One of our first foreign holidays was to Portugal. The Communists had just taken control of government and the country was desperate for income, especially from tourism, so we were able to get a beautiful hotel for a song.
We were the only Brits among a largely American/German clientele and soon found that those customers weren’t particularly well-liked by the staff. And because the waiters were especially keen to improve their English (but without an American drawl) we were embarrassingly well-served throughout the fortnight.
One lunch-time, the sous-chef made one of his increasingly regular visits to our table.
In Portuguese Accent: “Tomorrow, we have big bird for dinner”
Us: “Turkey?”
IPA: “No, is bigger”
Us: “Goose”
IPA: “No, is many bigger – with long white bendy neck”
Us (horrified): “Not swan?”
IPA: “Yes, yes, I show you now”
He hurried back from the kitchen, bearing a bowl with a large scoop of ice cream, into which had been inserted two wafer ‘wings’ and a white chocolate straw for the neck.
Damn foreigners’ English was clearly better than they’d been letting on.
# posted by Mr.D. @ 1:28 PM
Drinking and Driving (but clearly not simultaneously)
