The spy who didn’t love me (2003)

Not inspired by me...

It seems as if John le Carré almost joined the Soviet Unionback in the old days when he was still a spy and before he started writing. It reminded me of the time I almost “met” John le Carré when I was still working at Oxfamand he was working on a little movie he was making – The Constant Gardener. If only I wasn’t asleep at the wheel…

Things got crazy at Oxfam. We were always running from one place to another. From one issue to another. From one campaign to another. I hardly had time to come up for air. Just too many campaigns to juggle. I was heading up the Coffee Campaign, representing Oxfam at Publish What You Pay dealing with the extractive industry, negotiating with the European Commission on corporate responsibility and getting my soul drained by the bureaucrats over there, and I still had to try and keep the ship running on Access To Medicine. And I was continuing my fight against Oxfam for my salary! Too much to handle for a lazy guy from Africa who only joined Oxfam a year earlier – and saw his new boss leave two weeks after he joined. So I really didn’t have time to hang out with anyone to do interviews for an upcoming movie.

So I was really pissed when I was told that I had to do this interview with some guy doing “research” for a movie he is involved in. Like I had time to hang out with movie researchers. But I didn’t have a choice. It was apparently pretty important that I speak to him. The Big Boss said so – and I must obey. What bloody movie was this in any case?

It was a movie that was going to be based on a story written by John le Carré – The Constant Gardener. Now really, I read The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, The Little Drummer Girl, A Perfect Spy and The Tailor Of Panama. Good stories even though I wasn’t really into spy novels. But I liked his spy writing more than others. So why couldn’t they send him over? At least I could get him to sign one of my books or something. I knew that I still had one of his books somewhere in the basement or in a box in the garage. Why did they have to send some lackey in his place? And why the hell do I have to talk to this lackey in any case?

But well, the movie was about HIV/Aids in Africa and corruption by Big Pharma and I was heading up the “private sector” angle of the Access To Medicine campaign. So I guess it made sense for me to be interviewed. But still. It was going to waste my time. Who was going to watch it in any case? People hardly cared. Right?

“Mr Cornwell is here to see you.” I wish I was in Cornwall. Then I would meet the “real deal” John le Carré and not some lacky doing the dirty work for John Le Carré. But I was friendly. Picked the guy up at the front desk and was surprised that they send such an old dude. He must have been in his 60’s or 70’s. Maybe he is an old varsity professor that retired and does some research and consulting on the side. You know, to keep the mind ticking over and wallet from drying. I got us a good cup of Fairtrade coffee each and jumped into one of the meeting rooms.

(Actually, the coffee was pretty crap at Oxfam. We were committed to Fairtrade not because of their great coffee, but more because of their commitment to the social cause we supported.)

David had an hour booked with me. He asked so many questions. Probing this way and that way. I gave him all the answers he wanted. Didn’t hold back on anything. Gave him my view unfiltered- as always. But I was a bit short with him. Didn’t want to waste time. Gave him the standard smile. I might even have been a little bit full of myself while I spoke to him. Educating the guy. Him learning from the “master”. But I peeked at my watch every now and again. Just making sure that I didn’t give him more than the allocated hour. Had loads to do. Had to move on to the next thing. Really.

David was very pleasant though. A very nice old man. I liked him. He spoke with a soft voice. Took slow notes. Thought of his questions. Probed to get more detail. Didn’t really give any of his own opinions. Just nodded his head and took in all the info. But then. He was just the researcher and it wasn’t his job to have an opinion in any case.

But in all honesty, I could hardly remember what we spoke about. I knew I gave him all the info he wanted but never really took any notice of the old man. Couldn’t even remember what he looked like. Grey hair and… hum… old. My mind was everywhere else during that interview. Planning what I needed to do for the rest of the day and week. Checked my watch and ended the conversation when the hour was up. I remember he was friendly and never waivered or seemed rattled with my behaviour. I wasn’t rude or anything, but just didn’t really give him the attention he deserved. But he was obviously pleased and happy that I gave him some time in my busy schedule.

Time to go. I walked him to the front door, shook his hand, gave him a warm smile and a nod, and waved good bye. A “Thank you Mr Cornwell and have a nice day” was the last words he heard from me. Turned around and walked back to my office. Ready to face the rest of the day and get some real work done.

I got to the office and a colleague asked me all excitedly, “So, how was it to meet John le Carré?” I laughed at her and said, “John le Carré? I wish! I met some lackey called David Cornwell. I don’t think John le Carré would hang out with me!” My colleague stopped and stared at me. “Are you being serious?” she asked. “Of course! You really think he would come over for an interview with me? In any case, John le Carré lives in Cornwall somewhere. No way he would come all the way to Oxford just for an hour long interview with me.”

Her reply…

“You know that John le Carré isn’t his real name. Right? You know that John le Carré is the pseudonym of David Cornwell, right? You DO know that David Cornwell IS John le Carré?”

I am an ass.

John le Carré... I mean... David Cornwell at his home in Cornwall

___________________________________

I learnt a big lesson that day. Never assume you know anything of the other person. Find out as much as what you can about them. Always be nicer than what you really have to be. You never know when you might want their autograph. And, you don’t get a personal thank you in the movie if you treat famous people like a lackey or like sh*t. And I learnt that David Cornwell used the name John leCarré to publish his books whilehe was still a real spy. I guess the book he wrote after our little meeting was not inspired by me – Absolute Friends. Thank God I never told him to say hi to John or that I liked John le Carré’s books. Or rather, that I am not big into spy novels! Yeah. I am an ass.

 

Me... Back at my desk...

 

Views on the Weakly News

Am I getting dated? I am sure I am going to lose track of how many I have done but I don’t think I will run out of news soon. Let’s have a look what has been cooking this week.

1. The pot calling the kettle…

President Bush decided to show some global leadership balls. On China. Calling them out on their human rights record. He is apparently not impressed. Good on you President Bush. Stand up against the (next) bully. Don’t let them push us around. Just please don’t invade them. We know how you get all worked up. This one might be a little bit to much for you to handle. Two big guys in the schoolyard getting ready for some “how’s your mother”? Nah. He won’t do much other than bitch a bit and then sit back and run in his Chinese made running shoes, watch Bill O’Reilly on his Chinese made television, and wave his Chinese made American flag. But there is another snag. Calling China out on their human rights record… Two words President Bush… Guantanamo Bay… Sorry, you lost your right to bitch about humans and their rights. Can’t have it both ways. No matter how big and strong you are.

2. I don’t give a flying…

You want a bag with that sir? That will be $15 thank you. Oh, you have two! Hand over another $25. We made you miss your flight and you need to change it? $150 please. Thirsty? A dollar for a cuppa Joe. As if you want to stay awake on this flight. You’ll have to pay for the movies in any case. But better to pay $5 to watch a movie I guess. Better than paying $7 for a blanket and a pillow. Next up? How much for a safety vets? We packed 5 – open bids start just after take-off. No wonder American airlines are going bankrupt. They offer nothing and charge you the world. And still can’t get you off the ground in time. Try this in Africa. Feeding people nothing and charging them for air… Here’s one I don’t get. Why is it that they charge per bag? Weight… It’s the weight that gets to them. Apparently the fuel costs are out of control and one way to save on fuel is by cutting down on the weight. Apparently, people still weigh more than the 400 tonne bloody airplane. Riiight… No, it’s true. They have a real obesity problem over here in the US. But what happens if I go on a diet? Can I get a discount? American airlines… Like the economy. Going down fast. At least the dollar lost value. Or else the airline greed might actually hurt. But not yet. So far it is only really stupid and funny. Their motto? I don’t give a flying…

3. I can’t recall, recall

We can’t afford to go to Disney yet (January maybe!), but we have found another way to entertain ourselves. We go to Whole Foods. It is just one amazing place for us Africans in America. The food so fresh they make Pamela Anderson blush and they use baby bottoms to wipe the apples because they are so delicate. Oh, Whole Foods. They have mist spraying over the fresh fruits and vegetables – it makes me feel as if I am on the farm or in the Amazon somewhere. And they have juices, cookies, hams and fruits to taste all over the place. We take the kids there on a Friday night. We call it “eating out”. I like to spoil my girls. Ah, Whole Foods – the amusement park for Africans. But they have a memory like a leaky watermelon those guys. They forgot to recall the bad meat. And then recalled that they had to recall. You see, they found E. Coli a few months ago from a company called Nebraska Beef. And it is not a Springsteen song. So all those “shops for the less privileged” like Costco and Stop & Shop (where we shop) had to make a huge recall of all the meat. But of course we knew Whole Foods wouldn’t be affected by it all. I mean really they feed their chickens organic Fairtrade corn with mint jelly and slaughter their cattle by massaging them slowly to death. And then it happened. Months later. Whole Foods had to recall the meat. Because they too bought from Nebraska Meat. But they recalled it months later. Only after they recalled that they bought meat from the same dude that Earl’s Meat Palace & Pet Shop bought his meat from. After it was already sold. Nice business plan Mr Mackey. It is at last off the shelf. But rest assured. It might have been E. Coli. But it was organic E. Coli.

How the E.Coli rumor started...

4. Power less sharing

Crazy Uncle Bob and Tsvangirai are talking. Bah, humbug. Talking about ending the fight between the two of them that has been going on for months. Talking about sharing power. In some way. Sharing power. Was that a joke? Most of the country hasn’t had electricity for ages. Not since Mugabe needed it to keep his food warm and artificial heart pumping. And share what? There is nothing to share. Jack baby. Mugabe has already eaten the donkey and now wants to share the carcass? Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dum doing the slow dance. Doing the slow dance to Power of Love or Careless Whisper? I think Bob was listening to I Got You Babe.

5. South Africa takes over England

I guess they had to do something. I mean really. They got their backsides kicked by the South Africans in cricket. Just a few months after getting their butts kicked in rugby. It’s a national pastime in South Africa. Beating the English in anything and everything. Ah, they thought they had the political one in the bag with Gordon Brown. Sorry dudes, our President Mbeki is pulling away in the lame-duck race. But back to the sports. So what do you think the Poms did after losing to us again? They appointed a South African as their captain. A guy who can’t make our team. He’s their best guy… And he is from Durban. It’s a bit like saying he’s from Texas. Minus the silly hats. But they are loud, have funny accents, like to talk about how great they are, but their leaders stink like Sue Ellen’s acting in Dallas. Hey, England! I have one for you. Why don’t you take Zuma? We won’t be able to beat that one.

6. China wins. Next year.

The US better take as many medals as they can at the Olympics in Beijing. Because China is about to take their lunch money. The US economy is going down the dumps. It’s slowing down faster than McCain without a cane first thing in the morning. Or me without coffee. Dropping faster than President Bush’s popularity. Yes. It is pretty bad. But here is the clincher. China will overtake America as the world’s largest producer of manufactured goods. Yes. China will push America off the top spot. A spot they have held for over 100 years. Will someone remember to switch off the lights when the last factory closes its door? The USA. Made in China.

________________________________

Hope to have better news next week. Yeah, right.

 

Reading cricket (and why American sports suck)

Look, from an American sporting perspective I am pretty happy to be living in Boston. The Red Sox won the World Series. Again. The Patriots are still the team to beat after so many Super Bowl wins and finals in the last few years. The Celtics made history in basketball when they whipped the Lakers for the crown this year. The Revolutions are top of the league in soccer after making the finals for 3 years in a row. Hell, even the Bruins improved this year on the ice. Yep, it is pretty good to be in Boston if you like American sport. Or what they call sport.

But Americans really don’t play any sport. Oh they call it sport, but it really isn’t. American football (known incorrectly as Gridiron by some) are really only played by bunch of wimps. So much steroids, protective gear and stop-and-start kinda play that they look more like Transformers running low on batteries. Basketball is really just netball played by guys in over-sized pajama pants. Ice hockey is for guys who are too sober to get involved in a proper bar fight. Their soccer is watched by an average crowd of 7, including family, friends and coaching staff. And baseball is for guys who can’t play cricket.

Ah, cricket. Good old cricket. Nothing like watching the swing of the willow sitting on the Oaks at Newlands. Have a braai and a beer (and Klippies offered by your neighbour). I miss good old cricket. It isn’t shown on television over here. Americans just don’t get it. Their eyes glass over when I try to explain that it is a game played for five days from 10 am to 6 pm with a lunch break and two tea breaks each day – and you are still not guaranteed a result. Except if it is England playing and you pretty much know they will lose. But Americans can’t handle anything that will potentially interfere with the trip to the mall or watching daytime soaps. Or work for that matter. Short attention span. They have ADD when it comes to cricket.

And they don’t get the names either. Here it is all blood and gore – Steelers, Cowboys, Jaguars, Giants, Bears and more in the NFL (football). The Devils, Thrashers, Hurricanes, Avalanche, Predators, Flames and more in the NHL (ice hockey). Fire, Revolution, Earthquakes and more in MLS (soccer). We have the Warriors, Hawks, Rockets, Timberwolves, Grizzlies, Raptors and more in the NBA (basketball). And MLB (baseball). Well, let’s just say that the Brewers, Royals, Twins, Blue Jays and Sox don’t quite have the same bite to it. And what the hell is an Oriole? Is it a breakfast or a bird? Can you imagine them being known by the proper Latin name – The Baltimore Icterus Galbula? Anyway… The Proteas just doesn’t have the same ring or sting to it when it comes to the more blood and gore type names Americans love so much. (Note to self – look if there is a link between President Bush’s approach to foreign policy and the violent names of American sport teams.)

But I follow the cricket. Especially now when South Africa is doing their yearly humiliation of England. (Did I hear anyone say 1 up?) Like I said, I can’t watch it. But I read it. On my mobile phone. Via the live texting of the BBC. It is brilliant. Not the actual cricket, but the commentating. I know South Africa will win, but I keep on following the live texts because of the sense of humor and descriptions given by the BBC team. They are really special. Got to love the English for that. They might be getting their backsides kicked by Kallis, Ntini, Prince and the gang, but they sure know how to commentate. And keep you laughing all the way. It might be all they have left in sport – a good sense of humor. The play cricket, rugby and soccer like a bunch of clowns in any case.

I now check the updates every hour or so. It’s less about the cricket score than the wisdom and wise cracks from the BBC team. I want to share a few with you. It’ll hopefully give you an insight into British humor. Unfortunately it won’t help you understand cricket any more than eating a burger will help you drive better. There is no link. But I hope you enjoy these. I’ll might try to update these over the next few days. Now, sit back and enjoy the company of the BBC cricket commentators – in their words. It all started with their first text update this morning… (It’s in UK time and remember to read it in a ‘proper’ English accent.

And Nel takes another England wicket...

10:33 – New Kid’s out on his ear because he upset ‘team unity’ (is the England dressing room actually some delicate eco-system?) and Colly’s back on the back of a few runs in a Twenty20 knockabout. If I was Owais Shah or Ravi Bopara, not only would I be a different colour, I’d be a little bit irritated as well.

It’s all so chummy, I wouldn’t be surprised if the England team all bundled round Vaughany’s mum and dad’s house for a pyjama party after today’s play. Maybe Colly’s back in the side because he can get his hands on Porky’s?

11:28 – The man to the left of me has just pulled out a plum of a lookalike – Morkel and 1980’s ‘Brat Pack’ stalwart Anthony Michael Hall. If you were to stretch Morkel on a rack like a Catholic martyr, you wouldn’t be able to tell them apart.

Vaughny was pricklier than the famed Jungle Book paw-paw in his Aggers interview. He said it with a laugh but it was saucer of milk for table two stuff.

11:54 – Plenty of empty seats at Edgbaston, not sure why that is. It’s got all the atmosphere of a nursing home Christmas party at the moment.

12:06 – Nel – or is it Gunther? – strolls down the wicket and spits a few verbals Cook’s way. I’ve got to be honest, Nel seems more simple than intimidating. It must be like batting against Lennie from Of Mice and Men. He drags another one in short – not sure why he keeps doing that, this pitch has the consistency of a lemon drizzle cake.

12:16 – A few more strokes like that and the ball will be speaking the Queen’s English.

Send back the defibrillators, I think this pitch might already be dead…

12:36 – Umpire Dar had no doubts, although Vaughan looks at him as though he’s just found him heavy petting with his mother on the sofa as he leaves the field.

12:46 – Cook gropes at an away-cutter from Nel and the South African paceman grins maniacally, like a staggering drunk who’s just seen up a lady’s skirt.

13:39 – I have o report that the England skipper is getting absolutely slaughtered in your email, anyone would think he’d nutted the pope.

13:59 – Another wicked delivery from Morkel Cook nibbling before pulling his bat out of the way as if he’s just been caught with his hands in his mother’s handbag.

14:12 – He actually has pretty good figures in test and first-class cricket but he’s had about as much cutting edge as a jam roly-poly in this series so far.

14:16 – If Graeme Smith is the nasty prison governor from Shawshank Redemption, Nel is the bully-club wielding prison guard.

14:25 – I’d hate to be there when something genuinely bad actually happens to Nel – he reacted to Bell hitting that four as if he’s just seen his car. Nel lets out a primeval roar – Gunther is clearly a very angry man.

14:42 – This England team reminds me of when I used to want to hang about with my older brother and his mates when I was a kid. My brother used to tolerate me, but you could tell he never really wanted me there. I got a bit choked up writing that.. such sad memories…

14:52 – Nel roars in Smith’s direction – Smith better watch his back, drop another catch and Nel will make his ears into a necklace.

15:00 – There’s former England skipper Graham Taylor in the stand – black shades, black shirt, white tie, he looks like he’s going to pull out a Tommy gun and start strafing the South African fielders.

15:05 – And he’s tighter than the elephant man’s hatband today.

15:11 – Thank God for that, watching the Durham man trying to get off the mark was like watching open heart surgery.

15:18 – The Durham man staggers out of his crease like a man emerging from solitary confinement.

15:26 – Does anyone else feel like trying to understand the England selectors is like banging your head against a brick wall whilst wearing a straight jacket and being held upside down in a vat of marmalade?

15:37 – As an England fan, I would rather smash my arm repeatedly in a car door than watch much more of this…

15:43 – Ambrose – another in the England batting line-up who makes Bill Wyman look like Gary Sobers at the moment. Old Nel is madder than a box of frogs.

… that’s tea. I’m sure it will be a cosy one in the England dressing room, all chums together sharing out the Werther’s Originals and telling tales of the 2005 Ashes series. I can just imagine Vaughany leaning forward in his armchair like Uncle Albert and proclaiming every now and again: “During the 2005 Ashes…” I wonder if they’ve got an open fire up there?

16:04 – Regarding the reference to the Elephant Man, whatever happened to him, he made on good film and no-one’s seen him since?

16:13 – Surely a couple of Ambrose failures here will lead him to being dropped – the Warwickshire gloveman looks like he’s been batting with an upright hoover for most of this summer.

16:19 – Nel chuntering down to the deep mid-wicket rope like a startled rhinoceros.

16:35 – Watching Flintoff having to bat like this makes for rather painful viewing, it’s like Maradona playing at full-back.

16:49 – Nel licks his fingers and grins, like a naughty boy who’s just polished off a sticky bun.

17:11 – Watching these two batsmen scratch away, I just had the sudden urge to start singing Onward Christian Soldiers. I’ve also got this image in my head of Freddie and Ambrose under siege in a dilapidated building, poking their heads round the corner every few minutes to fire a couple of shots.

17:30 – Good job Ntini ducked or his team-mates would have had to rechristen him Anne Boleyn.

17:37 – If you’d have believed my nan, her glory years were spent wearing a tin helmet in a coal shed fending off rats the size of rottweilers while the German bombs fell all around her. A deeply miserable woman, she didn’t tend to go out much after the War ended.

17:47 – Most of the England players are looking a little bit sheepish in the field, like schoolboys shuffling nervously outside the headmaster’s office awaiting to hear their fate.

18:02 – The South Africa openers could only look more relaxed if they were basted in butter.

18:05 – A day spent browsing for ceiling tiles in B&Q would have raised the spirits higher than this.

End of day 1… With the South Africans way on top. England all out for 230 and South Africa sitting pretty at 38 for one. Now, where is that beer and braai…

 

The British are coming or The Boston Tea Party revisited

You thought you beat the British hey. The mighty Patriots. You got independence. Started it all. The great and good men of Boston. So wrong. You are so wrong. You lost and you didn’t even see it. Or notice it. The British won. By stealth. And I saw the proof of it all today.

I was just minding my own business. Walking to work from Back Bay Station. Got my Starbucks and taking a slow stroll – enjoying a bit of sun. And then I saw it. But I didn’t know it was the British invasion, or rather the Enlgish culture conquest.

I saw these barriers. You know, the type the police put up to control crowds or keep them behind the “line”. I stared at it for a little while. It was just so odd. I haven’t seen it since the Red Sox won the World Series and paraded through town. But these were different. It had two sets of barriers running paralel to each other – maybe 6 feet apart. As if trying to control the crowd within these barriers. And it went down the street and around the corner and further down to where I couldn’t see anymore. What the hell? This is one heck of a crowd they are expecting.

Is Bush coming to town? It made sense. They had police all over the place. But Bush tend not to pull big crowds over here in Boston. Proud Democrats thanks. Obama? He can pull a crowd. But that was just wishful thinking from my side. No reason for him to be here. He’s over on the other side for a while now. And he lost Massachusetts to Hillary in any case. I was dumbfounded. Who the hell could be coming to town? Must be a big wig.

I started walking again and deep in thought trying to figure out who could this superstar be? And then I saw it. It wasn’t a “who”. It was a “what”.

There were already 15 to 20 people standing in queue. Or rather sitting on their chairs in the artificial corridor created by the baracade. Patiently waiting. Drinking their coffee. Chatting to each other. Stealing a glance in the direction of what they are waiting for. I looked and couldn’t help but burst out laughing. They were all waiting for the new Apple store to open. Suckers. The British won the bloody war. And they didn’t even know it.

You see, the British invented queuing. Or as I call it – standing in a line, wasting time and doing nothing a.k.a. standing like an Englishman. They love their queuing. Nothing makes a Pom happier than standing in a queue. They can do it for hours. And they can do it for nothing. Create a queue from nothing. I’ve seen it happen you know. Someone walks down the road and drops something. They stop and bend down. In that split second that they stopped five people queued up behind them. Just in case it was a queue forming. A true Brit never wants to miss a good queuing. It’s just not British.

They’ll do it for anything. And they’ll do anything to form a nice and orderly queue. Here is a typical scene. A Pom walks into a shop to buy a packet of fags (smokes or as you know it, cigarettes). But there is no one there but the person behind the counter. They look at each other for a split second. They know the drill. The Pom hangs around the magazine rack that is strategically placed close to the counter. He makes as if he is reading something – but he isn’t really reading. He is waiting. The door walks in. Another customer. Aah. Relief. He looks at the new guy and nod his head. The new guy nods back – a knowing nod. And waits. Guy #1 slowly walks to the counter. And waits for the other guy to come and stand behind him. Join the queue. The Poms are happy. They have formed a queue. World order has returned. And life goes on.

See what the proud Bostonians did? They formed a queue. For the opening of a store. Just a bloody store guys. And it was 7:30 am. AM – that’s in the morning. Guess what time the store opened? 6 pm. PM – that’s early evening. Ten and a half hours of waiting. For the opening of a store. No big specials. No free computers. Or free gas. Not even much of a store. Just an Apple store. Selling apples. Sorry, Apples.

The Poms won. Because they exported their most soul destroying tactic. Queues. Nice orderly queues. Just standing around and looking stupid British. Their propoganda worked on you. After all these years of thinking you beat the British and can sit back and enjoy your freedom – they were working all the time. Slowly but surely destroying you. Like a virus you never saw coming. Like Asian flu. That’s what British queuing is – Asian flu. It creeps up and bites you in the… hum… posterieur.

It starts innocently enough. They first make you fall for their accent. They only let you hear the BBC English. The one that sounds intelligent. So… worldly. What you don’t hear is when they switch off the cameras and start going, “Oi mate, pass I uh fag there guv”. It’s not a pretty site. They will smile for the first time as well. Can never do that on camera. You should see their teeth. It’s definitely a “before” photo. You don’t want to see that in broad daylight. It’s as yellow as the sun. And the smell. Hali-bloody-tosis. And you thought the French and garlic don’t mix. Try deep fried pizza (yep, they do that up North), deep fried cheap bottomfeeding fish (the stuff we throw away), deep fried chips (fat fatty fries) with loads of salt and vinegar, bad (really bad) curry they won’t touch in India, and pork pies (the less said the better).

Yes. You don’t see the ugly part where their stomachs hang out from under their vests, fag in the mouth, warm beer in their hand, yellow teeth gleeming, food flying from their mouths as they laugh at how they caught out those suckers in America. Come on people. They sell you Sella Artois and make you believe it is a fancy beer. Over there they call it “A can of divorce”. Bad stuff that. You fell for it and are now being taken over by their clones. Almost like “Invasion of the Body Snatchers“. Of course without the public killing. They just kill the soul.

And you think their humor is so great. So refined. Those funny Brits with ther funny accents. Here’s some inside info on their humor. You think John Cleese is funny right? Just remember what his mother said, “He is not funny”. And you think Fawlty Towers is a comedy right? Have you seen the service in the UK? Try buying something or eating out and see how you are treated. Remember, they all believe they are actors or something important. Not a waitor. So un-French. No. They suck at service. Fawlty Towers isn’t a comedy. It is a hard-hitting documentary.

(I stole that one from Greg Poops).

Come on proud Patriots. Fight the British. Don’t queue. You never what might happen next. Taking up a sport and waiting for almost a 100 years before you win another trophy? Oops. Sorry. Done that. At least you don’t play cricket, rugby or soccer. Oh, you do – just badly. So British. Or start driving badly? Oops? Known for their less friendly driving over here in Boston… Or crap weather. Oops… Have that. Okay, it could be worse. You could have an odd accent, expensive property, drive crap cars, expensive gas, gas – the other type, drink too much beer, have high taxes or… Bloody hell. Why don’t you just surrender and sing “Rule Britannia”.

Sad. Just sad. John Adams won’t be happy. Sam Adams – now that is a totally different story.

If you enjoyed this post, get free updates by RSS