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While politics and community issues may seem like a distraction to partying the night away, lunching with friends or shopping for the latest designer gear, it is, nevertheless, imperative that everyon...
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Kate Wildblood. DJ, journalist and music junkie. A walking contradiction of terms. Fierce(ish) on the outside, soft as a sweet melody on the inside, scared of her own honesty but not one to hold back. Her smiles never seem to come as easy to her as her words but here we hope to witness both. The written stuff from her and the smiling from you. Welcome Wildblood as she tackles the grr! moments of life.
Monday, 1 September 2008
So there I was, sofa sat, with a young teenager friend of mine. Streetwise and cool he puts this ‘granny’ to shame but that afternoon as we watched swimmers break records and boxers beat brains out all in the name of the United Kingdom he said how strangely proud this Olympic thing made him, how British he felt. And this welling-up-Wildblood had to agree.
The lycra clad Brits had got me most patriotic. I was proud of this country of ours and loved the unity I felt. Me waking late, hungover as hell, counting the hours till the Chinese opened. They grafting and sweating dawn till dusk in the name of queen and country (and, okay you cynics, million pound sponsorship deals). But why the patriotism? Why was I so jacked up by the union?
If you climb backwards through my family tree I’m not even English, we’re Huguenots don’t you know (that’s French Calvinists circa C16th). Escaping as we did our lives as shoemakers (yes I was cobblers in France!) and hitching a lift over with a certain William the Conqueror. Like my precious house records from the US I’m an import.
But I’m an import who settled. Via Bethnal Green, Crystal Palace, Essex and now Brighton. A city I’m about to leave for a week but a place to which I will return with glee. Why? The missus and I have often talked of moving away, swapping the British isle for the White Isle, but I just can’t quite bring myself to do it. I love this country of ours. The seasons changing, the brewed tea and Tikka Marsala. The multicultural mix that always gives this country such vibrancy, such life and such wicked tunes. I even love my feeble excuse of a national football team - although my French roots may reveal my reasoning behind supporting my beloved Arsenal.
I’m dead proud of this island of ours. Okay, I wish we’re were more welcoming to the latest imports, I’m not too keen on any alliance with Bush and I definitely would've appreciated a bit less of a British summer this year but all in all there’s nowhere else I’d rather be, no flag I’d rather wave, no team I’d rather cheer. Yep, make mine a full British.
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