We've just returned from the pub, where we spent a fun-packed evening with a couple of Polish labourers, who have come to London to work on the site where the Olympic village is being built, for next year's summer Olympic games.
Tony was impressed by our new friends' ability to drink vast amounts of strong lager, whilst managing to engage us in conversation, as if they were drinking, as Tony says, nothing stronger than lemonade.
Of course, the boy's right when he says that Poland isn't really known for anything extraordinary, and if all the country has to offer is a population of hopeless alcoholics, it's no wonder that not many people see Poland as one of their ideal holiday destinations.
I reckon that Tony has got a point, because although he admired the way our two new friends displayed such wonderful skills in downing their lager, whilst remaining completely sober, he said that their terrible body odour and poor command of the English language really let them down.
Sid, the landlord of our favourite pub, agreed with Tony, and said that the Polish are a miserable looking race,and that our friends looked like a decent party and a trip to a fast-food restaurant would do wonders to bring a smile to their grey and cheerless faces.
I told Sid that he's probably right, but as I wasn't put on this planet to bring happiness to others, and because I can't speak a word of Polish, as much as I would have loved to invite our friends to the pub's halloween party at the weekend, I didn't.
Still, as Tony pointed out, we've probably done enough tonight to help bring Poland and England a little closer together, so we can hold our heads high Saturday, at the pub's fancy dress party, knowing that if Anglo-Polish relations are just a little bit better than last week, it's probably because of Tony and me, and the fact that for once we treated a couple of foreigners in the pub with a bit of understanding and respect.