“Mega, mega white thing”, or a little praise for Britain

I have been complaining so much in my blog that I suspect this local mummy (who I got very annoyed with) was actually right, when she said that all I do is moan all the time. I should of course, have replied that all she talks about is how wasted she had got the night before. But of course, being the lady that I am...I resisted.

So- no more complaining! For today, anyway.

I was driving to work a couple of days ago, and they played Born Slippy by Underworld on the radio.

To anyone who might say this song is nothing special, I will answer- You have no taste, my friends. And you probably listen to Britney Spears. I respect that.
(Well, I have got to say it, don’t I: so you don’t take offence and never return to this blog)

But please! Let me tell you about this song. It is a superb piece of music. More importantly, this song is just so quintessentially British. (I am sure you realize that you can not judge British music by the Eurovision contestants.)

Every time I hear this song, it reminds me of how cool this country actually is. Despite me moaning about it every day.

Years ago, I was sitting in my office back in Baku. I started typing an email to my British girlfriend (whom I had been staying with on my first ever trip to the UK. It is during that visit that I’d first heard the Born Slippy song.)

As I sat at my desk, messing about and just typing the words from the song: “lager, lager, lager….” a new mail envelope popped up on my screen. It was from this girlfriend in London, and it read: “mega, mega white thing….”

It was like we were in one room, singing in unison. I started the sentence- and she finished it.

As I sat there laughing at her email, I was thinking how cool it was that two people from very different cultures and backgrounds could have such a connection- at that very same moment in time, miles away from each other. It probably sounds a bit silly. But to me, the fact that I could feel that song was like a sign that I could accept this culture as my own, and feel at home.

One of my old girlfriends shared a fascinating theory with me. According to her, you have to be married into your own culture for the marriage to be successful. You are from different pots, she said. The brunches, she announced poetically, might intertwine well enough, but the roots will always come from different pots.
(I might have mentioned before I have friends who say what they think?)

I love this pots theory, by the way, and use it every time I disagree with husband. I tell him he does not get me because he is from a different pot! Perfect excuse for any sort of misunderstanding.

Some things are just hard to explain. Like why you like one particular song and not another. Or why you fancy one bloke and not someone else, who might be taller or richer, or from your pot. Sometimes you just feel things and can not explain why. This country, just like any other, has its problems. But it has music that gives me goosebumps, and good Chinese food, so it suits me just fine.