This would be my #2, topped only by Morrissey's

Trudging slowly over wet sand, back to the bench where your clothes were stolen

from Everyday is Like Sunday.

Back in the days when Stephen M's take on England and its heritage was a pitch-perfect blend of 3 parts melancholy to 1 of nostalgia, a dash of wry affection and a stiff glug of disdain.

Rather than the far-right nativism the cantankerous old bugger has decayed into now.