But something pulls, something I can't define

Today's the fourth of July
another June has gone by
and when they light up our town I just think
what a waste of gunpowder and sky
I'm certain that I am alone
in harbouring thoughts of our home

as Aimee Mann sings in the previous post

It's a curious thing that our North American Cousins celebrate national days and show their patriotism in very public ways. OC was telling me that on Canada Day there were flags everywhere and American's seem to permanently fly the Stars & Stripes.

Of course we don't have a national day over here. Each of the 4 countries that make up the United Kingdom of Great Britain & Northern Ireland has its own Patron Saint days but these aren't public holidays, certainly St Geroge's day isn't.

Our new Prime Minister suggested a Britain day. Of course some idiot always says it should be 23rd April which is the date of St George's day who is Patron Saint of England NOT Britain. The obvious day is Trafalgar Day 21st October.

That said would it mean anything? I'd just view it as a day off work and go birding (which is fine by me). I don't need a special day to remind myself that I am rather lucky. I have a good standard of living, rather a lot of freedom (whatever we may think - and I don't want to give this up thank you very much) and I don't have to worry about where the next meal is coming from. I reckon the following Lyrics are terribly British or I suppose English as they refer to England

So here we are in Italy
With a sun hat and a dictionary.
The air is warm, the sky is bright,
Your arms are brown you're sleeping well at night.
So why does England call?
The hedgerows and the townhalls.
After all, there'll soon be nothing left at all.

If we were born outside of place and time,
To make our choice, well this would be mine.
To live and die under a sun that shines.
But something pulls, something I can't define
Tells me England calls, whatever she's done wrong.
Always calls, "This is where you belong."
And I'm lonesome for a place I know.

Oh but Florence you tempt me (here) to stay,
Amidst your hills to while my years away.
But your roots in soil lie, mine in paving stone.
And I hate what it's become, but in my bones
I'm lonesome for a place I know.
Why does England call?

Copyright Everything But the Girl, Lonesome For a Place I know from the album Idlewild (buy it, it's really good)