I've got the fever...

I'm British. Well, to be absolutely specific about, I'm English. You might have noticed. It's not something I talk about much, because it's so much a part of me that I don't normally feel the need to analyse it. It's just an intrinsic part of who I am, like being a woman, having dark hair and yet still burning before I tan, being a feminist, and being brought up a Roman Catholic (more of which another time).

But there's nothing to make you more aware of your nationality than moving away from your home country. A lot of the touch-points that you take for granted, such as hearing your native language spoken around you, hearing the 'duh-duh-duh-duh' at the beginning of the East Enders closing credits, and the casual references to archaic drinking laws, Paddington Bear and Top of the Pops that get thrown into nostalgic conversations with friends are suddenly not part of daily experience any more.

Don't get me wrong; in my London-life I was hardly surrounded by Brits. In the Boys' school and nursery classes they were each in a minority of 2 in holding only British passports (yes, they could also have a Dutch one but that's Husband's job to sort out, so 6 years down the line we're still waiting on those...), and when we went out into the communal gardens where we lived I was invariably the only Brit around. I was surrounded by people of all nationalities in central London, and I loved it.

Living in Moscow and mixing with very few Brits has however had some interesting effects on me. I find, for example, that frequently I'm camping up my English accent. Sometimes I sound like the Queen's cousin, for god's sake. I find myself correcting the Boys' pronounciation too; one of my favourite phrases at the moment seems to be 'it's got a 't' in it. A T! Not a D, a T!' I find myself making a point of calling things by their English names; it's 'pavement' not 'sidewalk', and 'biscuit', not 'cookie', for example.

I've found myself hunting high and low in the shops here for cornflour, not to thicken sauces but to make shortbread. Shortbread! I probably made it twice a year when we lived in London. Now? Almost a weekly treat. And when my mother-in-law arrived this week for a short stay, she delivered - as I had requested - Golden Syrup, so that I can make the Boys some gingerbread.

I even found myself offering to provide 'English' recipes to Melissa for her to feature at Smitten by Britain if you're interested in the shortbread recipe, by the way... (click here for the link).

And now? Well, now the football World Cup is about to start, and the fever's got me. I can't help it, I'm rooting for my home team even though I know it's the longest of long shots that they'll make it past the quarter finals. Whilst I didn't go so far as buying a cross of St George to put on the car (unfortunately it seems to rather miss the point, being in Moscow and all - and frankly, you don't want to single yourself out as an expat on the roads here) I did buy my sons England football shirts in London last week. Would I have bought them if we had still been living there? Would I hell. (Whether my opinionated children will actually wear them, of course, is another thing entirely.)

So in a fit of Englishness I'm going to leave you today with what 'I still believe' (geddit?) is the best English world cup song to date, albeit in it's updated version for the 2010 tournament. As far as I can tell - from 1500 miles away - the official video is not yet out, so here is a youtube offering (Thanks Bob at Smitten by Britain for pointing me towards this). Watch it if you can handle the mix of best and worst moments of England at the World Cup for the last 40-odd years.

And I have to admit - I did punch the air a couple of times whilst watching...