Lizards and the English

Let’s say you’re an Englishman, and from a long line of them.  As far back as you can reckon, your ancestors, on both sides, were from England.  None of this mucking about in Scotland or other foreign parts  One of your ancestors was there to greet the Angles when they arrived.  Another shoved his pike up poor Richard’s bum at the Battle of Bosworth.  You speak the Queen’s language, drive on the left side of the road, and you think Majorca is too damned hot, Brighton is fine, thanks.  In other words, you are bloody well English.

Another guy is decidedly not. He’s from Tiko-Schmiko somewhere south of the Solomans.  Not only are all his ancestors also from there, but no one has ever been known to leave there.  He worships crabs, and pours lizard piss on sacred stones to make it rain.  In short, he is a typical Tiko-Schmikian.

“Holy cow!” you say (your religion is sometimes amusing), “we are so different, I cannot even grasp the magnitude of the difference!”

Indeed.  In what sense are you so different, then?  Not genetically; you are probably about 99.9% the same genetically.  Of course, you’re about 60% the same as a chicken, but we’ll leave that aside for now.  Culturally, then?  After all, it’s not what you’re born with, but what you do, dammit!  England has art, religion, music, the conservative party.  What have they got down there in god-forsaken Tiko-Schmiko, for Chrissake?

Well, they have art, religion, music, and .. well, okay, not the conservative party.  They do have a rather prissy old fart, though, who’s always ranting about how the kids these days don’t know lizard piss from lemonade.

The English, at least, do know that.