one thing these Tesla-driving women love more than saving the planet, it’s a competition. Of course, they will now all be vying to see who can create the eco-friendliest, yet still gorgeously glittering festive outfit.
I imagine someone will rock up to the evening in a dress with Rachel’s organic yogurt pot foils stuck on it in a flounce. She’ll think she’s the bee’s knees until the next one arrives in a shirt embellished with the shining waxy leaves of holly salvaged as she was tidying her elderly neighbour’s garden during her weekly hour of volunteering. Her crown will then be pinched by the lady in the tight vegan-leather leggings and a nice top covered in tiny beach glass beads that she collected in Cornwall, hand-cut and polished, then sewed on herself. Just as everyone begins to bow down to her, the winner will arrive. And what will she be wearing?
Absolutely nothing, of course, because if you really cared about the environment, you’d know that even the simplest piece of clothing wrecks the environment through its manufacture and laundering, and so the really conscientious thing to do is go au naturel. Take note, Boden.
Swedish holiday
Covid-19 has taken over my family. Not literally, I hasten to add, but rather by creeping into their expectations and lowering them even further into the ground. My parents and my brother had a family trip out on Sunday. After driving for an hour and a half, they finally reached their destination. There they did a lot of walking, had fun in a maze, lost my dad halfway through and then finished up with a bit of shopping before a spot of lunch. As they sat down in a café, they were all buzzing.
“I don’t know about you,” said my brother, “but I feel as though I’m actually on holiday.” My parents agreed; finally, after nearly two years of rarely venturing outside of Stratford thanks to the virus, they had gone further afield.
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Where were they? Ikea in Milton Keynes.