A couple of days ago I read an article where a family, having lived in Britain for several years, were returning to their homeland of New Zealand. They were keen to take back gifts for their friends that were ‘quirky and quintessentially British’ and asked the public at large for some suggestions.

Amongst the obvious recommendations of Marmite, Worcestershire sauce, Thornton’s toffee, Patak’s lime pickle, a good malt whisky, a tabloid and broadsheet newspaper from the same day (I quite liked that one), bunting and dog-dirt there were a couple that really tickled me:

– Quirky and quintessentially British…could you take Boris Johnson? I’m sure we wouldn’t miss him.
– A DVD of quintessentially British TV shows that completely baffle anyone not from these shores – Shooting Stars, Hancock’s Half Hour, TV Burp, The Royle Family and the superb ‘Early Doors’.
– A case of WKD, a Chas & Dave CD and some slightly veiled racism.
– A stomach ulcer and £28,000 of unsecured debt.
– Just display a casual disdain for them upon your return.

My own suggestion would be our (previously) rampant house price inflation and an obsession with celebrity chefs. God bless us, one and all.

I’m Carl - my phone isn’t smart, I’ve never sent a tweet, I'll never pose for a selfie, and I’m not my son's friend on Facebook. In fact, I’m no-one’s friend on Facebook. I read, I digest and I regurgitate with my spin on the things that matter. To me.

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