Quintessentially English??

Horror is a genre I do not subscribe to. Not just because it's daft and gory, but because I am perfectly capable of frightening myself without a chainsaw. Repeatedly. In novel ways each time.
I love my flat. I covet my cousins more sophisticated flat down the road, but I love mine. My curtains are adorned with large, hungry looking, rose coloured flowers of indeterminate pedigree, crowned by a hideous pink rosette. My characterless blue carpeted floor creaks in the most appalling manner, the sound amplified by futile lifting of heels in an attempt to diminish the trauma to the 1st floor. He has muted earth tones that effortlessly melt into each other. My shower offers either a scalding or stinging dribble. At his place you can choose between temperate jacuzzi jets or a wallow in a bath (in different locations). He has a concierge. I have a lift that breaks down every six weeks. He has a grown up fridge that doesn't frost. I have a midget you have to kick shut, that harbours icebergs. His bed doesn't make rudely inappropriate nosies, his mattress doesn't shift and the number doesn't fall off his front door.
But..... I have a double height ceiling. I have a ledge that permits precariously perched sunbathing (as long as the do gooder passers by don't interfere). I have the luxury of my personality on the walls and a cool wrought iron head board (which might have been more effective attached to the rest of the bed. A magical mirror that reflects a perfect coiffure whenever I glance by. Close your eyes, and the soothing gurgle of the freezer paints the lazy swish of a golden fantail disappearing behind a waterfall curtain. Abundant character.
An English habit. To see character in all that is flawed. The terrifying naiveté and belief that the 'perfect' man exists. My unicorn. This gets worse. My obsession with the weather. My need for a cup of tea to soothe frazzled nerves. The inevitable support for the underdog (although I now owe Taks £1.50 for having my man win - yes, he's a big spender). The idealism of fair play and justice. My need to fix Bombay. I nod yes definitively, and shake no assertively. I say trousers, knickers, bugger and wanker with abandon. I love Indian food...... Oh God. I think I'm English. Bollocks!!