So who are you? A Brit? A European? Citizen of the World? Or perhaps a Wiltshireman, Malmesburian, or a resident of the Withybed Tynings? Are you a person of somewhere? Of Everywhere? Or perhaps of Nowhere? So much that is happening right now is a search for identity, for Nationhood. Or perhaps it’s a battle between those who seek identity, and those who despise it as ‘parochial’ ‘Little Englander’, ‘Nationalistic.’

The Brexit negotiations are making steady, if unflashy progress. The fishermen were unhappy this week because of an apparent delay in our departure from the Common Fisheries Policy. But surely they should at least be glad that it will happen - albeit an unregulated two years later than hoped. More work is needed on the Irish Border, and our borders in general (perhaps in this modern world we don’t actually need them?) It’s a bit glacial (some of the glaciers I saw in South Georgia are moving quite a lot faster than Mrs May), but it’s all going in the right Brexit direction. At the heart of the Brexit debate lies our wrestling with identity- are we British or European? Is it possible to be both?

Our outrage at the despicable poisoning of two British citizens, albeit of Russian background, in Salisbury, and of the accidental poisoning of DS Nicholas Bailey (and we rejoice at his release from hospital) is only partly about law and order. Plenty of people are sadly murdered or attacked, and we hear little about it. Our outrage over this incident comes from the fact that it was done by nerve gas; and that it was done by Russian agents operating on our territory. ‘In Cathedral Salisbury of all places? Who do these Russkies think they are?’ So we welcome the expulsion of 23 of their spies, and no doubt more from other European countries, not necessarily because they are bad people (although they may be), but because they are foreign agents. It inspires a sort of John Buchan outrage in the English breast.

The same applies to the idiotic decision to allow our lovely new blue British passports to be published in France, despite the fact, inter alia, that the French will not allow their own passports to be printed overseas ‘for national security reasons’.’ Reverting to the good old blue British passport was an important symbol of British independence of mind, which is somewhat weakened by depriving local company De La Rue of the contract in favour of a Franco-Dutch printer. What can Ministers have thought they were doing? I have written to Home Secretary, Amber Rudd to ask that she reverses this demonstrably silly decision.

The important thing about the Falklands War all those years ago, was not just that the Argentinians had invaded a pretty depopulated couple of islands in the South Atlantic. It was that they are British, and that the people living there wanted to be British. Sir Rex Hunt fighting to defend the Governor’s house, where bullet holes still adorn the walls, before marching out the front door head held high having donned his full Diplomatic uniform was a great moment. Pride and honour even in defeat. And the Para having yomped 95 miles from San Carlos to Port Stanley with the Union Flag flying from his radio aerial is one of the great images of all time. The Chief of the General Staff, whose wife is from Wiltshire, made a fine speech along similar lines in Parliament last week, and I’m delighted he has now been appointed the new Chief of the Defence Staff. The Falklands may be 8,000 miles away; but they are very much British, the people are very much Britons, and it is their right to determine that that is the case.

We should not be ashamed of these things, nor of our pride in Wiltshire, or Royal Wootton Bassett, or our street, or our home. These are the things which define us as proud human beings. They may call me a ‘Little Englander’ or a ‘Provincial Wiltshireman’. I will wear both insults with pride.