So, as I wandered through Chinatown on Friday, I got to thinking: Am I actually British? It says so on my passport, one of my parents is from the UK and I was born in a British colony. By all rights, I should be as British as the Queen.
However, I just don’t feel British. If asked, I would first answer that I was Scottish, and later on would clarify that that in fact comes via Hong Kong. If somebody starts waxing lyrical about the Union, I sort of zone out and let my mind wander. If I’m told that I’m supposed to care about something FOR BRITAIN, I begin to actively dislike it (probably more to do with a general problem with being told what to do, in truth). Case in point, The Olympics. “It’s going to be great for Britain!” we’re told. Yet, in true British fashion, we hear nothing but the problems, the corruption, the sheer greed and opportunistic nature of those involved either directly on the periphery. A convoluted and expensive ticket system? Check. Landlords raising rents to ridiculous amounts during the Olympic season? Check. Taxi companies planning fare hikes. Triple check. read more
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