Tight little island

The best parties always feel like death on
this island, this tight little island, with all
its inlets and nooks, bays and shores, holding
and holding its lungs shut until whoosh!
national pride expands, flags blare, trumpets
billow and nostalgia goes on the march again,
and now we’re on the best foot forward coast
riding unicorns and pointing at the sea saying
it made us made us, that and a bit of wool, coal,
theological externalities and mainsails, and
we could win again if only you stopped
tying us down in agreeable reasonableness,
plenary sessions in strategy conferences,
but no really, we wouldn’t need to go to
all this bother if only we could kiss Joan
Greenwood as Peggy in 'Whisky Galore!'
once, just once, shipwreck our ambition
in exchange for the breath of life.