I once spent an enjoyable afternoon talking to Duncan Fallowell in a flat overlooking the Notting Hill Carnival. He had just returned from newly liberated St Petersburg and was extolling the alacrity with which Russian boys had extended the spirit free enterprise to the market demands of western gays - recommended to me with the arched eyebrow of the English gent who suspects he may be shocking the naive young colonial.

After 20 years in those delightful islands I lost count of the times I saw the narrowed eyes of some witty fellow watching to see if he had got a rise out of me with his devastating joke about sheep shagging - Fallowell is at least a notch above that. But we see in him how the ideal of the unchanging colony becomes ever more vital to the shaky self image of the modern Brit. As England becomes 'a transit camp' Englishmen rush to Christchurch to see if it lives up to its famous reputation of 'England Fifty Years ago' (No wonder he likes Heavenly Creatures)

Of course 'England 50 years ago' is a criticism as well as a comfort, and theres the nub: the Brits have alway loved to despise us for being a poor copy of Britain. Now we are despicable on our own terms, much in the same way as they themselves are - conflicted and addicted, crime-ridden, tasteless, bad tempered and overweight, vandalising our treasures and iconising rubbish. We may even be ahead of Britain in these thing, and may come out the other end first.

As for our romance with Polynesia - well may the Brits envy us for having a nicely-packaged pre-industrial culture on our doorstep. On the whole it seems more healthy than the current English preoccupation with their own ethnic origins. Since the devolution of the Celtic fringe, you can't turn on an English TV without seeing some tweedy archaeologist disturbing the peace of yet another Anglo Saxon burial mound somewhere in the South East. In the home of the industrial revolution, the flight from industrialism is rapidly becoming a scandal.

On the evidence of the quotes released so far, there is nothing in Fallowells comments on us that we could not read in any Sunday paper ventilated by our own local irritants. The whole controversy, hate-mail and all, has something about it of a publicity campaign. At least we can look forward, I hope, to a recognition of our heroes of gender reassignment.

When I met Fallowell he was best known for his sensitive book about the British transexual April Ashley. Having been disappointed by the ghost written memoir of legendary Wellington hostess Carmen, I would suggest to Duncan that if he wants to make it up to us and do something of lasting worth, he should get back onto ground where he knows what he's doing and give Carmen a call.