There, I've said it. I know it's completely heretical, but I couldn't care less if Helen Mirren proves that the British have something to show Hollywood tonight. Every British news source, not excluding this one, will be full tomorrow either of stories about how well the Brits did, or how unexpectedly badly our national talent fared. But I can't bring myself to care; what is Helen Mirren to me, or me to her? Of much greater interest to me is whether Scorsese finally gets his award, but to say so seems almost treasonable.
Nor do I know anyone whose heart beats quicker when it looks like a fellow Briton might win an artistic award. Are there really such people?
It strikes me that an obscure accident of history has left Britain speaking a similar language to the Americans, and thus given us an entry into their cultural markets. But I don't believe those facts have any wider significance. I don't, for instance, believe that we are Athens to the US's Rome, that we are the older wiser nation, restraining the feisty adolescent superpower. I don't even believe the Americans hold us in any particular affection, as we like to believe.
And whatever else happens, Peter O'Toole is unlikely to be Irish if he wins, I think.
