Orwell’s English patriotism did not demand conformity. It did not suggest homogeneity. It was an individual expression of admiration that could only have come from someone who had never quite fitted in, with the kind of eyes and attention to detail which that status gave him. He found the love of his country in tiny details – ‘solid breakfasts and gloomy Sundays, smoky towns and winding roads, green fields and red pillar-boxes.’
