Watching the English

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.

Serious moaning may take place in other contexts, such as heart-to-heart conversations with one's closest friends, but it is regarded as unseemly and inappropriate in collective workplace moaning-rituals. Here, if you become too obviously bitter or upset about your grievances, you will be labelled a 'moaner', and nobody likes a 'moaner' - 'moaners' have no place in ritual moaning sessions. Ritual moaning in the workplace is a form of social bonding, an opportunity to establish and reinforce common values by sharing a few gripes and groans about mutual annoyances and irritations. In all English moaning rituals, there is a tacit understanding that nothing can or will be done about the problems we are moaning about. We complain to each other, rather than tackling the real source of our discontent, and we neither expect nor want to find a solution to our problems - we just want to enjoy moaning about them. Our ritual moaning is purely therapeutic, not strategic or purposeful: the moan is an end in itself.

Genuine grievances may be raised in these sessions, about pay, working conditions, tyrannical bosses or other problems, but even these moans must be delivered with humorous grimaces, shrugs, eye-rolling, mock-exasperated eyebrow-lifts and exaggerated stoical sighs - not with tear-filled eyes, trembling lips or serious scowls. This is sociable light entertainment, not heavy kitchen-sink drama. The appropriate tone is encapsulated in the English moan-ritual catchphrase 'Typical!' which you will hear many times a day, every day, in every workplace in the country. 'Typical!' is also used in moaning rituals in many other contexts, such as on delayed trains or buses, in traffic jams, or indeed whenever anything goes wrong. Along with 'nice', 'typical' is one of the most useful and versatile words in the English vocabulary - a generic, all-purpose term of disapproval, it can be applied to any problem, annoyance, mishap or disaster, from the most insignificant irritation to adverse events of national or even international importance. Eavesdropping in a pub during a turbulent political period in 2003, I overheard the tail end of someone's ritual moan: 'And now on top of it all there's all these terrorist threats and we're going to be at war with Iraq. Typical!'

There is something quintessentially English about 'Typical!' It manages simultaneously to convey huffy indignation and a sense of passive, resigned acceptance, an acknowledgement that things will invariably go wrong, that life is full of little frustrations and difficulties (and wars and terrorists), and that one must simply put up with it. In a way, 'Typical!' is a manifestation of what used to be called the English 'stiff upper lip': it is a complaint, but a complaint that also expresses a very English kind of grudging forbearance and restraint - a sort of grumpy, cynical stoicism.