Quintessential Englishmen: Yesterday, Today
Yesterday: Elegant Englishmen in tweeds. Photo: Google Images
Today: An English Muslim in the style of the prophet Muhammad, with long, bushy beard and clipped moustache. No trace of elegance here! Photo: Mail Online

10 Reasons to Dislike the British, by the Belgians
THE TELEGRAPH: Britons are lazy drunks who have the worst cuisine in the world, according to a Belgian newspaper's list of ten reasons to dislike the British.

Great Dixter in East Sussex. Photo: The Telegraph
Amid growing tensions over the final vote for the EU presidency, the French-language regional newspaper La Capitale offered a list of our most irritating national traits.

Using the boldness of British tabloids as an excuse to slam the national character, La Capitale issued an invitation to Belgians: "Let kick out “les Rosbifs” who are shooting down European opportunities for our important politicians. These English - who are the blockers of an integrated Europe – how do you like them?" >>> | Wednesday, November 18, 2009

We’ve Been Robbed of Our Englishness
TIMESONLINE: As the nation settled down on Wednesday night to watch England play Croatia, I sensed an air of optimism in the land. A feeling that all would be well. I mean hey, England were holding their own against Brazil when Croatia didn’t even exist as a nation state. So what chance would these swarthy-looking Yugo-ruffians have? They were minnows in a tank of sharks. They weren’t going to be beaten. They were going to be eaten.

Hmmm. I’m afraid I knew we were going to lose moments before the match began. I looked at our players mumbling their way through the national anthem and realised they didn’t really care about playing for England. Because they don’t really know what England is. And truth be told, neither do I.

When I was their age it was crystal clear. Newspapers would report: “Fog in the Channel: Europe cut off.” Peter Ustinov would arrive at JFK airport and, having studied the signs saying “US citizens” and “Aliens”, he’d ask a security guard where the British should go. We were separate, different, better.

We had hardback dark blue passports with a personal message from the Queen on the inside cover “requiring” that foreign border guards allow the bearer to do whatever he or she pleased without let or hindrance. Slap one of those down on a Frenchman’s desk and the crack of invitation grade cardboard would have the greasy little oik sitting up straight; that’s for sure.

We had saved the world from tyranny so often we’d lost count; we’d brought decency, truth and cricket to every continent and every coral pinprick. We’d sailed iron steamships into America when they were still using coracles. We were defined by our brilliance, our superiority, our technical know-how. >>> By Jeremy Clarkson

Mark Alexander