As I left for my daily walk this morning a dreamy thought went through my head. Would I perhaps meet a dragon or even a knight in shining armour today?
Within a minute of leaving home I met a possible knight whose armour had previously been very bright and was now just a little dull by this morning.
It was my neighbour who had valiantly completed the London Marathon yesterday, and that was the nearest I was going to get to a knight!
After about 20 minutes, my walking companion encountered a great beast who reared up snarling, the handler straining at the lines to try to control this act of dominance.
As a large dog was led away by an embarrassed owner, my mutt peeped out from behind my legs.
As I wandered home, I wondered if there might be a symbol of recognition somewhere in the town.
The church?
No!
The town hall?
No!
It was clear. There was
not one flag of St George to be easily found.
Why could this be?
Could it be general apathy?
Could it be that St George was not English anyway?
Whatever the reason, it is sad that we are unable to embrace our Englishness in the way our Irish neighbours, for example, seem to be more than happy to do.
I only hope we might be a little more enthusiastic for things English when it comes to the Olympics later in the year.
So, I will finish by making the point of wishing all of my English friends a very Happy St George's Day!
