Nigel Farage’s pointless byelection in Clacton, in which he will stand against Count Binface, has inadvertently pitted two versions of Britain against one another. In one corner we have those who will argue that we are divided, cynical and jaded, that Britain isn’t what it once was and there is little to celebrate. And in the other corner we have the lovers of nonsense, ready to bind us back together with the unifying force of laughter.
Count Binface symbolises what I like to call Silly Sausage Britain. The Britain that has a laugh and doesn’t take itself too seriously, but is underpinned by self-deprecation, our kindness toward each other and fairness. This is the Britain of comedians such as Victoria Wood and Bob Mortimer, Romesh Ranganathan and Daisy May Cooper, Elis James and Meera Syal. It’s the adverts for Yorkshire Tea, Tango and Irn-Bru and it’s the Liz Truss lettuce. It’s 2p arcade machines and queen of “hun culture” Alison Hammond’s laugh.
It’s Louis Theroux rapping on Chicken Shop Date and the Coronation Street “London?” compilation. It’s the king of nonsense Greg James addressing the nation every morning and Susan Boyle’s reworking of the classic Cornetto song.
It’s the big Vimto statue behind Piccadilly train station in Manchester and the phrase, “Can he do it on a cold, rainy night in Stoke?” It’s Ainsley Harriott scaring a competition winner on daytime TV (“Why hello Jill!”) and the “sad little life” guy from Come Dine With Me. It’s our inflatables for any occasion: leeks at Welsh rugby matches and Bukayo Saka’s unicorn. It’s a tinnie on the train and rating meal deals. It’s the movement to nationalise Greggs and the nicknames we give our mates. It’s Boaty McBoatface. And it’s Mr Blobby.
As British people it’s our humour that unites us and god knows we need a laugh right now, but it’s about more than that – it’s about connection. In not taking ourselves seriously, we find our common ground and find a lighter way through when things are really tough.
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Last year, I wrote about Mr Blobby Patriotism, describing the Britain I feel exists and that I’m proud of. This is not twee Paddington-style patriotism. Neither is it Reform’s top-down Rule, Britannia! patriotism. It is a patriotism of taking the piss out of yourself and your mates, but also rolling up your sleeves and helping someone carry a pram up the stairs. Being patriotic isn’t about Britain being perfect, it’s about loving a place because we see ourselves in it and making fun of it because it’s ours.
There are plenty who will dismiss what I’m saying as frivolous or unserious, but satire has long been a weapon in the fight against dark political forces. Our humour is a touchstone of our shared culture; it is why so many of us feel a burst of British pride when we see Count Binface on the news.
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What culture counts as meaningful should not get decided by one elite group of people who want to try to define what, and who, matters. And we should not cede our silliness, our kindness or our joy to those who want to drive division.
There’s so much hope in the bonds we form as we have a laugh. There are so many of us who stand up for each other every day. People who use their precious time to build and protect community spaces, such as rugby clubs, social clubs and local pubs. And the youth clubs that people – including the band Ezra Collective and those who saved Salford Lads Club – fight for.
As these shared spaces in our country have dwindled it’s good to have an incoming prime minister who seems to get all this, celebrating the joy and connection found in community spaces like Ashton Town FC, where Andy Burnham celebrated his byelection victory.
So as we laugh together over Count Binface’s plans to nationalise Adele, restore the price of 99 Flakes to 99p and reintroduce Ceefax, we are reminded of who we are as a nation. This is the kind and funny Britain I know exists and the one I want to live in.
