proper britain. pouring an entire pint of landlord down your trousers. selling toenail clippings at the church fête. coal in your stockings. licking the village nonce. the moors murders. the yorkshire ripper. round here the townsfolk don’t go out at night. fat grey clouds start gathering at noon and the sun vanishes by 2:30 pm. squint at the tv, eating chocolate digestives, while perverts gibber on the windswept heath outside. pull the curtains. get cozy. ignore all knocking on your windowpanes. body parts in bins. that’s britain. modern, diverse, inclusive. that’s the britain where i was hatched. that’s the britain i believe in.