Ges on the Box; Charity begins (and ends) at home

SOMETIMES, I’m quite proud to be British. And given that I have an identity crisis, that’s no small statement to make.

I say British, as opposed to English, as I’m a bit of a mongrel. Dad is Welsh, mum is half Welsh, half Irish. I had a Scottish great-grandmother and an Italian great-great-grandfather. It explains a lot really, like volatility and the tendency to be a touch talkative. Not to mention argumentative.

I was born on the Wirral (no, definitely not the posh part) but spent most of my childhood traipsing around the world with the RAF. As an adult I worked for 10 years in Germany. So I should know better than most that there really is no place like home. Generally speaking, you understand, because, actually, I haven’t got a ‘home’.

Him Indoors, being Owdham born and bred, likes to think I’ve adopted the borough. Maybe, time will tell. Give me two years and I get itchy feet. Though how I’m going to prise him out of Shaw I don’t know. When he moved from Fitton Hill he thought he’d emigrated.

I once, rather rashly, suggested we up sticks and try living in Torquay, for no better reason than I’ve never been there. “Torquay?” came the strangled response. “That’s an awfully long way away.” You’d have thought I’d suggested Mars. But back to being proud. There’s nobody quite like us Brits. The Germans think we’re all variations on Mr Bean, or maybe Benny Hill. A sort of slapstick lecher with a rubber face. But actually, that describes them more accurately. Basically, we’re good sorts — despite the tendency to wash our dirty laundry in public and enjoy depressing soap operas. Not to mention sausages made out of nothing but scrag end and breadcrumbs.

Nowhere else do you get custard like ours. Or Marmite. Or warm beer. Or charity — not as we know it anyway.

Take “Comic Relief”. Here we are in the middle of what the media would have us believe is the worst recession since the war, and we raise £60 million in one night to buy mosquito nets and medicine for dying babies in Africa.

And all on the back of some mediocre comedy routines. With the exception of Robert Webb doing “Flashdance” (hysterical) and an odd programme showing Peter Kay making the “Show Me The Way To Amarillo” video (although strictly speaking that’s cheating because it was made for “Comic Relief” circa 2007) there were few highlights. Even “The Apprentice” was a pale imitation of the real thing (apart from one almost-walkout by Patsy Palmer).

But still we emptied our bank accounts. No other country has anything like it. The Germans give nothing away — they even sell their blood.

So pat yourself on the back and hold your head high for being a caring, sharing Brit.