It’s all gone a bit Humpty Dumpty…

We came in this morning to find extra baggage within the office. We had been gift-wrapped the son of a client for a couple of weeks of ‘work experience’.

Knowing nothing about our new, if temporary appendage – and with The Boss off go-karting for the day with the AVA – questions quickly ensued. The new man, let’s call him Jack, (since that’s his name), left the UK for Switzerland and then Germany at the age of ten, and R-Y, himself the father of a daughter who has just returned to the UK after 20 years growing up in Norway, was anxious to know how it felt to be back in the old country.

Jack said ‘England doesn’t feel like home’ and ‘I’m English but feel like a foreigner in my own country’. R-Y nodded sagely. (He’s just moved to semi-rural Tottington and he feels the same way). All of which got us thinking: ‘what does it mean to be British?’

Take modern industry for example: Head Office is in one country, but many of a company’s peripheral departments are often splattered across the globe like a dropped egg. That’s how quintessentially British marques such as Aston Martin and Mini have become multi-national omelettes.

Staying on the subject of cars, our petrol – headed newcomer suggested that the modern Mini can hardly be described as Mini anymore, despite BMW’s attempts to keep the historic look of the car. ‘The Mini was named such because it was, mini. Now it is one of the larger vehicles in its class’, he said, to a tacit chorus of nods from us all.

Let’s face it: it’s all gone a bit Humpty Dumpty. There’s a clue in the fact that an egg is, well, pear-shaped.

The revival of the Mini Clubman, the object of much genuflection in motoring circles, is a case in point. This iconic 5-door version of the Mini, with its strange door layout, (a 2-door boot, single door on the driver’s side, and 2 doors on the passenger side) has been corrupted. Purchasing one for the school run is perfect if you’re in Berlin, Basle or Bertchesgarden. The two doors on the right-hand side so that children can be easily and safely hoiked from auto to seitenstrasse, but despite their reputation for rigorous efficiency and perfectionism über alles, the Geschäftsführer at BMW has decided, in its wisdom, to retain this door layout in the UK, where we drive on the right, that is the correct side of the road. Which means that we have the two doors on the drivers side; ergo, should the kids get out the back door, they disembark into the middle of the road. Brilliant. The British Mini has thus become the German Mini.

‘Are we becoming the victim of one of our favourite techniques, assimilation? we ought to ask ourselves’, said Jack philosophically. Warming to the unusual presence of an intellect to match his own (opinion of himself) R-Y gathered himself and held forth.

‘Throughout history we, the British, have done this to others’ he orated, pacing the room whilst holding his lapel with Churchillian steel. ‘We stole tea from India, and yet we regard tea as being quintessentially British.’

‘And curry, too’, said Gareth, pleased to be able to contribute.

‘Our so-called heritage is now being assimilated by other countries, most notably our previously proud car industry. Do you know’, said R-Y ominously, ‘that in the 50s there were over 100 different car marques in the UK. Today less than 20 remain, most of which are owned by Johnny Foreigner. The few marques that are entirely of Blighty are built in garden sheds by sheep farmers. With builders bottom. Called Steve. In Cornwall. Using only elbow grease and old, rusty bikes…’

It used to be that if you wanted the best, you bought British. Now, however, German goods will have been better produced, American gear will be bigger, Chinese stuff will be cheaper, and exports from The Land of the Rising Sun will never break. We’ve been overtaken in almost every facet of industry and even the once derided Euro is catching up to the Pound.

All of which might have left our Jack wishing he’d stayed in bed. Or in Fallowfield. Or even in Hamburg.

So let’s sum-up. Our appendage, Jack, was born here in the UK. However, he was hastily exported. Now, after being moulded and honed by the Swiss and the Germans, he has returned to his natural home. Despite his insistence that he really is British, we can see through the façade. He’s just like our once beloved Mini: a foreign interior masquerading as British by adopting a more familiar exterior. That red hair is fooling nobody…

‘But he’s ever such a nice lad’ said R-Y. Or maybe we should make that schöne typ. What’s the world coming to, we want to know…

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