There is a British flag – a Union Jack – on the doormat outside my door. There is another one on the Paul Smith key ring in my pocket. They're ironic expressions of one facet of my identity: the Englishman abroad, clinging affectionately to his roots while becoming ever more integrated.
The Union Jack (named after 17th century monarch King James I) is a design icon. Italian kids wear it on tee-shirts. Parisians drive Minis with it on the roof. Its popularity stems from its association with British rock music: in the 60s it was adopted as a symbol of the country's vibrant music scene by The Beatles and The Who. Later, the Sex Pistols hijacked it. And some of us find it hard to forget the Union Jack mini dress worn by the Spice Girls' Geri Halliwell in the 90s. The National Front have adopted it with limited success: we keep stealing it back from them.
For instance, there will be a lot of British flags around this week. Apart from The Wedding, I have other reasons to think about national identity. My wife is pregnant with our first child. He will be half-English. What will that mean to him? I lived in England for more than 30 years and its culture is part of me: the humour, the stoicism, the shyness that we combat with hedonism. Will any of that sneak into my son's DNA?
I won't force the issue. I'll wait for him to ask about our doormat.
