Bloody English

There's English in our hotel as well. Loads of them. Until they open their pie holes you would never even guess they are from the riotous country that once gave us William Godwin and the Pink Fairies.

They are all polite. More polite than Canadians. Not the obnoxiously pissed pint in your face kick in the head English people we are accustomed to at all. The English, for the first time in history, suddenly seem able to hold their liquor.

What it is, I suspect, is they are all still on their best behaviour, like the damp people of Dope City, on account of their own recent riots. That bit of riotous behaviour was not even up to proper English standards. Would have done that cunt Charles and his woman in before old Maggie civilized the lot of them except for the Westham and Millwall firms.

From all over their island they are. Norwich, the Midlands, Eastbourne, the fucking north. All the parts of England nobody gives a shit about. Everybody knows it is all about London, even the hicks from the sticks in our hotel.

All couples they are, except for a pair of head turning lassies from Birmingham. They are not like English girls of old either. We are travelling just with Jimi this year and he is fancying foreign pussy like always. After first ascertaining the lassies were not bent he has been doing his best to get into their pants but has yet to get within sniffing distance of his goal.

"Used to be English birds would drop their knickers for me and any other lad with more than a fiver in his trousers after a couple glasses of shandy. All the Muslim crazies that country is jammed full of now have infected the natural desirous state of English females with their transit bombings, veils and no fucking until we are married bullshit," Jimi protested before retiring to his room for a good old fashioned bit of masturbation.