It's a question that's been in the news a lot lately. What does it mean to be English? It seems there's a crisis about the English identity, with everyone wondering what exactly Englishness is.

It's set me thinking too. I'm English, no question about it. I was born in England and have lived all my life here, in various parts of the country. A large number of my ancestors were English too - though some were Scottish and others Irish (from both sides of the divide). I don't know of any Welsh forebears, but that doesn't mean there weren't any. Like most English people, I'm a mongrel.

The richness of being English is that we're a nation of immigrants. It goes right back to the Celts, and probably even before them. Then came the Romans and successive waves of Angles, Saxons and Danes; followed by the Normans (who weren't French in the modern sense, but of Viking origin). In more recent centuries refugees from Flanders, France, and various other parts of Europe settled here and left their mark. And then came immigrants from the old colonial Empire, who in their turn became English too.

All these groups became part of us and made their contribution to our language, culture and cuisine. After all, what could be more English than fish and chips - which originated among Jewish immigrants in the East End of London? Now they reckon that chicken tikka masala is fast becoming the archetypal English dish.

That's one of the things I love most about England, this wonderful soup of many flavours, varying from region to region, from one part of our cities to another. It's like our weather, never wholly predictable, always changing, always offering something to enjoy in its own distinctive way.

There are, for me, the obvious things that typify England: from the Church of England, through village greens, fell and dale, old-fashioned seaside towns, our great cathedrals, castles and stately homes; and the way every one of the houses in our city terraces is marked with the individuality of the person who lives there.

But for each of us, English though we are, there is something local and particular that means home, according to where we live and who we are. For my sister-in-law, coming back from abroad, the white cliffs of Dover are that thing, as for so many people. For me, it's the White Horse of Kilburn, the Yorkshire Dales or Durham Cathedral on its rocky height.

Above all, Englishness as I see it encapsulates certain values which have been part of our nation for many centuries and yet are often under threat, sometimes from our own government. There is habeas corpus - the principle that no-one shall be imprisoned without charge. There is trial by jury and the presumption of innocence until proven guilty. There is freedom of speech. There is the non-conformist conscience - that awkward, questioning, dissenting tradition that brought us anti-slavery and the trades union movement and the laws that stopped children being sent to work in mines and factories.

And there is an ancient tradition of tolerance and a welcome for those who come to us as desperate refugees. Because, one day, those desperate refugees will settle here and give something back to the nation that welcomed them. And they will then become, in their turn, part of the rich mix that is Englishness.

Published: 15/12/2005