1. Oasis
I hopped on the "What's the Story, Morning Glory?" bandwagon too. The lush chords, the moody strings, the Beatles-esque sound, Noel Gallagher's plaintive wail, what was not to love? "Don't Look Back In Anger" and "Champagne Supernova" were practically my coming-of-age anthems. Forget old school punk, Britpop was IT. That is, until I saw Oasis live. This was the infamous concert at the LA Coliseum, where Liam Gallagher was visibly cracked out, leading him to spit on several audience members, screech "Fawk yewww, LA!!!" into the microphone continuously, then assault his unfortunate brother Noel with a stray tambourine. Their entire set must have lasted all of 15 minutes. I trudged home in my Docs and sulked.
Two weeks later, when Noel was quoted as saying that Oasis was "bigger than the fawkin' Beatles", I ceremoniously buried my CD next to my Debbie Gibson cassette tapes. You see, 30 years ago, at the height of Beatlemania, John Lennon himself had declared that the Beatles were "bigger than Jesus Christ." Sorry, Oasis. You were never bigger than Jesus Christ, and you certainly were never bigger than the fawkin' Beatles.
2. Sir Stamford Raffles and the British East India Company
Singapore, from where my family hails, is a shining example of what happens when you let the English establish a trading post. The best institutions of higher learning (Raffles Institution, Raffles Girls' School, Raffles Junior College), hotel (Raffles Hotel), mall (Raffles City Center), and country club (Raffles Country Club), are part of a long standing, unabashed homage to Singapore's founder, Sir Stamford Raffles. Which really isn't that bad, until you put this in context. Raffles was one of the bigwigs at the British East India Company, which in turn was commissioned by the Queen of England to further British commercial interests overseas. In other words, establish trade monopolies. Raffles kicked ass at this.
By the late 19th century, the spoils of Java, Malaya, and Singapore lined the coffers of the British Crown. This arrangement worked out great unil the Japanese invaded Singapore in World War II, and the EIC saw fit to take their business elsewhere. The fact that Raffles' statue still stands, unmolested, in Singapore's financial district today, is an indication of yet another awful British legacy - politely looking the other way.
3. Salad Cream
It's no fun talking shit about English food anymore. Especially when London is now home to a dazzling variety of culinary greats, including Raymond Blanc, Diana Kennedy, and Tommy Miah. The Connaught and Tom Aiken's regularly grace Zagat's Top 10 List. Bangers and mash, fish and chips, and steak and kidney pie are now being served up in Piccadilly as "authentic English fare." England is also home to arguably the best Indian food in the world.
How then, does one explain the phenomenon of salad cream? "Salad cream" is what passes for salad dressing in the UK. Manufactured by Heinz, it tastes like equal parts mayonnaise, butter, and lard. No matter where you are in the UK, ordering a salad inevitably means gobs of this gag inducing concoction, slathered on wilted iceberg lettuce and ancient carrots. To make matters worse, salad cream as a sandwich spread pollutes 1 out of every 3 sandwiches that you order in England. I'll take my chances with a chicken tikka, thanks.
4. The Lone Earring
The Irish need to take some of the blame for this. Bono, with the ubiquitous gold stud in his right ear, was singularly responsible for spawning this early '90s fad. After U2 blew up with "Joshua Tree" in 1987, every wannabe emo rocker was running to Claires, getting his right ear pierced, and quoting Nelson Mandela ad nauseum. This look might have been cool for all of 2 seconds, if you were a) under 25 and b) loved wearing black turtlenecks and sunglasses at night. Tell that to the Englishman. Till this day, a good 80% of blokes on the Tube, from suited financiers to football yobs, still rock the lone earring look. Ghastly, darling, ghastly.
5. Boarding schools
When I was 7 and obsessed with Enid Blyton novels, I used to beg my parents to send me to an English boarding school. I wanted it all, the starched wool uniforms, snowball fights, porridge for breakfast, nightime stories in bunk beds. It would be just like camp! Only year round, and in a wintry clime, with faraway names like West Lancashire or Hallowbrook Hill.
I got my wish, sort of. They enrolled me in St. Nicholas, Singapore's most elite all girl Catholic school. Not the Mass-once-a-year type Catholicism either, this was the flesh-and-blood-of-Baby-Jesus kind. Despite the fact that my own family was profoundly irreligious, I learned many valuable lessons, such as: saying Hail Marys three times a day, white cotton panties only (black meant you were a slut), and that the only thing better than being a mother was to be a Virgin Mother. My favorite was the No Boys maxim. When widespread lesbianism broke out in my school, only the teachers were horrified.
6. The Church of England
The present day Church of England has been rightfully lauded for its open-minded doctrines and progressive social policies. Meaning, if you're female, a rug muncher, or both, you still have a shot in hell of becoming an ordained Anglican priest. Claps all around. However, English historians are loathe to discuss how the Church of England came about, and for good reason.
King Henry VIII was married to Catherine of Spain, whom he affectionately referred to as his "Spanish Cow," after numerous failed attempts to produce a male heir. Under Roman Catholic doctrine, divorce was a huge no no, so to marry Anne Boleyn, Henry VIII did what the English do best. He appointed sympathetic young clerics to Parliament, and promised them titles and land to declare his first marriage invalid. The Vatican got pissed, excommunicated Henry VIII from the Roman Catholic Church, and the Church of England was born. Henry VIII went on to divorce and remarry four more times, with each union sanctified by the Church of England. What became of our girl Anne Boleyn? She was beheaded for treason against the king (and, more notably, for not producing a male heir). Hail hail!
7. Bad teeth
I still don't get this one. Britain's National Health Service (NHS) covers everything from emergency procedures to boob jobs. The British isles should be chock full of smiling Blightys, eating curry, waving at the Queen, masturbating to Page Three, or what have you. Instead, the average English grin is still as dingy, crooked, and nicotine stained as it was before the Industrial Revolution. The stiff upper lip is not a result of a historically stoic culture. It really is about hiding shitty teeth. Wiley rascals that they are, the English have worked around this unfortunate state of affairs by cornering the market on another particularly English trait - The Close Mouthed, Bemused Glare. Ian Mcellan, Michael Caine, and Rowan Atkinson all excel at this.
8. Roundabouts
These awful traps can be found in any city that suffers from a dire lack of urban planning. While roundabouts plague motorists in France, Italy, and Spain - metropolitan London seems to have the highest proportion of roundabouts to streets that, well, go someplace. To achieve the sense of bewilderment and rage that every Londoner has to endure while driving in the city, you need not look farther than Boston. Boston is besmirched by streets that zig zag crazily and one way routes that lead into nowhere. It is also home to the highest number of roundabouts in the US. I was trapped in particuarly tenacious one, years ago. Two weeks later, I emerged, unscathed and starving. I do not recommend it.
Alright, I get it... I have bad teeth! You have to understand, in Britain in the Sixties you could be a sex symbol and still have bad teeth. It didn't matter.