365 Reasons To Be Proud To Be British: The Land Rover

April 30th 1948: The Land Rover Mk I debuts at the Amsterdam Motor Show.

Regular readers will know that I don't drive, have no intention of learning to drive and even if I did, have no intention of buying a car. That's what Mrs Scoop's little blue beer taxi sporty orange beer taxi is for.

But if I did.... if I really had to... there's only one car I'd choose. A Mosler MT900:

Except it wouldn't fit in the garage. So it'd have to be the Jaguar C-type:

Except that wouldn't fir in the garage either. So it'd have to be a Land Rover. At least I could leave it parked in the road. It could get scraped and knocked and cow-splat-covered and burst-beer-barrel-drenched. And it would all add to its character.

Land Rovers feel to me as if they want to tell you their tales. Of ewes and daughters born in the back in a snowdrift. Of treks across plains or glens. Of how they made it to That Destination only after a hitch-hiker donated her knicker elastic.

There's something stoically romantic about a marque where the majority of those ever made are still running on the road, field and fell. Indomitable and stalwart. Maybe I ought to start building one by stealth. I'd have to clear some room in the shed though. Especially if I want to build one like this:

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365 Reasons To Be Proud To Be British: The Royal Academy Summer Exhibition

April 25th 1769: The Royal Academy's first Summer Exhibition opens in a Pall Mall warehouse.

Something really tickles me about the RA's Summer Exhibition. Maybe it's that anyone can enter; stump up a £25 quid entrance fee and your work could adorn the walls alongside the great and the good and the painting-by-numbers of British art. A great way of getting your name noticed, getting your work sold for a fair commission, being part of such a celebration.

Your prints or photos or etchings or sculpture sharing space with the likes of Hockney, Gormley or Wearing.

Maybe I like it because of the planned-to-look-random nature of how canvasses seem spread eclectically; ordered clutter, organised chaos.

Maybe one day, maybe this year, I'll go take a look and be tempted to buy. Maybe one day, maybe next year, I'll find the courage of my convictions and enter.

Photo (c) Getty Images

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365 Reasons To Be Proud To Be British: The Pennine Way

April 24th 1965: The last section of the long-distance trail, the Pennine Way, opens at Malham Moor.

Many walkers who like peat between their cleats will have faced up to the challenge of the 267-mile, 249-stiled walk. They will have a favourite section, one that lives long in the memory. For me, it's Kinder Downfall to Edale. It's the only section I've ever walked. It's the only section I ever plan to walk. And only if I can walk it downhill.

And it was on this day in 1932 that the Kinder Trespass took place. A political act; organised by the Communist-led British Workers' Sports Federation in protest at how rich landowners prevented public access to the countryside. Established ramblers' groups opposed the trespass, but further widespread action took place. Within years, such actions had engaged thousands of walkers to take to the Peaks, leading to the formation of the Ramblers Association and the lobbying that would herald the introduction of our National Parks.

Including the Peak District. If you haven't yet had the pleasure of following even a smidgen of the Pennine Way in the Peaks, congratulations! You now have something to add to your to-do list this summer.


"There's pleasure in dragging through peat bogs and bragging
Of all the fine walks that you know;
There's even a measure of some kind of pleasure
In wading through ten feet of snow.
I've stood on the edge of the Downfall,
And seen all the valleys outspread,
And sooner than part from the mountains,
I think I would rather be dead"

'The Manchester Rambler', Ewan McColl



Photo of Kinder Low (c) David Hayes on Flickr

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365 Reasons To Be Proud To Be British: St George's Day

April 23rd: England celebrates the feast day of Saint George.

To be honest, it's not something that all Brits celebrate. St. Patrick's day may be an excuse to dress like a twonk and drink over-nitrogenated stool-water masquerading as dry stout; St. George's Day tends to lead to head-scratching as what to do. After all, many are unclear as to how a Roman soldier who was born in Syria Palaestina and died a Christian martyr in Turkey became the patron saint not only of England but of over another dozen countries.

Well, Christian martyrdom and popular veneration made Saint George the figure he is today. Poor Saint Edmund was edged out as England's patron saint in the fourteenth century, possibly because George wasn't connected by legend to England and associated neither to a particular guild nor location.

A man of principle and belief, unafraid to stand up for what he believed in, venerated by Christians and Muslims alike. I'd say that was good cause to celebrate.

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365 Reasons To Be Proud To Be British: The Oxford English Dictionary

April 19th 1928: The last section of A New English Dictionary on Historical Principles is published.

Show me the adolescent who insists they haven't looked up a rude word in a dictionary and I'll show you someone who "speaks untruthfully with intent to mislead or deceive".

Released in sections over four decades, "A New English Dictionary on Historical Principles" was immediately reprinted and renamed the "Oxford English Dictionary".

In the pre-internet days, if you didn't understand a word you looked it up in a big papery thing tied together with string. I carried a dictionary around with me all my school days. I still have several; general ones from Oxford and Collins dotted around the house, specialist ones, foreign ones. I still love sticking my nose into them at random and finding words, birds, cities or citizens that I've never heard of.

For me, dictionaries are never a means to an end. They're the first step on a broader learning journey.

So, with due reference to Edmund Blackadder, I'd like to thank the OED and offer them my most enthusiastic contrafribularities.

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365 Reasons To Be Proud To Be British: Extreme Ironing

April 18th 2011: Jason Blair irons a shirt on the southbound carriageway of the M1.



As a measure of British eccentricity /our general desire to bugger around, extreme ironing is right up there with toe-wrestling and lilo rafting. It was invented by rock climber Phil 'Steam' Shaw in 1997 and has seen boards taken up mountains, beneath oceans and, uh, into the middle lane of a motorway. Albeit one that was closed. So perhaps not that extreme, really.

On a moving coach, in a lion's den, at the fiery end of an oil rig, on the North Korean border. They all sound far more extreme.

Or there's the ultimate. Iron five work shirts in the gap between the end of the regional news and the start of Match Of The Day on a Saturday night. Hardcore ;-)

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365 Reasons To Be Proud To Be British: Canterbury Tales

April 17th 1397: The Canterbury Tales are first told by Geoffrey Chaucer at the court of Richard II.

It's been a long time since I blogged about Richard Happer's excellent little book. So here we go again.

The Canterbury Tales continue to fascinate me. A work that may or not be complete, in an order that may or may not be correct, spanning styles and subjects with the added attraction of Middle English to decipher. It's a rich vein for contemporary dramatists to mine and stands as a foundation of English literature that's too often ignored by many, thinking it'll be difficult to read.

Well, take a look at Michael Murphey's excellent modern spelling version. I've had the PDFs loaded onto my Kindle and now enjoy an accessible version of the Tales wherever I go. Purists may prefer a plain text version that preserves the original language; whatever floats your boat.

I've been thinking about visiting Canterbury Cathedral for some time. Maybe I ought to take the train from London Bridge, see the city, read the Tales on the way there and back, then treat myself to a slap-up meal at the Royal Oak on my return to the capital...

The woodcut illustration of the pilgrims at the Tabard Inn, London is one of the woodcuts by William Caxton used to illustrate the second edition of the Tales. You can read more about his work here.

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The sun shone that day too

Shadows on the pitch. There's something about the sunshine at a late-season game, moreso those at the latter stages of the Cup. Maybe it's a holiday feeling: on a coach with your mates, an ice cream when you get there even though the wind whips between streets, a day in the sun with long shadows and the right result.

Shadows on the pitch. Not fans dying.

Today is the twenty-third anniversary of the Hillsborough Disaster. Ninety-six Liverpool fans died as a result of a crush at their FA Cup semi-final against Nottingham Forest, played at Sheffield Wednesday's Hillsborough ground on April 15th 1989.

Ninety-six Liverpool fans died because the police and the club failed to prevent overcrowding. Remember, these were the days of terraces and fences. Where crowd control equalled containment. Where sections of terraces were called pens. When fans were treated like cattle.

The interim Taylor Report into the disaster had far-reaching consequences for the way football grounds are designed, managed and policed today. Lessons were clearly learned. Maybe there is more to learn, though.

Coroner Dr Stefan Popper limited the 1990 inquest to events occurring up to 3:15pm, on the basis that fans would have received their fatal injuries by this time. Lord Justice Taylor notes in his interim report that it was "improbable that quicker recourse to the emergency services would have saved more lives".

The inquest records that Kevin Williams, aged 15, died at Hillsborough of traumatic asphyxia. His mother, Anne, has long argued that independent evidence shows Kevin was still alive by 4pm. After ceaseless campaigning, including one of the few e-petitions to gather over 100,000 signatures, the Attorney General is to consider whether an application for a new inquest to be held.

This is not about unearthing conspiracies. This is not about compensation. This is about responsibility.

With responsibility comes accountability.

Let the Hillsborough Independent Panel release their findings in good time.

Let Kevin Williams have the inquest he deserves.

Let every lesson be learned.

Let there by justice for the 96.

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Back in the room

The last fifteen months have been fairly difficult for me. Working for a private sector company delivering public sector contracts, the squeeze on the business began to feel like a slow strangle. Redundancy dates staggered forward under the hope of new contracts coming through. Although it soon became apparent that the Coalition's strategy for business support weren't aligned with my employers'.

I'd applied for jobs off and on. Cube jobs. Where I'd be no more than the digestive system of a data monster. I've had the frustration of not even getting an acknowledgement for positions that I know I'd be great at. The condescension of recruitment consultants who could barely understand the job specifications they were reading out. The interviews where I soon realise that if I'm from Mars, the panel are from Venus and then a few more galaxies to the left.

Last week, I was finally made redundant. And then offered a new job on the same day.

Having spent so long feeling like I've been in the mental equivalent of a treacle bucket, every project shoved on backburners until they caramelised, blundering through the days without really knowing where I'm going, I feel like I'm back in the room.

I start my new job in two weeks. So it's time for a new hairstyle and specs, some contemplative days out walking, some boisterous days brewing and drinking and a little more love shown to this blog.

You know that thing you want? You can't hope to have it until you convince yourself that it can be yours.

And that's all the cod-philosophy you'll see from me. Honest.

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