I can no longer deny it. It is time for me to fess up. I am unrepentant anglophile.
I just finished Moonraker and the short story collection Quantum of Solace, which completes, for me, the Ian Fleming Bond collection. This is on the heels of reading biographies of Wolsey and Thomas Moore, as well as a general history of the King Henry VIII era. My Ipod collection is stacked with British rock bands. Our Netflix queue is filled with the best of the BBC. My favorite political philosopher is Edmund Burke, and in fact my current reading material is The Political Philosophy of Edmund Burke. Last year I found myself reading the complete Sherlock Holmes series. Hell, the only foreign country I have visited is, you guessed it, England. I did also travel to Jamaica. Oh, wait, that’s kind of British also. And of course there was that Anglican-use Mass I went to the other day.
I’ll just let The Clash have the final say on all this.
London calling to the faraway towns Now that war is declared-and battle come down London calling to the underworld Come out of the cupboard, all you boys and girls London calling, now don't look at us All that phoney Beatlemania has bitten the dust London calling, see we ain't got no swing 'Cept for the ring of that truncheon thing CHORUS The ice age is coming, the sun is zooming in Engines stop running and the wheat is growing thin A nuclear error, but I have no fear London is drowning-and I live by the river London calling to the imitation zone Forget it, brother, an' go it alone London calling upon the zombies of death Quit holding out-and draw another breath London calling-and I don't wanna shout But when we were talking-I saw you nodding out London calling, see we ain't got no highs Except for that one with the yellowy eyes CHORUS Now get this London calling, yeah, I was there, too An' you know what they said? Well, some of it was true! London calling at the top of the dial After all this, won't you give me a smile? I never felt so much a' like