What is it to be a Saffa?

YOU know those lists of supposed national characteristics, about leaving the cooking to the French and the policing to the British and the railways to the Germans and the loving to the Italians; that stuff?

Personally, I am not that great a fan. Seems to me that the good ones become instant clichés and the other ones, let’s just say, have an extra-high rate of the grossly corny.

But there are times one must rethink. I’d nearly finished a solid sombre(ish) Stoep Talk for today, when my daughter-in-almost-law dispatched a collection of what you might see as improper discriminatory evil ethnic slanders.

Or, alternatively, you might laugh your head off.

Let me pass them on first, and then I will ask you a question.

They are a list of things that being English means.

Inability to stand and leave without saying “right”.

Saying “hello” to a friend in the supermarket, then creeping around to avoid seeing them again.

You cannot pay for something with the exact change without saying “I think that’s right”.

Overtaking someone on foot and having to keep up an uncomfortably fast pace until safely over the horizon.

Watching with quiet sorrow as you receive a different haircut to the one you requested.

Being unable to turn and walk in the opposite direction without first taking out your phone and frowning.

Punishing people who don’t say “thank you” by saying “you’re welcome” as quietly as possible.

Using the phrase “You’ll have to excuse the mess” when you mean “I spent seven hours tidying in preparation for your visit”.

Using the phrase “Sorry, is anyone sitting here?” when you mean “Unless this is a person who looks remarkably like a bag, I suggest you move it”.

Mishearing someone’s name for the second time and now having to avoid them forever.

Changing your sign-off from “kind regards” to “regards” as a sign you’re approaching the end of your tether.

On hearing a recording of your own voice you decide it’s perhaps best to never speak again.

If a succession of doors are held open for you run out of ways to say thanks, having deployed “cheers”, “ta” and “nice one”.

Overwhelming sorrow at finding a cup of tea you had forgotten about.

My personal favourite is not confined to the English.

I know that because my children constantly accuse me of it (they have perception troubles on this, like my wife does about snoring).

It is: indicating that you want the last roast potato by trying to force everyone else to take it.

My question is: Do you find these extraordinarily funny, and if so why? I know that I do, and I think that the “why” is because while they are entirely new to me, each articulates something that I’ve known all my life without knowing that I knew it.

I once tried to nail down a South African equivalent – on screen, big expense – and didn’t get to it. To try again now might invite lifelong prison for Hate Speech.

But hey, if we’re totally relaxed putting the English in the firing line, is something wrong with us that we can’t take it?

Might you, good reader, have an idea on what being South African means, now, 2019? I’d love to hear from you.