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Interviewer: What makes you think that it is actually a portrait of Anne of Cleves?

Franny Moyle: I believe that Holbein left a tantalizing clue to her identity by attaching a particular playing card on the back of the miniature. It was the four of diamonds which could have been intended to indicate Henry's fourth queen. Holbein always layered his works with symbols. For example, he put the ace of spades on the back of the miniature of Henry VIII's principal advisor, the shrewd politician Thomas Cromwell, a man who would call a spade a spade without the slightest hesitation.

Interiewer: So, why do you think the miniature has traditionally been linked to Henry VIII's fifth wife, Catherine, and not Anne of Cleves?

Franny Moyle: Well, partly because both weddings took place the same year, 1540. It was assumed that the King would have wanted to portray the queen he loved, that was Catherine, and not the one he married for political reasons. From the very beginning Henry was disappointed with Anne, he soon had the marriage to Anne annulled and quickly turned his attention to Catherine, who was much younger. And if you look closely at the Portrait of a Lady, it doesn't depict a teenage bride. So it's much more likely to be a picture of Anne.

Interviewer: I see. Is there any other evidence to support your hypothesis that the 1540 painting portrays Anne?

Franny Moyle: Well, we also have the portrait of Anne as a potential bride, painted by Holbein in 1539 in Germany. I was struck by the uncanny likeness of the two portraits which both feature heavy eyelids and thick eyebrows. I'm sure both pictures depict the same person. The portrait from 1539 shows Anne with her hair modestly covered under a veil. To the English eye it must have looked somewhat outdated. I think that Portrait of a Lady was painted soon after Anne's marriage because she felt she needed to be seen anew in her new homeland. In this portrait she's wearing different garments, including a French hood, which at the time was all the rage in England. Unfortunately, we have no authentic portraits of Catherine. She was executed in 1542 for adultery and any portraits of her, if they ever existed, would have been quickly destroyed. But a contemporary described her as a "ravishing beauty" and it would be difficult to apply that description to the lady in the portrait.

Interviewer: Well, this has been fascinating. Thank you!

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As a cultural anthropologist I have been exploring the differences between the British and American sense of humour. For example, we British use irony in a different way to our friends in the US. It's like a kettle to us: it's always on, whistling slyly in the corner of our daily interactions. To Americans, however, it's more like a nice teapot, something to be used when the occasion demands it. This is why an ironic comment will sometimes be met with a perplexed smile by an unwary American. Why? When Americans use irony, they will often immediately qualify it as being so, with a jovial 'just kidding', even if the statement is outrageous and plainly ironic. It's not so much about having a different sense of humour as a different approach to life. Americans, not being embarrassed by their emotions, are more demonstrative than we are. They clap louder, cheer harder and empathize more unconditionally. It's an openness that always leaves me feeling slightly guilty and apologetic when American personalities take part in British chat shows and find their jokes and stories met with smiles, not laughs, or their gags met with silent appreciation, rather than claps and yelps. We don't like them any less, we just aren't inclined to give so much of ourselves away. Meanwhile, as a Brit on an American chat show, I find it difficult to sit through prolonged whooping without uncomfortable red-faced grinning.

As the global village continues to expand, our emotional habits are shifting. Even though our uptightness is still a huge part of our charm, we are easing towards a slight liberation from our national inhibitions. Probably that is why the popular American sitcom Friends, a show often dismissed by the cynical as 'cheesy', was at once wholeheartedly adopted by the British public. So much so that many years after its final episode, a day barely passes without its inclusion in programme schedules. After all, we may all be different, but we're all capable of getting the same joke. In a world beset by prejudice and difference, how ironic is that?