We are an off-shore island; an island people, proud of our sustainability through the ages in this cold wretched climate of damp but fertile soil, and importantly of ancient rites. Reservation is our language, it is the key to survival.

Reservation is our state of unease caused by the vulnerability of our position, bounded by oceans and beaches upon which the enemy once landed in more ancient times; The North Atlantic Ocean, The North Sea, The English Channel, The Irish Sea and the Celtic Sea, they all circulate this coastline with their sometimes calm waters suggesting the allure of trust and tranquility that can mislead, and can equally quickly darken into the fierceness of storm and turbulence.

Reservation is our tool, one of self-protection, it is our sense of unease and skepticism at what lies beyond. A holding back or withholding of information, a weapon for defense that allows only for the art of negotiation, of proving a relationship worthy of trust, before that barrier of doubt can gently be removed, but can quickly be put back.

These islanders have stored in their genes the truth: when you have nothing to lose you can afford to take great risks without fear and without the need for reservation.


One thought on “The Great British Reservation

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