NOW THAT NOTHING is much fun any more, what better moment for a proper revival of the “English malady”? No, not sodomy, flagellation, or any of those traditional pastimes, I mean the inclination to melancholy which for centuries was the thing that foreigners most noticed about us.
The past couple of years should have been perfect for a rebirth of this rather attractive, contemplative, withdrawn, studious and grave state, but naturally everyone squandered the chance, steadfastly persevering with the kind of vain, exhibitionist hysterics that now exemplify the national character, shown by everyone from politicians, royals, clerics, to the clowns of telly and media and the millions of soc-med morons clamouring to outdo them in displays of ignorance, crassness and vulgarity.
The middle of Lent seems a good moment to explore this: a time to examine our consciences, question our motivations, ponder how to be true to our true selves. Interestingly, this English melancholia
