We live in strange times

It came in the mail today.

Red it is, with just two words inside which change the way some of the world will see me: "British Citizen".

I didn't think it would affect me at all, but it has. For instance I have no idea what to expect next weekend at the Gabba when my country plays, well my other country actually in the first test.

Will I be disappointed if "we" lose? I suppose "we" will have the Ashes in any event, so my new found schizophrenia may well leave me happy-sad no matter what the outcome.

Now that I am a Pom, I suspect I shall have to address the class issue. Surely I wasn't meant to be "Working" Class was I? Heaven forbid, I'd have to join a union and drink in pubs and eat fried food and start watching television.

I think I'm more suited to being a Gentleman actually. For a proper Gentleman, I am led to believe, work is a vulgar concept, as is the thought of handling all things to do with money.

Yes, that will do, another decision finalised!

Now I just need to find myself a chap to take care of all those nasty things, and perhaps to iron my newspaper paper before I have him read it to me.

Carry on.