Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves!
Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.
My husband is a New Zealander. The Kiwis love their land, like the Irish, they almost always return to their birthplace, if they ever leave in the first place. I am English and proud of my heritage, I love my people more than my land. It is a subtle difference.
My son is travelling back to London, then on to Paris to compete under the silver fern in a black singlet. He was born in the UK.
Being British means different things to different people, I think it is these millions of bits of different, that creates the pattern of my country. Personally, I love my Queen, our shared rich and violent history, the grey manic cities and public transport of home. I love the rolling green hills, beautiful autumn changes, seaside towns filled with ice cream, fish and chips and rolled up trousers. I love the pomp and ceremony, the stiff upper lip and diversity of the people and the central heating.
My son does not remember most of theses things.