So many things it hurts to think about them.

Agreed!

As an opposite, in Australia, my brother is out of work at the moment, and despite having good savings, he risks being deported simply because he doesnt have a job. Even if he gets married to his girlfriend, they will kick him out. The reason behind that is that they need to have been dating for X amount of time before a marriage license can be issued to none Australian citizens.

I wish it were a bit more like that here, if you do not contribute, then you can't live here. That should apply to brits as well, especially as it's lazy british people that have made it look such a fun place to be anyway.

So it makes us not act like Americans or the French, thank fk for our reserved/embarassed nature!

What embarasses me are the people that whinge about benefits/NHS/gubberment/politishuns/tax but never bother voting - usually the loudest bores in the pub.

It's also the posh bit next to Cringleford.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Britain_Olympic_football_team

yes, HTH

I will join in after the olympics have been done.

That the Gov have pretty much allowed UK car companies such as Rover, MG and
Tvr with loss of many jobs just fold but give likes of Nissan money to build new models in Sunderland and we throw money at banks who continue to pay big bonuses even when state funded but won't help prop up industry when needed. I wonder how Rover would be doing today had the Gov bailed them out and they had built the new Mini instead of BMW.

Yes I quite agree with you, I mean what's the point of being treated like a sheep, I mean I'm fed up with going abroad and being treated like a sheep, what's the point of being carted around in buses surrounded by sweaty mindless oafs from Kettering and Boventry in their cloth caps and their cardigans and their transistor radios and their Sunday Mirrors, complaining about the tea, 'Oh they don't make it properly here do they not like at home' stopping at Majorcan bodegas, selling fish and chips and Watney's Red Barrel and calamaris and two veg and sitting in cotton sun frocks squirting Timothy White's suncream all over their puffy raw swollen purulent flesh cos they 'overdid it on the first day'!

And being herded into endless Hotel Miramars and Bellvueses and Bontinentals with their international luxury modern roomettes and their Watney's Red Barrel and their swimming pools full of fat German businessmen pretending they're acrobats and forming pyramids and frightening the children and barging in to the queues and if you're not at your table spot on seven you miss your bowl of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup, the first item on the menu of International Cuisine, and every Thursday night there's a bloody cabaret in the bar featuring some tiny emaciated Dago with nine-inch hips and some big fat bloated tart with her hair Brylcreemed down and a big arse presenting Flamenco for Foreigners.

And then some adenoidal typists from Birmingham with diarrhoea and flabby white legs try to pick up hairy bandy-legged Wop waiters called Manuel, and then, once a week there's an excursion to the local Roman ruins where you can buy cherryade and melted ice cream and bleedin' Watney's Red Barrel, and one night they take you to a local restaurant with local colour and atmosphere and you sit next to a party of people from Rhyl who keep singing "Torremolinos, Torremolinos" and complaining about the food - 'Oh! It's so greasy isn't it?' and then you get cornered by some drunken greengrocer from Luton with an Instamatic and Dr Scholl sandals and last Tuesday's Daily Express and he drones on and on and on about how Mr. Smith should be running this country and how many languages Enoch Powell can speak and then he throws up all over the Cuba Libres.

This is an ex Whoosh parrot. It has ceased to be.

Fat people.

Playing spot the Brit while in Europe is an easy game.

It's usually the one holding three ice creams and blocking out the sun.