Friday, 22 June 2007

The Evil (Nearly) Dead, Abroad.

by Unknown

I have recently returned from a very pleasant sojourn to the Adriatic Coast of Italy where myself and Missus Buckminster sampled and thoroughly enjoyed the delightful pace of life there and the generally more relaxed and polite attitude of every single person.

Apart from one group.

Now normally one would rant and rave at this point about the “chav”, the “hooligan” and the “binge drinker” and their holiday antics. One would normally tut in a disparaging manner before commenting on the likelihood of their poor education or family background. One would observe fun being perpetrated in a raucous and all-inclusive manner and mutter that “it shouldn’t be allowed”. After all, fun? On holiday? Honestly.

But this group of malcontents left me with serious dental problems from molar grinding. Their complete indifference to the beautiful culture in which we were immersed. Their pompous and ridiculous belief in their own importance. Their refusal to learn even a few basic words of the local language. Oh my god, the arrogance of it all. Their ingrained belief that if you speak slowly and loudly then the poor victim of their ignorance will comprehend their ridiculous demands. And finally, their firm belief in their right to complain. Loudly, tediously and at great length on such subjects as (and I kid you not, these are all genuine quotes I heard in one week):

Why is it so far to Venice, they should organise it better!
Why can’t they get ‘proper’ milk here?
Why are all the menus in Italian?
I need more legroom ‘cause I might get a DTV (I’m guessing a deep vein thrombosis but honestly, who knows?)
It’s too hot. (In Italy, in summer. Who’d a thunk it?)
It’s not hot enough (From a man upon who’s stomach a boiled lobster could cheerfully have hidden).

And finally, my all time ‘favourite’….

Why don’t they speak proper English?

Aaaaaaaaaaargh.

Immigration controls? We should have controls to stop people getting OUT of the country. It’s so embarrassing I could cry. How difficult is it to just learn a few phrases in the local language for Pete’s sake?

In case you haven’t guessed I am of course talking about the middle class, middle aged and upwards ambassadors of ignorance and rudeness. Sorry, England. I always get those two mixed up.

So pay attention, if anyone reading this is over 40, and try to remember that everyone can hear you, no-one cares what you think and most of all the reason that it’s different to England is mainly because ITS NOT FUCKING ENGLAND YOU POSOINOUS OLD TOAD!!!!!!!

And relax.

2 comments:

Charles Pooter said...

I notice this all the time when abroad. It does make one's patriotism buckle slightly.

Quink said...

Thanks to a very varied family background, I like to think I have one foot in the upper class, one foot in the working class, and my crotch dangling over the middle.