There's a fine line to be drawn between symbols of nationality, on the one hand, and stereotype and cliché on the other. Commercialism drives the whole business inexorably towards the latter: shamrocks, harps, Guinness, diddly music, GREEN - or: tartan, shortcake, bagpipes, whisky, sporrans, claymores - or: red cross, morris dancers, tea & crumpets, bowler hats - or: pointed hats, shawls, choirs, rugby, lava bread - and so ad infitum and ad nauseam... pick your own.

As for tragic histories, the world is full of them. I have ancestors who came to England from Kildare to escape the Irish potato famine and get work as labourers. I have ancestors who came down from Kinross and Edinburgh to try and get work in the Manchester cotton mills. I have ancestors from Norfolk in East Anglia who were part of the 47,000 agricultural workers - treated virtually as slaves - who were paid to be shipped off to Canada and Australia by benevolent clergymen and the squierarchy so that they wouldn't be a charge on the parish.

And that's just my family - all documented by me. But I can't be bothered to celebrate any of it in any way. Who's the patron saint of East Anglian agricultural labourers?