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The search for identity has never been more intense in the UK than in recent years. In England this quest has reached fever pitch with the World Cup providing a timely, if temporary, opportunity to galvanise a nation around a leather ball and the St George’s Cross.

During the last World Cup Bradford Council, and others, attempted a ban on the flag claiming it would cause offence to minorities. Asian taxi drivers launched a protest and flew the flag from their cabs forcing an own goal by nanny town halls and their extreme PC capers.

It’s true to say that a lot has happened over the past four years, placing a strain on race relations in the UK. But it’s also fair to say the vast majority of ordinary BME citizens will be rooting for England all the way. Err…most of the time.

I have to confess, witnessing the severe thrashing of Jamaica last Saturday was excruciating! Even our own Mr Motor Mouth, Ian Wright was lost for words.

Plans for a family gathering around the box at my Mum’s to watch England v Jamaica accompanied by a Caribbean banquet fit for a Queen’s birthday bash began to unravel before kick off. It was a taste of things to come. My car broke down in the drive, my drive, leaving me to endure the match in lonely humiliation.

Mum called at half time to say she had lost her appetite and was off to sit in the garden for the remainder of the match. Likewise, by then I had lost hope of seeing a Jamaican kick the ball, or at least kick it into the right net.

My way of coping with the carnage was to turn the TV to ‘mute’, put on a Bob Marley CD and fall asleep to the strains of ‘No Woman No Cry’.

Only once has a game been so painful to witness. That was sitting in a German pub with my German partner watching England v Germany. Like the relationship, it fell short of a match made in heaven and ended badly.

The small group of inebriated Scots in the bar were no comfort either, relishing the England defeat even more than the Germans.

“Where Youuu from darrrlin’?” one of the Scots asked as I pressed past them and the jubilant Germans.

“Err Jamaica,” I said in a fake Caribbean accent before heading home, alone.

The reality is we all have multiple identities that we bring to the fore or play down when expedient to do so. But what is or is not an expression of cultural identity can be difficult to discern.

Even I wasn’t sure if my rooting for the Reggae Boys was a manifestation of my Caribbean culture or a quintessentially English desire to see the underdogs do well. Identity is a complex issue that we may never fully define or decipher.

So, this multiethnic nation of ours will continue the search for selfhood in a haze of uncertainty and contradiction until together we arrive at that fated day they call kick off, Saturday, England v Paraguay. Unless, that is, you’re part Paraguayan.

To comment on this column contact Yvonne direct at yvonne@communitychameleon.co.uk or email us at news@24dash.com