“Oi! Judy! Judy! Hey! Judy! Judy!” He paused for half a second to catch his breath. And then he carried on calling out for Judy, who was only a few metres away but seemed to not hear her husband. This didn’t deter him and he carried on shouting the name Judy which, because of his Birmingham accent sounded more like Joo-Dee. I didn’t want to be that guy who was judging someone based on their accent but, to me, a Birmingham account sounds like unaware dickhead of the group. The posh British accent is the arrogant prick who always gets punched. The south Essex accent is the ‘geezer’ who wears skinny jeans. The Geordie accent is the staunchly loyal one of the group who can out drink everyone. The Birmingham accent though – that’s the one of the group that everyone finds annoying and wishes would just piss off somewhere else.
Anyhow, Mr Joo-Dee finally stopped trying to get his wife’s attention and turned back to the man who was standing opposite him. “What gives you the right to take our towels?’
“Why did you take our towels?”
Mr Joo-Dee, as all upstanding members of the former British Empire tend to do, decided it was time to raise his vocal volume, because deafness has been proven to correlate with language barriers.
“Why. Did. You. Take. Our. Towels?” He loudly dragged out the final word so it sounded like towwwellls. It truly was an abomination to the ears.
“This is ridiculous, I can’t believe you don’t speak English!” I too was flabbergasted that a Spanish man, in his Spanish town, where he worked part-time in a Spanish hotel did not speak English. I mean, surely he should have anticipated the arrival of people like Mr Joo-Dee.
“What’s your name? Bloody Manuel?” Ah yes, the classic Fawlty Towers reference to make his racism appear lighthearted. He looked around hoping others by the pool heard his top class banter. Clearly everyone else had the same hearing problems as his wife, Joo-Dee, as they all stared even harder at their copies of 50 Shades of Grey.
Mr Joo-Dee was incensed that a pool attendant dared to take his towel off a sun lounger that he had claimed at 6am even though it was now 11am and he hadn’t even sat his fat arse on it once. He seemed to believe his towel was akin to his ancestors sticking a flag on a beach and claiming it for England. “I tell you what, things will be different once Brexit happens. You won’t be taking our towels then.”
This is where I think my brain almost haemorrhaged. I mean, I guess he was right because once Brexit happens Mr Joo-Dee will probably be stuck at a border waving his blue passport and won’t make it to the pool with his towel.
Maybe Brexit is a blessing, at least for many long suffering Spanish people. I know I would be happy not to serve a half naked, sun burnt British guy who asked for Omelette and chips instead of gorgeous locally produced tapas. Nothing says British more than hordes of Brits going to Mallorca, sitting in 30 degree heat on a Sunday and eating roast beef in an Irish themed pub. Makes my blood red, white and blue.
With all this hyper-patriotism kicking around there will be some intense tests to judge if you’re truly British. A checklist will be in order to ensure you’re a true patriot. My list would be:
- Do you stand up as soon as a plane lands even though you’ll probably have another 20mins before they open the doors?
- Do you clap when a plane lands?
- Do you crowd the space of another human being when standing by baggage reclaim because you are paranoid someone will steal your suitcase?
- Do you have weird delusions of grandeur that someone would want to steal your suitcase even though it only contains Speedos and hair gel?
- Do you tut when foreigners don’t speak English abroad?
- Do you find it weird that foreigners expect you to understand their language when in GREAT BRITAIN?
- Do you not understand the hypocrisy of the above two statements?
I think Mr Joo-Dee would pass my Britishness test with flying colours.