Have just come back from the cafe at the end of the road, and both of us are wondering what the world is coming to.
The problem is that they've got a new Polish waitress there, and apart from being hideously ugly, her knowledge of English is very limited.
I thought that Tony was going to explode with anger when he had to explain to her six times what a full English breakfast is. Of course, I told him that people like her are only used to eating bread and beetroot for breakfast, and that sausages, bacon and beans are things that they've never heard of.
Tony just shrugged his shoulders and said that it's a pretty poor do if a man cant't even order breakfast in his own country, without employing the services of an interpretor.
It was the same the other day at the fast food restaurant, when I had to explain ten times to the spotty foreign geek behind the counter what a double cheeseburger is.
Fortunately, the pub is staffed by only one hundred percent English employees, because as Sid the landlord says, he can't stand foreigners, and although he's a fair man, who would give anybody a chance, anything foreign on either side of the bar is a definite no-no with him.
Now, we'll drink to that!