Now, I\u2019m not usually one to tell jokes. Like my farts, my humour is largely unscripted. I love making people laugh, but at heart I\u2019m a serious person, not just a funny little wobbly thing. I\u2019m not a fan of jokes at the expense of others, those that are trite and mean and racist. But I\u2019ve discovered that, in terms of the relationships and tensions between our nations, sometimes jokes go straight to the jugular.<\/p>\n
An Englishman is driving down a country road in Wales and realises he\u2019s lost his way. He spots a local and pulls up alongside. \u201cDai! Dai!\u201d he calls out in a lordly English accent, \u201cwhich way is it to Cardiff ?\u201d The Welshman eyes him up and down: \u201cJust a minute now, how did you know my name was Dai?\u201d The Englishman says, \u201cI guessed, man! I guessed!\u201d \u201cWell, better guess your way to bloody Cardiff then, hadn\u2019t you!\u201d<\/p>\n
An Irishman, a Scotsman, a Welshman and an Englishman are on a plane which is going down and there is only one parachute. The Scotsman says, \u201cScotland will remember me,\u201d and jumps out to his death. The Welshman says, \u201cWales will remember me,\u201d and jumps to his death. The Irishman says, \u201cIreland will remember me,\u201d and pushes the Englishman out of the plane.<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t think the English understand why their Welsh, Scottish and Irish neighbours loathe them so much. Like the Englishman in the first joke, they\u2019re rather baffled by the hostility, while prolonging it with their arrogant attitudes. This behaviour is, of course, not isolated to them. It turns out that we Brits are even less popular abroad than we are with each other. The history of the British Isles is full of painful moments and terrible decisions. And we need to face those. It\u2019s much easier to look away from bad things that happened and, as with a fart, hope no one noticed. (Spoiler: everyone noticed.) Like every multinational corporation, Great Britain plc has done a lot of harm in its long life. The choice of red to represent the British empire on the global map feels entirely apt. Take these unloving nicknames that zoom in on our annoyingness, inability to wear suncream and\/or stop swearing:<\/p>\n
Brittunculi This one\u2019s the oldest: it was found on a tablet at the Roman fort of Vindolanda on Hadrian\u2019s Wall, a\u00a0Latin term showing exasperation and meaning \u201cwretched little Brits\u201d.<\/p>\n
Poms This is what the Australians and New Zealanders call us. There are various theories: the late journalist Alan Whicker said \u201cPom\u201d was short for pomegranate, the bright red colour a new arrival turns in the sun down under. Others claim that Pommie is really \u201cPOME\u201d, which stands for prisoner of mother England, and thus the British convicts who were transported to Botany Bay.<\/p>\n
Rooinek or \u201credneck\u201d The Boer nickname for the pale Brits, dangerously sunburnt again. Afrikaners of old had a ruder nickname for us, though \u2013 soutpiel (\u201csalty penis\u201d) \u2013 meaning that the Brits had one foot back home, the other in South Africa, so their penises were left to dangle in the salty ocean.<\/p>\n
Limeys The American term, originating in the 1850s as \u201clime-juicer\u201d, from the Royal Navy practice of adding lemon or lime juice to British sailors\u2019 daily ration to ward off the scurvy that made all their teeth fall out.<\/p>\n
Inselaffen Translating as \u201cisland monkeys\u201d, this is the Germans\u2019 contemptuous nickname, supposedly dating back to Darwin\u2019s theories of evolution.<\/p>\n
Les rosbifs \u201cRoast beefs\u201d; this French take is based on our fondness for a traditional Sunday roast. Historically they also called us \u201cles goddams\u201d, which originated in the hundred years war, referring to the typically potty-mouthed English soldiers. (So that\u2019s where I got it from!) More recently, British tourists have been called \u201cles fuckoffs\u201d. Tr\u00e8s charmant!<\/p>\n
My point is, history has always been the propaganda of the victors, but it can lead you astray. So why not try listening to the other side of the story? Don\u2019t fall for your own hype. It all seems heroic if you turn it into a monologue about why you were right all along, instead of facing the painful bits from which there\u2019s no way you can come out well.<\/p>\n
Photograph: Jay Brooks\/The Guardiandouble quotation markIt\u2019s that rule of polite society again: one mustn\u2019t rock the boat, ruffle feathers or put anyone\u2019s nose out of joint. How absurd. Facts are facts<\/p>\n
Our British history needs to reflect our mother tongue, which is a patchwork of words gathered from the different tribes and peoples who\u2019ve made these islands home. There\u2019s room for everyone: we all bring something to the table, whether invader or inhabitant. The French word for a fanlight or transom window is vasistas and comes from the seven years war, when the German soldiers were baffled by the newfangled windows they saw in French houses and kept asking \u201cWas ist das?\u201d The French word is a joke, a snooty echo of the German reactions, but it stuck.<\/p>\n
People are always trying to fix language, but it remains on the move. The Normans tried to make England French; the English tried to ban the native Irish, Welsh and Scottish languages for \u201cthe greater common good\u201d and then later to replace regional dialect and accents with received pronunciation. What idiots! Not only did they not succeed, but our shared language has ended up all the richer. If you can\u2019t beat \u2019em, join \u2019em.<\/p>\n
Now I know many of my opinions \u2013 particularly those on politics, Palestine and Potter (Harry) \u2013 have provoked outrage. But I can\u2019t help it \u2013 I believe in telling the truth, even if it\u2019s my truth. In this, again, I realise I do not fit the English stereotype. The English excel at obfuscation, you see; they are masters at avoiding the truth. It\u2019s that rule of polite society again: one mustn\u2019t rock the boat, ruffle feathers or put anyone\u2019s nose out of joint. How absurd. Facts are facts.<\/p>\n
My advice? If you believe someone is a liar, stay away from them. All around us, our politicians, news outlets and the media \u2013 the very people we are supposed to trust \u2013 are caught up in a relentless and divisive campaign of fearmongering and misinformation. Now it feels more crucial than ever to think for ourselves, debunk the deceits and sort the sheep from the goats.<\/p>\n
Mummy used to say \u201cspeak as you find\u201d, and I think that\u2019s an excellent way of sorting out decent folk from the vile. What unites us is far greater than what divides. Don\u2019t be afraid to learn from everything wrong in our past \u2013 and there is a lot wrong in our past \u2013 let\u2019s just do it better in the future.<\/p>\n
I bet you didn\u2019t know I was once a Tory candidate. But unlike most of the former Conservatives who have swelled the ranks of the current Deform party, I have grown into maturity and swung left. My campaign was in May 1955: I was 14 and in the upper fourth at Oxford High School. A general election was being held in the country, and we decided to hold one at school. Of course I was a Conservative: my parents had always been Tories \u2013 it was all I knew. They both worshipped Winston Churchill and credited him with having saved the United Kingdom from the Nazis. For Mummy, being Tory was a key part of her upwardly mobile climb, and so it was for my father, who, despite being a passionate supporter of the newly created NHS, could not imagine following Labour. They were delighted to hear I was the Tory candidate. We don\u2019t remember who dared to stand against me in our form, or what my policies and promises were at the hustings \u2013 I was an old-school Tory and definitely pro capital punishment, so I dread to think \u2013 but I carried the day.<\/p>\n
skip past newsletter promotion<\/a><\/p>\n Sign up to Inside Saturday<\/p>\n The only way to get a look behind the scenes of the Saturday magazine. Sign up to get the inside story from our top writers as well as all the must-read articles and columns, delivered to your inbox every weekend.<\/p>\n after newsletter promotion<\/p>\n Lawrence Turner<\/a>, the Tory who won the Oxford constituency when I won the upper fourth, went on to vote in favour of the Suez invasion, spend more than he earned and finally go bankrupt. Rather sweetly, one of his last parliamentary activities was presenting a petition to preserve the copyright of the words of WS Gilbert, one half of the prolific theatrical partnership Gilbert and Sullivan who created the comic operas that were the ironic soundtrack to the burgeoning British empire. Turner proved ineffectual again: he was not \u201cthe very model of a modern major-general\u201d or even of a modern member of parliament, and copyright expired in 1961.<\/p>\n Right seemed self-evidently right until I was assailed on two respectable fronts. After my election success, the father of my best chum from those days, Biddy Peppin, insisted I was invited to tea. He was that unusual thing, a leftwing bank manager, and his chosen task was to turn my path into a socialist future. And then another friend, Liz Hodgkin, also invited me for dinner. The Hodgkins were academic royalty \u2013 Liz\u2019s mother Dorothy was later to win a Nobel prize \u2013 but they were committed socialists, too. You know how sometimes you can fall in love with a whole family? Well, I did. Their dinner guests were all communists and convinced Marxists (oh, that I had the courage to be a Marxist now, but that Putin, he puts me right off) and were winsome, hugely entertaining and great storytellers. Previously I had thought of communists as grim and humourless but boy, was I wrong. And so, eventually, this lady was for turning. I made a U-turn in the direction of sanity and humanity, and have never looked back. My parents were surprised and shocked by my new politics. But had they lived to experience the full horror of the last 14 years of Conservative reign under Cameron, May, Johnson, Truss and finally Sunak, I hope they, too, would have seen the light and embraced the left.<\/p>\n The rise of the far right in Britain today can be traced back to a daft dyke. It depresses me to share that one of my fellow lesbians could be so silly, but the truth must be faced, and in 1923, Rotha Lintorn-Orman founded the first British fascist movement. In 1895 she was born in Kensington (where else?!) into enormous wealth. Obviously liking uniforms and women \u2013 and women in uniforms \u2013 she and a close chum originally wanted to join the Boy Scouts, but the Scouts wouldn\u2019t have them. When the first world war broke out, she served as an ambulance driver, and was decorated for valour.<\/p>\n After the war, Lintorn-Orman, a passionate admirer of Mussolini, formed the British Fascisti. But other, more extreme fascist societies proliferated and soon Lintorn-Orman and her cronies were outflanked. She descended into alcoholism and drug addiction, indulging in \u201cdrunken orgies and undesirable practices\u201d, and her organisation died. But fascism would live on \u2013 from Oswald Mosley and his Blackshirts right through to Tommy Robinson.<\/p>\n Set design: Victoria Twyman. Hair and makeup: Alice Theobald at Arlington Artists using Charlotte Tilbury and Living Proof. Stylist: Charlotte Gornall. All clothes, Margolyes\u2019 own. Photograph: Jay Brooks\/The Guardiandouble quotation markWhile the bad guys seem to be winning everywhere, I\u2019m not giving up \u2013 and neither should you<\/p>\n Now I\u2019m old, I\u00a0understand that older people like things \u201cthe way they were\u201d. Me, too: I hate upgrades \u2013 be it in computers, in phones, in style, in my neighbours. I want what I had. And so, change (which the politicians tell us we want), I actively don\u2019t want. Change makes me feel powerless and then I get angry and look for someone to blame. At least I know enough not to blame immigrants and asylum seekers. The mess the country\u2019s in has got nothing to do with them, but too many of us have been bamboozled into thinking it has.<\/p>\n I grew up knowing I\u2019d receive a fine education and would get a job when I left university (which was free in 1963). Fascism had had its day, we thought. More than 70 million people had died to secure our freedom. But now racism was impossible to ignore, as one by one the last vestiges of the Empire started claiming their independence. The Windrush generation came to Britain \u2013 at the government of the time\u2019s invitation \u2013 to staff our new welfare state, believing they were wanted and would be appreciated for leaving their homes and families, but finding the promised motherland felt harsh, hostile and unwelcoming.<\/p>\n Taking advantage of this highly charged political climate, a new British fascist party \u2013 the National Front \u2013 was born in early 1967. The next year Enoch Powell, Conservative MP for Wolverhampton South West, made his \u201cRivers of Blood\u201d speech. He posed as a brave visionary; perhaps he even believed that he was giving voice to the displaced white community of the Midlands who felt crowded out by Black and Asian immigrants.<\/p>\n I knew straight away what Powell wanted to achieve with the speech: to fan the flames of public dissent. His Oxford education, classical training and powers of oratory served him well. He saw the race card as the way to obtain power. It still is.<\/p>\n Today, a nasty little turd is floating about in our polluted waters. It has many names; one sticks out more than the others. A public schoolboy, posing as \u201cone of the lads\u201d; someone who thought it was funny to hiss at Jewish boys just after the second world war; someone who was given \u00a35m to keep himself safe; someone who got German citizenship legally for his sons (his ex-wife is German) so Brexit disadvantages don\u2019t inconvenience those close to him. There is a widespread fear that Farage (AKA the Odious Niggle) could succeed to the leadership; the kingdom is teetering on the brink of annihilation. But it\u2019s not too late. After all, it is not the lie that passeth through the mind but the lie that sinketh in and settleth in it that doth the hurt. (Thanks, Francis Bacon.) While the bad guys seem to be winning everywhere, I\u2019m not giving up \u2013 and neither should you.<\/p>\n Exhausted by but addicted to doomscrolling, sliding from one terrifying headline to another, it\u2019s easy to forget we are all in the same unsteady boat, north or south, young or old, lower, middle and even upper class, ignoring the culprits hiding in plain sight. It\u2019s not the foreigners, legal or illegal, who are pissing on us; it\u2019s the billionaires who own the media and the internet and can pay the debts of the political parties they want to control, and fuck the rest of us. Well, I\u2019m not putting up with it any longer. And neither need you. Let\u2019s have a laugh. It\u2019s the antidote (and all the ammunition) we need to those arseholes who forget that Britain was great before they were born \u2013 we can see right through them.<\/p>\n Never forget that laughter is a good medicine, ridicule and satire can change minds, and there\u2019s always sex. Mind you, it\u2019s a while since I enjoyed the full-throated variety, but I know it\u2019s out there.<\/p>\n I refuse to be cut off from the wealth of possibilities that Britain and Ireland offer. Let\u2019s live, have fun, learn new tastes, new words, new mastications. Build bridges, cross chasms. And before we go to the moon again, let\u2019s reap the benefits strangers in our midst offer. It\u2019s not their fault that things are tough. It\u2019s ours. This is my middle finger to naysayers, Nigel Farage and everyone who says \u201cwhatever\u201d. It\u2019s time to be Great Britain again \u2013 or at least Better Britain. Steady the Buffs and onwards!<\/p>\n This is an edited extract from Miriam\u2019s Full English by\u00a0Miriam Margolyes, published by John Murray on 3\u00a0September at \u00a325. To support the Guardian, order your copy from guardianbookshop.com<\/a>. Delivery charges may apply.<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/uk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/06\/1782376450_973_500.jpg\")
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