Great Britain at The Proms

Lombardi’s view that “No nation permits criticism or laughing at itself as much as the English” almost hit the button today as a German postal worker took hold of my parcel, exhaled a wheezy “Britannien” and double whacked the stamp to the tune of “war Gross” (was Great).

My knickers don’t twist over a bit of rudeness so, by the time postie had returned breathless from his two yard stretch to the parcel box, he’d won himself a smile and a nod along with the assurance that he was and always would be gross.

All a bit of banter but in truth, you’d be hard pushed to find someone in England who’d rush to disagree with him.

Isambard Brunel, the establishing of a National Health Service or even that win in ’66 don’t leap out with much resonance as TV’s “Little Britain” starts to look like a weird, self- fulfilling prophecy.

To buffer outrage at our inland points of shame I suggest The Times start a new announcements page: The Anti-Social Diary.

A recent edition could read like this:

“11.00 AM. Miss Wendy Lewis of Princess Street, Blackpool will be performing a sexual act on a man at the Cenotaph War Memorial whilst simultaneously attempting to relieve herself. A hearing will follow. For those who would like to boo Wendy, please stand outside the magistrates courts, one week from now”.

“14.30 PM. Miss Mary Bale, 45 of Coventry will be depositing of a cat in a wheelie bin. This will be seen as a total departure from her usual behaviour for which Mary’s mother (78) is preparing a -she’s still my daughter- speech.”

“Tea Time. Dannii Minogue will tell us, through a reporter, that she thinks Simon Cowell to be more important than God”.

What could be better than to block it all out?

Good morning kids from Peckham: today you’re going to postpone stabbing that new boy in your class for his i-phone.

Hello guys at the Council: stave off from nabbing the multiple benefit frauds for a mo and Yo! Bradford Health and Safety: don’t bother about that outbreak of two- foot rats today.

Pack your things quietly. Go home. QUIETLY! Yes, Mandy, you can stop off at the chemist to get some antiseptic for those infected eye piercings. That’s the stuff.. Off you go. Lock the front door. Why? Because Emma, you’re going to park that dangerously close to Diabetes 2 bottom of yours three inches away from the BBC’s screening of The Last Night of the Proms and muck in with the collective to feel what it’s like to be jolly in this country.

Pour yourself a healthy drink or two (not 9 or 10, kids, there’s school tomorrow) and keep hold of the print out to Land of Hope and Glory. It doesn’t matter if you’re a Jehovahs Witness, Hermione. It’s just a song.

Indeed, it may appear  that they’re all on some kind of laughing gas in The Royal Albert Hall so yes, Bradley, keep singing and praying (no, not to Simon Cowell) that some of it will eek through the 72 inch screen and into your own miserable life. Yes, Darren, I’m sure your mother will be fine with you trying to lick it up from that dodgy plug.

I vow to thee, my country.

Although Bertrand Russell’s “Patriots always talk of dying for their country, not killing for their country” neatly separates the image of Prom goers from non-goers, one can’t help but see that they look genuinely happy to be tugging each others arms like useless Christmas crackers and pogo-ing with “we’re going down on this ship” gusto.

In the past, I’ve watched agog at this Kensington naivety but now begin to think this a marvelous “brave face and make do” statement in a country that is only fit to live in with either a foreign bolt hole or a 9 figure bank account.

When an employee of M16 was found dead in his Pimlico flat last week, Eileen Booth, 73, who lives opposite said: "A few years ago, I would definitely have known who it was that had been killed. But nobody knows each other these days." On the contrary Ms Booth. Take a look at the feverish eyes of those Prom go-ers “I know you, and you, and you” is what they seem to be screaming out to one another. And isn’t that great?

Don’t forget your parasol.

This year’s Last Night includes the ubiquitous Jerusalem et al, alongside the glorious Renee Flemming in Strauss, Tchaikovsky’s Rococo Variations and Wagner’s Lohengrin. Not any different to the programmes that Henry Wood came up with in the 1890’s as The Proms founder conductor. Five generations later, Wood might find this disconcerting in light of his life having been dedicated to increase our appetite for new music, step by step.

The Last Night is meant to be made up of favourites but just think, when Henry Wood gave a command performance at Windsor Castle in 1894, Queen Victoria asked for the same stuff.

Well, that’s a freaky thought. In fashion terms it’s like not going out of the house today without a bustle and parasol. In transport terms it would mean valuing the escalator as the ultimate in locomotion.

This helps back up the opinion of many that Classical music is dead in terms of creating new stuff that people are actually interested in listening to.

You can lead a horse to water but can you make him drink?

This year’s show includes music from “Pirates of the Caribbean”.

If the BBC are set on grabbing the viewers they should call it that, full stop. Millions around the country would stay in to watch a man wielding a wooden stick at a warbling woman who refuses to go down.

Perplexed at first but hey, no money to go out and too lazy to get up for the remote, we’d remain in our seats. “Pirates of the Caribbean” would sneak out of the stage door and The Proms would gradually render us captive. A scurvy of happiness would appear all over and, as the country sings-a-long, loving life, Henry Wood’s successors could make a mental note to step things up a gear and shove in some Boulez or Berg for 2011, labeled quite simply as “Avatar”. 

Regardless of our limitations, three cheers to Henry Wood, his life and his legacy.

Back to the postal service, the most succinctly addressed letter to arrive that I have ever heard of was: Edward Elgar, England. 

That's a stamp of approval, Herr Postie. Rule Britannia!

The Last Night of the Proms
The Royal Albert Hall
Saturday 11 September 2011. 7.30-10.40 pm

Venue: The Royal Albert Hall
Broadcast live on BBC 1 and BBC Radio 3