You know you’re from Britain when…

• You believe that Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday are all good nights for drinking. Sunday day is also entirely reasonable.
• You’re always a half an hour late to work … no-one notices or cares.
• Coming to work with a hangover is entirely accepted and indeed expected at least once a week.
• You can actually give directions to some of those annoying tourists in Oxford Street!
• You step over a drunk in the tube station rather than offering to help them.
• You don’t even bother looking out of the window when you get up in the morning to check what the day is like. You know it is overcast.
• You consider a suit to be normal attire for the pub.
• You expect men to actually cut, comb and forbidden
• You dissolve in laughter when listening to the funny accent of the Aussie international telephone operator (or on TV!).
• You think £40 for a haircut is quite reasonable.
• You can’t remember what ‘customer service’ means.
• After a big night out you find yourself looking for a Curry house
• More than three hours sunlight on summer days seems excessive.
• You don’t think twice about tipping your hairdresser
• You finish every sentence with ‘Cheers’ or ‘Yeah’.
• You only just realise you have lost your sunnies, you left them in Greece 2 summers ago.
• You like English cuisine. I mean, it’s hard to beat a full English breakfast.
• You are on to your 6th umbrella and your second overcoat… this year
• You’ve bought a disposable baby BBQ from Tesco.
• A day at the beach means wearing the warmest clothes you own while standing on golf ball-size pebbles and the thought of swimming doesn’t even enter your head.
• You always call soccer football and you have a team and it’s not Manchester United.
• You don’t think twice about buying a packaged sandwich.
• A sunny lunchtime means searching for a patch of grass and stripping off practically down to your underwear
• You’ve accepted queuing as a way of life.
• You believe that every American is a fatass addicted to hamburgers and hotdogs.
• You despise the French (but then, who doesn’t?).

ANd it’s at a time like these when you wonder exactly how you ended up talking about the things you are talking about…

Alex says:
are there any cows nearby?
Emma says:
let me check
Emma says:
*glances out into hallway*
Emma says:
nope
Alex says:
nah i meant in a field or something
Emma says:
there may be a rare pig hiding under the coffee table
Alex says:
you could milk one
Emma says:
a rare pig?
Alex says:
can you milk pigs?
Emma says:
do they have nipples?
Alex says:
yeah i think so
Emma says:
then yes
Emma says:
probably
Alex says:
just don’t suck them - milking is an art
Emma says:
go find me a lactating pig
Alex says:
lmao
Alex says:
woman i’m in london - am i supposed to use google earth or something? GPS?
Emma says:
ah yeas
Emma says:
google earth
Alex says:
it rocks
Emma says:
do they landmark lactating farmyard goods?
Alex says:
can see live sat pictures of your house
Alex says:
lmao!!!!!!!!
Alex says:
dare you email them that question!
Emma says:
dare YOU
Alex says:
balls
Alex says:
you’re the hungry one
Emma says:
balls yourself
Emma says:
you’re more high profile
Emma says:
you do it
Alex says:
i don’t need no pig to milk
Emma says:
then a goat
Emma says:
at least thats semi normal
Alex says:
i’ve eaten a goat or two in my time
Emma says:
wonderful stuff
Emma says:
did i taste like cheese?
Alex says:
you’re supposed to say “i’m proud of you”
Alex says:
and no, i don’t think it did as cheese is mouldy milk
Emma says:
i once ate a soggy crisp?
Alex says:
am i supposed to be proud?
Emma says:
yes
Alex says:
i am