On St George’s Day

#MyEngland is Burberry headscarves in cockney accents.

#MyEngland is top hats drawn in chalk.

#MyEngland is Australian gym girls eating sticky buns.

#MyEngland is hi-viz jackets at rest.

#MyEngland is Teletubby hills in urban playgrounds.

#MyEngland is buccaneers, corner cutters and grit.

#MyEngland is capital and tides and enclosures and rollercoasters.

#MyEngland is dragons and poets, duelling at closing time with miniature Spitfires and glee.

#MyEngland is pavilions and wall games and skills sharpened on kerbs.

#MyEngland is a pageantry of theatrical boos at a corner kick.

#MyEngland is a set of Imperial calling cards with empirical effects.

#MyEngland is an 8-bit commonwealth, a yawning heptarchy.

#MyEngland is uxorious towards customs and those forgotten in churchyards.

#MyEngland is grave towards hypocrisy, except in its back gardens.

#MyEngland sees technology as a matter of string and disambiguation.

#MyEngland is reinventing the world, one market at a time.

#MyEngland is waiting for a new joint to arise.

#MyEngland is art rock poses in suburban situations.

#MyEngland is the scene that celebrates itself.

#MyEngland is a soundsystem playing Elgar, filtered through jerk chicken.

#MyEngland is 101 people trying to be beautiful in a forest.

#MyEngland is pundits holding court in bungalows over imported convenience food.

#MyEngland is a demonstration around a campfire in a dell.

#MyEngland is minor shires competing for pewter bases in administration.

#MyEngland is wise counsel, disguised as affairs on park benches.

#MyEngland is a university of hedgerows, the analogue, the divine.

#MyEngland is a flutter on the hope that roses might flutter for you.

#MyEngland is This Great Movement of Ours.

#MyEngland is the first nation, the future nation, the memory of dreams.

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