Afterglow of Empire

I've just caught a couple of minutes of the Commonwealth Games hockey. England were losing, sadly.

In some ways the Commonwealth reminds me of the Church of England. It doesn't make much difference any more, we only remember it exists every four years or so, but it makes some people happy as a reminder of other times, and it's nice to know it's there. It's like the guardian of ideals we can't quite call to mind.

The British Empire painted a third of the world in imperial pink. "Pink" not because of some unlikely gay subtext, but simply because if it had been red you couldn't have read the place names.  And while it made the merchant classes and some adventurers rich, it didn't do much for the poor sods who continued to dig up coal and lead and make straw hats, army boots and packed tongue in as much discomfort, and often as much danger, as they ever had.

An Empire on which the sun never set, as basically a hopelessly outnumbered British army maintained control over an implausible population that could have destroyed it in a few short months if they had ever wanted. Carry on Up the Khyber contains more truth than we might think. And now it's all reduced to wondering if we'll win the synchronised diving, and then wondering why you'd even bother trying. And hoping nobody trips over a bit of track that's not quite been stuck down properly.

And you know what, it's better that way.