I have a bad habit. There, I’ve said it.
I am finally owning up to doing something that is no doubt irritating not to mention slightly patronising. What could this awful behaviour possibly be?
Well, it’s all in a sentence. Two words to be precise. Two words that my long suffering Italian husband has come to dread: ‘In England…’
Now, this phrase is usually followed by revelations of exemplary behaviour by the British, with an underlying hint that our behaviour is in some way superior to that of our European counterparts. Let me give you an example, ‘In England, we are always polite’ or my personal favourite ‘ In England, the customer is always right’.
Well, it would seem that we are not. Having just returned from a longer than usual visit to the motherland and having actually holidayed there for the first time in more than thirty years, as opposed to just visiting family, I am enraged. Quietly enraged of course. More like seething. With thoughts of scathing complaints letters whirring through my mind.
Letters that I will of course never get round to writing. I blame that on the Italian influence, it’s more fun to loudly berate the lack of service than actually sit down and lodge a formal complaint. What is the source of this upset you might well ask?
Three days at a holiday park is the short answer. I was surrounded by rude guests, rude and incompetent staff but worst of all, I was forced to forfeit my morning coffee. Now that is unacceptable.
Especially when you’ve already had to wait forty minutes only to be told that said coffee will not be steaming its way to you. Apparently, the machine was ‘resetting’.
What? Get the moka on!