THE FAIR-PLAY RULE
But to be fair, there were plenty of more positive findings in our research on English workers as well, not least to do with fairness. Although I often use the terms interchangeably, I have chosen the term 'fair-play rule' rather than 'fairness rule' for the title of this section, as I feel that 'fair play' conveys a wider and somewhat less rigidly egalitarian concept that more accurately reflects the English values I am trying to describe. 'Fair play', with its sporting overtones, suggests that everyone should be given an equal chance, that no-one should have an unfair advantage or handicap, and that people should conduct themselves honourably, observe the rules and not cheat or shirk their responsibilities. At the same time, 'fair play' allows for differences in ability and accepts that there will be winners and losers - while maintaining that playing well and fairly is more important than winning. Some would claim that this last element is archaic and no longer applied, but my research has convinced me that it is still a rule in the sense of an ideal standard to which the English aspire, even if it is not often achieved.
In some respects, the fair-play rule serves us well in the world of work and business. While we undoubtedly have our share of rogues and cheats, and the rest of us are by no means saints, the English are generally still regarded, with some justification, as relatively fair and straight in their conduct of business - and there is certainly less blatant tolerance of bribery, corruption and cheating here than in most other countries. When we hear of such incidents, most of us do not shrug in a knowing, worldly manner, as if to say 'Well, yes, what do you expect?' We are shocked, outraged, righteously indignant. This may be partly because the English take great pleasure in being shocked and outraged, and righteous indignation is one of our favourite national pastimes, but the feelings expressed are nonetheless genuine.
When asked to compare English working and business practices with those of other cultures, all of my foreign and immigrant informants commented on the English sense of fair play, and specifically on our respect for the law and our relative freedom from the corruption they felt was endemic and tacitly accepted (albeit in varying degrees) in other parts of the world. Many felt that we were not sufficiently aware or appreciative of this fact. 'You just take it for granted,' a Polish immigrant complained. 'You assume that people will play fair, and you are shocked and upset when they do not. In other countries there is not that assumption.'
So, we may be a bit dull and excessively moderate, but perhaps, without wishing to come over all patriotic, this fair-play ideal is something we could still take a bit of pride in.
MOANING RULES
The rather less admirable English habit of constant moaning is another distinguishing feature of our workplace behaviour, and of our attitude to work. The principal rule in this context is that work is, almost by definition, something to be moaned about. There is a connection here with the Importance of Not Being Earnest rule, in that if you do not indulge in the customary convivial moaning about work, there is a danger that you will be seen as too keen and earnest, and labelled a 'sad geek', a sycophantic 'suck' or a self-important 'pompous git'.
The Monday-morning Moan
English work-moaning is a highly predictable, regular, choreographed ritual. On Monday mornings, for example, in every workplace in England, from factories and shops to offices and boardrooms, someone will be conducting a Monday-morning moan. I can guarantee it. It is universally understood that everyone hates Mondays; that we all had trouble dragging ourselves out of bed; that we really could have done with an extra day to get over the weekend; that the traffic/tube/trains/buses just seem to be getting worse and worse; that we have far too much to do this week, as per bloody usual; that we are already tired and our back/head/feet are hurting, and the week's only just started, for God's sake; and, look, now the photocopier is on the blink again, just for a change, huh, typical!
There are endless variations on this Monday-morning-moan, and no two such moans are ever exactly alike - but, like the infinitely variable snowflake,43 they are all nonetheless remarkably similar. Most of them start and sometimes end with a bit of weather-speak: 'Bloody cold,' or 'Raining again,' we grumble, as we shed our coats and scarves on arrival, which sets the tone and triggers another complaint, either about the weather or the traffic, trains, etc. At the end of the first morning-moan ritual, someone may close the proceedings with 'And it's still raining,' or 'Well,' stoical sigh, 'at least it's stopped raining.' This is the cue for everyone to shift from their habitual moan-position and start reluctantly getting on with the day's work, muttering 'Right, well, s'pose we'd better make a start,' or 'Back to the grind, then,' or, if in a position of authority, 'All right, c'mon, you lot, let's get some work done.'
Then we all work, moderately diligently, until the next moaning opportunity, usually the first tea- or coffee-break, when the Monday litany of complaint is revived with a new set of moans: 'God, is it only eleven o'clock? I'm so tired.' 'Well, it's been a long week.' 'Eleven already? I've got so much to do and I've barely made a dent in it.' 'That bloody coffee machine's eaten my 50p again! Typical!' And so on. Followed by yet more congenial moaning over lunch, at subsequent breaks, and at the end of the day, either on leaving work, or over after-work drinks in a local pub or bar.
The Time-moan and the Meeting-moan
There are variations in our workplace moans, but even these are largely predictable. Everyone moans about time, for example, but junior and low-grade employees are more likely to complain that it passes too slowly, that they have another seven sodding hours of this shift to get through, that they are bored and fed up and can't wait to get home, while more senior people usually whine that time just seems to fly past, that they never have enough of it to get through their ridiculous workload, and now there's another bloody meeting they have to go to.
All white-collar executives and managers - right up to top boardroom level - always moan about meetings. To admit to enjoying meetings, or finding them useful, would be the secular equivalent of blasphemy. Meetings are by definition pointless, boring, tedious and awful. A bestselling training video on how to conduct meetings (or at least make them marginally less awful) was called Meetings, Bloody Meetings - because that is how they are always referred to. English workers struggle to get to the rung on the corporate ladder where they are senior enough to be asked to attend meetings, then spend the rest of their career moaning about all the meetings they have to attend.
We all hate meetings, or at least loudly proclaim that we hate them. But we have to have a lot of them, because of the fair-play, moderation, compromise and polite-egalitarianism rules, which combine to ensure that few individuals can make decisions on their own: a host of others must always be consulted, and a consensus must be reached. So we hold endless meetings, everyone is consulted, we discuss everything, and eventually we reach a consensus. Sometimes we even make a decision.
Then we go and have a good moan about it all.
The Mock-moaning Rule and the 'Typical!' Rule
All this talk of moaning may be making the English sound rather sad and depressing, but that is not the case. The curious thing about all of these moan sessions is that the tone is actually quite cheerful, good-natured, and, above all, humorous. In fact, this is probably one of the most important 'rules of moaning': you must moan in a relatively good-humoured, light-hearted manner. However genuinely grumpy you may be feeling, this must be disguised as mock-grumpiness. The difference is subtle, and may not be immediately obvious to the naked ear of an outsider, but the English all have a sixth sense for it, and can distinguish acceptable mock-moaning from real, serious complaining at twenty paces.