This from a friend . . .
A British national daily newspaper is asking readers: “What does it mean to be British?”
Some of the resulting emails were hilarious but how about this one?
“Being British is about driving in a German car to an Irish pub for a Belgian beer, then travelling home, grabbing an Indian curry or a Turkish kebab on the way, to sit on Swedish furniture and watch American shows on a Japanese TV. He buys a holiday home in Spain, goes skiing in France, fancies Swedish birds, and has a Romanian au-pair. And the most British characteristic of all? Suspicion of anything foreign.”
After years of wondering why he didn’t look like his younger sister or brother, a young man finally got up the nerve to ask his mother if he was adopted.
“Yes, you were son,” his mother said as she started to cry softly. “But it didn’t work out and they brought you back.”
Two elderly Irish drinking buddies are sitting at the pub pondering on the future.
One says to the other, “You know Mr. O’Shea, we’ve had great sport together for many years. It just came to mind that should it be I who should happen to go first, it would mean a great deal to me if you would say a few kind words at me grave.”
The other friend responds, “That I’ll do, Mr. O’Donnell that I’ll do. But should it be I who should happen to go first, for old times’ sake I’d be forever grateful if you would pour a bottle of fine Irish whiskey over me grave.”
The friend responds, “That I’ll do. That I’ll do. But would you mind it so much if it should happen to pass through me kidneys first?”