The Queue

There’s a myth that British people like to queue. 

I am sure that there are some of my fellow countrymen who like to stand in a line of people waiting to fulfil a mundane task or perhaps even wish to be rewarded after patiently waiting for the people in front of them. 

But let me tell you one thing: I am British and I bloody well hate queuing. 

It’s not so bad if there are only one or two people in front of me but if the queue has more than ten people you will see this particular Englishman, externally at least, roll his eyes in frustration. Internally I will be cursing, chastising myself for not getting to the queue earlier and generally my mood will plummet. If you are in the queue with me the only sign that you will see of inner self-loathing will be sighs of frustration and trying to look ahead to see how quickly the queue is actually moving. 

If you could read my mind you would be appalled at the language of my inner voice. You would hear me mentally yelling at the people in front of me to hurry up while at the same time cursing the person who is dealing with the queue for not processing people quickly enough. 

Those weird people who actually enjoy queuing say that it gives them the opportunity to chat to people in the queue. Have you ever heard strangers in a queue talking to each other? They aren’t talking about how much they love queuing. They are talking about how much they hate queuing. It’s a walking paradox or more accurately a queuing paradox.

People also say that “Patience is a virtue” and I am a very patient person – unless I am in a queue when all traces of patience are expelled from my brain.

I have numerous examples of being involved in a long queue and things that piss me off about standing in line. Here’s just one – a simple one:

I’ve just returned from Nice and while queuing at airport security, there was a person in front of me asking questions about what he should put in the tray to go through the sensors. 

“Do I have to take my coat off? What about my belt? I’ve got a laptop in my bag, does that have to come out of the bag too? What about my keys? What about my phone? Do I have to take my shoes off? What about my watch and my glasses? And my wallet? And the coins in my back pocket? Oh – and I have some liquids. What’s the upper limit?”

Now these are all reasonable questions because every airport is different and the technology for scanning you and your hand luggage varies. Nevertheless, the queue-hater in me comes out screaming. My inner voice shrieks:

“CAN’T YOU READ? There are signs EVERYWHERE answering all of these questions FOR YOU!” 

This only happens in my head of course, otherwise I would probably be arrested because there are signs warning you about being aggressive or just a very grumpy person in a queue. Outside I appear to be the calmest person in the world but inside I am a ranting monster and a raving lunatic. This is what queuing does to me.

If it were up to me, queues would be abolished. Practically speaking of course that is impossible because queues exist for a reason and they exist worldwide. 

I have no answers. Queues are sadly a part of life and are inevitable. 

However, there is one British stereotype about queuing that I embrace whole-heartedly. And that is when I see somebody trying to jump into the queue. British people HATE queue jumpers and the usual so-called polite and reserved Englishman will act immediately if he thinks somebody is committing the cardinal sin of queue jumping. 

Here’s an example of a subtle technique used that Englishmen would react to instantly. This is highlighted by Larry David, an American, but the principle is the same:

Such behaviour in England is wholly unacceptable and can cause outrage. 

For example, we had a couple of minor celebrities called Phillip Schofield and Holly Willoughby who, at the time of the Queen’s death, were generally quite well-liked and respected (not by me but that’s a different story).  They had a TV magazine show called “This Morning” that was very popular. 

It all threatened to fall apart for them when they committed the cardinal queuing sin. The queue in question was to see Queen Elizabeth II lying in state and the length of the queue was enormous. Famous people mingled with your everyday Brit just to pay their respects and queued for more than twelve hours. 

Imagine that: QUEUING FOR 12 HOURS! 

However, Schofield and Willoughby used their “job” as an excuse to jump the queue and many people caught them on camera doing just that. There was complete outrage throughout the country. Many avid viewers of their show threatened to boycott the pair of them and for a time it looked like they were going to lose their jobs. 

They were forced to apologise:

Queuing is bad enough but having to queue while driving takes it to a new and higher level. And queue jumpers in this situation are treated as if they are beneath contempt. 

Picture the scene. You are driving on a three lane motorway and two of the lanes are blocked or closed a couple of miles ahead. This means that everybody in the two closed lanes has to merge into the one open lane. There is usually ample notice so the right thing to do is to gradually edge over to merge. People in the open lane acknowledge this and are quite happy to let people merge in gradually. However, there are some people (and let’s call them by their true name – arseholes) who decide that they are going to avoid the queues to merge and just rush down to the blockage itself and merge there thus avoiding most of the queue. This is a crime that should be punishable by law in the eyes of most people and as soon as people in the queue recognise what is happening, they all band together to stop the arsehole from merging. 

Similarly this can happen if people try to avoid queuing for a turnoff by waiting until the last minute to join those who have been queuing for ages. At this point road rage can definitely enter the equation and you can see some of the reactions if you look up queue jumping cars in Britain, where people post dashcam footage to name and shame the drivers. 

Queue jumping seems to be more rife abroad. I was in Crete many years ago and queuing to get on a boat when all of a sudden a bunch of Germans tried to push in at the front as if there were no such thing as queue etiquette. They were quickly dispatched to the back of the queue by a rather angry English lady at the front. 

This is what queuing does to people.

Next time you are in a queue try thinking about being in the queue with me. You will see a calm person queuing in an orderly fashion, occasionally rolling his eyes or sighing. If you try talking to me I will say something like “I wish this queue would hurry along.” But know that my inner hulk is raging. Thankfully nobody will ever see that inner hulk nor will you hear me reciting the lyrics in the following song. I hate queuing but I will never be a queue jumper:

How To Speak British

English is a language that is widely used across the globe in Canada, the United States, Australia and many other places. However, I personally think that in the United Kingdom, where English originated, we have a kind of weird monopoly on crazy sounding words and phrases.

I have been to many English speaking countries on my travels and often been looked at strangely – not because I am a weird looking fella but because sometimes I forget that I am in a foreign country.

For example, in America I used the word “bloke” and received a rather strange look from the person I was talking to. I had to translate the word into American – I used the word “guy” instead. Had I been in Australia or New Zealand I would have been understood because “bloke” is used there too.

Nevertheless, there are some words that are quintessentially British or at least widely used in the United Kingdom and not generally in the rest of the English speaking world.

I thought I would compile a list of some  of these words, so that if you are ever unfortunate enough to meet me, you might actually understand what on Earth I am talking about.

I imagine that some of these words have made it across the pond or traversed the globe to Australia, New Zealand or South Africa – so some of them may sound familiar.

Arse – The equivalent in America is “ass” but in the UK it is used in a slightly different way. For example “I really can’t be arsed” means “I really can’t be bothered”. Also, if you describe somebody as “arseholed” or “rat-arsed” it means they are drunk.

Barmy – Foolish – but in a good way, I think. For example, if somebody I knew was about to go skydiving I would tell him to his face that he was “barmy” and he would laugh. It is also heard at football matches when fans of a team unite in a chant based around the manager of the team  - “Gareth Southgate’s Barmy Army!”

Blimey – An expression of surprise or alarm. “You’re going skydiving? Blimey!”

Bollocks (Dog’s bollocks) – This really refers to a man’s testicles but has become an expression of anger. “Bollocks! I’ve dropped my dinner!”. It is also used as a way of ridiculing something that somebody has said, for example “You are talking utter bollocks!” Conversely, if something is great it becomes “The Dog’s Bollocks!”. I’ve never figured that one out.

Chav – This is the equivalent of “white trash” in America. Chavs are typically lower class and behave badly, swearing all the time and causing trouble whenever they can.

Chin Wag – A conversation. “I’ve just been having a chin wag with my wife!”

Chuffed – Very happy or delighted. “I was really chuffed to have won the lottery!”

Cock Up – A massive mistake. “We lost the bid. What a complete cock up!”

Codswallop – Meaningless nonsense. “Piers Morgan’s speech was a load of old codswallop!”

Dishy – Strangely, this means attractive. “Morena Baccarin is really dishy!”

Faff – A phrase that really means to waste time. “Stop faffing around!”

Fag –I realise that this is a derogatory term for gay people in America but over here it is simply a slang word for a cigarette. Going for a smoke is known as “having a fag”

Gagging – I guess the closest  translation for this word is “desperate” as in “I am gagging for a beer.”

Gobshite – Basically this is a person who “talks bollocks” (see above).  “Piers Morgan is a gobshite!”

Gobsmacked – Astounded or surprised. “I was gobsmacked when the Americans elected Donald Trump”.

Kip – Sleep. “I’m going for a kip! Wake me up in an hour.”

Knackered – Tired. “I’ve just been to the gym and I’m bloody knackered!”

Lurgy – Any illness. “I think I’m coming down with a lurgy.”

Mug – A gullible person. “He conned me out of £10. I’m a right mug.”

Nosh – Food. “Where shall we go for some nosh?”

Numpty – A fool. “Don’t listen to him. He’s a numpty.”

Nutter – A mad person. I’ve mentioned that I am a nutter-magnet before – I seem to attract them. I’m talk about the kind of person who will hurl himself into a weird or dangerous situation without thinking of the consequences or somebody who simply talks gibberish.

On the piss – Getting drunk. “Where’s Dave? Oh – he went out on the piss with his mates. Don’t wait up for him; he’ll be rat-arsed.”

Quid – A pound sterling, our currency. “Can you lend me ten quid?”

Plonker – A clumsy idiot. “How did you manage to fall down the step you plonker?”

Scrump – Steal apples. “The farmer caught me scrumping from his orchard.”

Slapper – A promiscuous young lady. “She’s a right slapper. She’ll sleep with anyone.”

Tara – Goodbye. “See you tomorrow. Tara!”

Thingamajig - Something that you can’t think of the name of. “Pass me the thingamajig!”

Toff – A well-off person. Most members of our Conservative party and the Royal family are toffs.

Wobbler – This is really used to express a temper tantrum. “I told him he was wrong and he threw a wobbler!”

You may have heard of some of these words watching British TV programmes and movies and I recall hearing a couple of them on my visit to Australia. Hopefully, next time you meet a British person and think he’s speaking codswallop you will recall this post and be able to translate his words.

See you for the next post.

Tara!

Apples And Pears

Last week Mrs PM and I were visiting friends and spent  a delightful weekend down in The Smoke or, for any foreign readers, London.  The nickname was coined from the 19th and early 20th century when every cockney heated his home with coal fires which, when combined with fog, created a thick smog that gave the city it’s traditional Victorian atmosphere made famous in tales of Sherlock Holmes and Jack the Ripper.

To many English people, London currently represents affluence and wealth and there is a feeling that the rest of England and the United Kingdom as a whole misses out on everything because London gets it all. Consequently there is some resentment and a North/South Divide.

I have never really resented London and don't really care to much about the North/South Divide; I genuinely enjoy my trips down there, visiting friends and immersing myself in the big city atmosphere with all that entails. A rather splendid train service gets me to London in just two hours.

Mind you, I don’t think I could live there. If you have ever been unfortunate enough to find yourself on the Tube (the underground metro system) during rush hour then you will know what a scary, overcrowded place it is. If you do manage to hop on a train you suddenly find that you don’t just infringe upon the personal space of random people, you actually invade it. Pressed up against a total stranger isn’t pleasant – particularly if that total stranger is a Plastic Mancunian.

Everyone's thinking the same thing: "I hope the Plastic Mancunians's not on this train!"

That said, if you can avoid the crush of rush hour, the Tube is a wonderful place to watch people. London is a diverse place with a wide range of cultures visiting or living there.  The Tube is by far the best way to explore the city and its surroundings. There is always a Tube station near to most places at the heart of the city.

You could also catch a cab if you are feeling rich, although you probably have to endure a conversation with a good old cockney cab driver who stereotypically have their vast opinions on the world and how to solve all its problems. I’m certain that Boris Johnson, the Mayor of London, gets most of his ideas from cab drivers.

Mind you, they are impressive simply because in order to be a taxi driver in London, you have to pass a punishing exam called The Knowledge where they have to learn the best routes around the city without ever having to look at a map or relying on satellite navigation systems. They need to learn over 25,000 roads and 50,000 points of interest.

That's an exam I would NOT like to take!

"Where do you want to go? Tower Bridge?"

Talking to cab drivers might be okay for Londoners but the further away you live, or if you are from a foreign country, you may find it difficult to understand the cockney accent, particularly if they start using cockney-rhyming slang.

Basically, cockney-rhyming slang developed out of a need by the dodgy characters in London trying to disguise what they were saying in order to hide stuff from the police. Here are some examples:

Apple and Pears – stairs

Trouble and Strife – Wife

Tea Leaf – Thief

Boat Race – Face

Hampstead Heath – Teeth

Plates of Meat – Feet

Barnet Fair – Hair

Brown Bread – Dead

Duke of Kent – Rent

Does this video make any sense to you?



This man is a cockney:

This man isn’t:

That’s just embarrassing!!!

Next year, we’re planning a two centre holiday, starting off with a weekend in London before catching the Eurostar under the Channel Tunnel to spend a few days in Paris. Basically we’re going to be total tourists for a week in two of my favourite European cities.

In the meantime, I’ll leave you with a couple of photos of London from previous visits.

The Queen's everywhere. She is now Britain's longest serving monarch. Well done!

Tower Bridge on a sunny day

I have to be nice to royalty otherwise I'll end up here ...

... and these guys will arrest me!

Puttin' on the Ritz!

The Queen lives here!

David Cameron makes bad decisions here!

The London Eye - Forget it! I'm scared of heights!

No fog today!

St Paul's Cathedral.

Tower Bridge opened especially for me!

I'm sure you'll enjoy it if ever you get the chance to visit London. Remember - just nod when cab drivers try to solve the world's problems - and whatever you do, don't say nasty things about their Boat Race or Trouble and Strife!

Mr Polite

I’m running out of ways to say “I’m sorry!”

I’m also running out of ways to say “Thank you!”

You see, as a British person, I am cursed with over-politeness, an ailment that has conditioned me to say “Thank you!” even when no thanks are normally necessary and “I’m sorry!” when I do not need to apologise.

My condition is so far gone that I end up looking for the translations of “Thank you” and “I’m sorry” into the native language of any country I visit.

I can say “I’m sorry” and “Thank you” in 352 different languages.

Just last week, I was in Nice and I found myself saying “Je suis désolé” to an absolutely clumsy bonehead who walked out of a shop without looking and barged straight into me, stamping on my foot in the process.
I wanted to say:

“You clumsy blind dickhead! Why don’t you watch where you’re bloody well going?”

But my brain forced me to say:

“Excusez-moi, monsieur. Je suis désolé!”

as if the entire episode had been my fault. I was the injured party having had my big toe crushed by a whopping great hoof clad I a brightly coloured French designer shoe, while having an elbow rammed into my midriff.

The man simply ignored me.

My worst fear is following a person down a really long corridor with approximately one hundred closed doors. If he is just a couple of yards in front of me, he will end up holding each door open for me and I will have to say “Thank you” in a variety of ways, so as not to appear to have a limited vocabulary as well as being impolite. And of course, living in Britain there is a very high chance that the person concerned will be British too, which means that he has to think of numerous ways to say “That’s OK!”.

Can you picture that scene, dear reader?

1st door

“Thank you!”  “You’re welcome!”

2nd door

“Thanks!”    “That’s okay!”

3rd door

“Cheers!”   “No problem!”

4th door

“Ta mate!”   “No worries!”

. . .
. . .

85th door …

(OH MY GOD - NOT ANOTHER DOOR!!) “You’re so kind!”
(FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!!)  “Any time!”

By the time we both reach door 100 we will inwardly want to kill each other while at the same time smiling politely and rifling through our mental thesauruses desperate to find yet another way to continue this pathetic charade.

It seems to me that when you are born in Britain, you suddenly lose all common sense when it comes to politeness.

Why is that?

Surely, politeness needs to be meant, and British people are so good at portraying a front of courtesy that I don’t trust any of them – myself included.

I know for a fact that inwardly each person is churning when they apologise for something – especially out of politeness when it was not even their fault.

BRIT1: I’m sorry!

BRIT 2: No, I must insist that it is my fault.

BRIT1: You are so kind but I have to apologise for it.

BRIT2: You are so gracious – and that’s wonderful but it truly is my                  fault.

What is truly meant is:

BRIT1: You clumsy great oaf! What do you think you are doing?

BRIT2: If I weren’t in a public place I would punch you in the face for                that you dickhead!

We are even polite when it comes to paying for meals – as illustrated in this clip:

While we are sometimes genuinely sincere, there are occasions when we may not actually mean what we say. Here are a few examples. You can generally judge by listening to what we say and looking at our faces for tell-tale signs that we may be disguising our true feelings behind a façade of courtesy:

What we say:
Yes, the wine is fine!
What we probably mean: 
This wine is horse piss!

What we say:                     
With all due respect …
What we probably mean: 
You’re a bloody idiot …

What we say:                     
Keep in touch!
What we probably mean:  
Don’t keep in touch!

What we say:                    
Call any time
What we probably mean: 
For God’s sake ring me before you call!

What we say:                    
It’s all my fault!
What we probably mean:  
It’s your fault you absolute arse!

What we say:                     
Oh are you sure you’ll get this round of beers? I don’t mind getting it.
What we probably mean:   
Get your hand in your pocket and BUY THE BEERS! IT'S YOUR BLOODY ROUND YOU TIGHT-FISTED GIT!

What we say:                     
That sounds like a good idea.
What we probably mean:  
Are you insane? It’s a bloody stupid idea.

What we say:                       
I’m so sorry!
What we probably mean:  
I'm not sorry at all!! You’re a clumsy great oaf!

Actually, I’ve just realised that if you are not British, you may read this post and no longer trust me or any other Englishman ever again when he is genuinely being sincere and polite. What you need to do, as suggested above, is to judge the situation from body language.

For example, when Monsieur Oaf did his best to merge his elbow with my chest while at the same time trying to flatten my foot, my voice (through gritted teeth) said “I’m sorry, that was totally my fault” while my entire body screamed said “I ought to punch your lights out for trying to kill me and not even acknowledging my presence you totally ignorant arse.”

If he had apologised I would, of course, have bought him a glass of wine and smiled sincerely.

I will conclude by saying:

Thank you so much, dear reader, for taking the time to read this post.

I am genuinely sorry if I caused any offence.

And you can tell from my body language that I am telling the truth.