St George? Who's that?

Just spent my last weekend in freedom before going back to the grind at school tomorrow. It was a phenomenal week of doing as little as possible, travelling to Toulouse to spend time with my niece, getting back here and eating and sleeping a lot. And last but not least, renewing some really valuable friendships.

Meanwhile, this weekend, London hosted the St George's day celebrations, which were quite something. As I was waiting for the train to get downtown yesterday, I realised that the tiny little town I'm living in - a suburb of Twickenham - had its own St Geroge's Day parade. Far from the gaggle of bewildered kids I was expecting, it was quite a spectacle. Everybody, from the local drug volunteers in a double decker bus, to the line dancing group hot on the heels of the enormous military orchestra, was out under the dark, soupy April sky, braving the likelihood of rain.

I'm pretty flabbergasted to see how much is going on in this suburban sprawl of a place which I thought completely barren of everything except 99p shops and Tesco's. I suppose people don't advertise what they do here in the same way they do in downtown London, because they tend to stick around here for Longer, and don't need as much attention for what they do. I really should get involved in something, and find out for myself what Whitton is actually like.

Something I really enjoy about living in the UK is how small, grassroots-type stuff works. People have this unending ability to create small groups to address a local problem, or keep a social group going. As compared to France where people complain about the government not doing enough to improve their lives, but hardly ever actually set up any viable alternatives of their own, the British are far more proactive and resilient. Then again, they let their government get away with gross incompetence or negligence a lot of the time. The transport, the health system, overcharging everyone for everything and doing little to pay it back... When stuck in the Tube for the millionth time, with a 45 minute delay, and everybody patiently sighing and saying "Mustn't grumble!" the Frenchman in me often thinks "Yes you should grumble! Why are you so damn resilient??!"

Anyway, I got into town and moseyed about the city centre, looking for something interesting to do. As I got to the British Museum, I heard Indian music playing. I went into the main hall - which is a spectacle of gigantism in itself - and witnessed this unbelievable music and dance show. This snippet doesn't really capture how colourful and graceful the six dancers were. It culminated in a Tarantella-like frenzy of drumming as the dancers spun wildly out of control. The audience - mostly composed of tourists visiting the museum - were completely wowed, as I was myself. That was probably the first time in history that the British Museum was anticlimactic. What an unbelievable place.

It just strikes me each time how absolutely enormous the British Empire project was. My friend Chris has helped bring this to the forefront of my thoughts by bringing me all sorts of documents on Sudanese politics in the 19th century to translate. But while moseying around the Islamic and South Asian sections of the British Museum, I couldn't but think what a massively organised enterprise of pillage the Empire was. They actually organised raids, or 'razzia' as they called them, to break down local resistance to their government, where they would steal the odd woman here, shoot the odd herd of cattle there... And of course, get hold of any interesting-looking booty on the way. So the grandeur of this museum is always mitigated by the knowledge of how it was acquired, in my case.

I can't help but enjoy the simplicity of British attitudes. The way they can be uncomplicated about organising themselves to get things done and address problems. Of course, that simplicity can sometimes translate into oversimplifications when it comes to understanding foreigners, as many of the idiotic TV programmes on immigration display. But then there's also a sort of instinctive acceptance that outsiders like myself can disagree with the non-essentials. That I can look at the St. George's Day parade with amused detachment, without being anti-British. And of course, the most interesting Britons, those who like Chris display the mixture of humility, self-mockery and genuine cultural interest, are the most critical of their own Empirical history. And long may it continue, despite the rants of Boris Johnson, or Tony Blair's Americanism.