Yesterday was my first Independence Day within the geographical confines of America. I’ve always celebrated this day, only it’s usually with a degree of sarcasm from a distance, the same as any defeated British citizen.
I woke up with a slight sweat, nervous that the rumoured “British Hunt” was still a tradition that some citizens subscribed to. I spent the first sixty minutes of the day peering out of the bottom right corner of my bedroom window, checking for Americans carrying anti-colonist placards. With not a soul in sight, I figured it was safe to get up and face the Fourth.
I decided to put on a pair of socks that featured multiple prints of the Union Jack, as a quiet act of rebellion to the current landowners. If I raised any eyebrows at the festivities that evening, I would simply explain that they’re meant to represent the red, white and blue of America.
“My good fellow, they’re American colours that have simply been ironically arranged in a pattern which happens to glorify our former British overlords. Pip pip my lad, tally ho!”
I think I’ll get away with that one, yes. I’m undercover in America, not quite ready to let go of my past, but not BBQ’d enough to embrace my future.
At around midday I thought about flying an American flag from the balcony, to show support for the country I find myself residing in. Then I wondered about the flag inspectors, the patriot police. I worried they’d knock at my door and ask to see my flag permit, my license to bear banners.
There are so many rules regarding the flag, I didn’t want to find myself in a position of breaking one. I know you can’t let it touch the ground, as that’s disrespectful, but I also know that you’re allowed to make bikinis out of them. The flag may not touch some freshly cut summertime lawn, but it can rub against the flapped private areas of sweating American citizens. It’s so complicated!
I decided to postpone my decision to raise a flag, at least until next year. I want to show my support for the country which I currently reside, but don’t want to get caught out by one of the many rules and sent to flag jail. I’ve heard that if you fold it wrong, you get up to twelve years in a maximum security lockup, but it’s also okay to put tiny disposable flags on fast-food?! I just don’t understand!
Much of my afternoon was taken up by a traditional American activity; Spending a pre-paid gift voucher in a large supermarket store. We tried to make the invisible money stretch, by purchasing strictly paper and corked goods, none of this plastic nonsense. On several occasions I had to be restrained from buying anything at all featuring Old Glory. I felt genuine pangs of patriotism, but had accusations of sarcasm repeatedly hurled in my direction.
The sheer cheek of it. I would never dream of- the flimsy systems we create for ourselves are very very serious and not to be made light of.
We also made purchase of some red velvet cake, white rice and blue cheese. I’m letting you know now, dear reader, patriotic coloured foods do not mix well together. Yes, that’s right, I’m spelling colour how it’s supposed to be spelled/spelt. I wouldn’t have dreamt of it on the 4th of July, but now that we’ve arrived at the 5th, I’ll be indiscriminately throwing ‘U’s into any and all words I see fit to accost with vowels.
The evening entertainment was to be a firework display, a classic. We walked with crowds of people to a local park to witness fifteen minutes of controlled explosions. I was feeling extremely patriotic at this point, due to being surrounded by thousands of other people who were just looking for some Fourth-based fun.
There were hundreds of signs stating that dogs weren’t allowed in the park, but people were bringing their pups in anyway. I respected this, because it’s their independence day too. For example, American bulldogs were freed from the tyranny of British bulldogs, forever separating their lineage. Even as a cat-person, I can respect a hound’s right to believe in their country.
The fireworks were scheduled to begin booming at nine in the PM. At around ten minutes to nine, God attempted to rival the artificial explosions by producing a few of his own. Loud thunder rumbled and reverberated around the park, several flashes of ferocious lightning soon followed. As soon as the first raindrop fell, thousands of people stood up and ran for the park exits. The mass exodus created quite the crowd. I saw one person take a picture and upload it to Brietbart, with the headline:
“Millions Out to Support Trump on 4th of July!”
Journalism is that easy folks.
The fireworks were delayed indefinitely and it really was pissing it down, so we decided to head for home. I wasn’t too let-down by the non-event. The disappointment and rain reminded me of home, of merry England. Something being built up in an excitable fashion, only to not happen at all, served as a reminder that our two countries aren’t that different after all. Maybe it’s time we reunite, we’re both making dubious political decisions at the moment, it feels like the right time.
All in all I’d give the 4th of July a 7/10; Not quite as good as Halloween but miles better than arse-hole of a Columbus Day.
Today is Thursday, 5th of July and we bought our cat a laser pointer. She now thinks she’s being haunted by the devil himself.