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.

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