Calling All Expats
Quick, I know what xenophobia is - good Grik word - but what's it when you shun yer own countrymen? Very English trait.
"Calling all expats. Is there somewhere you like that's local to you - a bar, restaurant, or club - that has a British flavour? Tell us about it."
Not mulching likely.
You think I want a midian horde of vulgar Brits barging in and buggering up the ambiance of my treasured hideaways I've worked so hard to keep secret?
OK, lads, fair's fair - perhaps I spoke hastily. Going native often works that way.
OK - but promise not to tell:
Some of them lassies who dance on the tables? Eee, make the preacher lay the Good Book down.
Greaat big HDTV screen, always on loud, always on sport.
Any Greeks come in, Sandra doesn't half give them a bad time - imitates them something rotten.
"What's that, luv? An ouzipan? Want that in a tall glass wi' Fanta?"
Yerss - good one, Telegraph ... point them our way and we'll gie 'em a reet good time. (Nuther 16 pints over here, Doris, when you've time, darling)
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