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Most of us have bumped into the Queen, or 'Liz', on a night out at some point. I remember back in 2010 I saw Liz do a face-full of ket in a pub toilet, scream 'I'm on a fucking mad one', call a bouncer a fat cunt and chuck a Jägerbomb over a woman called Tracy. She had to get carried out and fed cheesy chips by her police bodyguard. 

 

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It's true that only in Britain is 'with all due respect' code for 'I want you dead' and subtext over here is now so complex that you can hardly order a latte without also calling someone's mother a whore. A university friend of mine recently told his parents that he'd got a new job and they replied that they'd always known he was gay. When he told them he really wasn't gay, he'd just got a new job, they said that was no way to speak to his mother and that her weight gain was due to a thyroid problem.

 

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Dick van Dyke is revered over here for his extraordinarily accurate portrayal of the London cockney accent in the film Mary Poppins, or 'Mehry Pwoppens' as we Londoners would say it, because that's how we speak. When we're not busy cleaning chimneys or playing an accordion with our knees, we can be heard talking about 'going up the apples', 'having a ruby' or 'Garth Crooksing an old mucker on the Lambeth Walk.'

 

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The average Briton consumes between 50 and 1.6m cups of tea per day, which seriously affects their ability to do anything else as they're constantly searching for their next hit. They can often be found hurriedly 'brewing up' in public toilets or on park benches before they go into withdrawal.

 

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The British love queueing so much that they shove each other to get to the back of the queue in order to queue for longer. During the war my grandmother spent fourteen days in a queue for rations, which turned out to be a queue for tinned jam sandwiches and tickets to a variety performance by Jim 'Colonel Bopper' Kelly, but morale was so high that they all kissed sailors and danced in the streets for the next three years. Or so she claims. She takes a lot of strong medication.

 

undefined Engaging in contact with strangers in Britain is not only a faux-pas, but is, in fact, a capital offence under British law. On a train, eye contact might lead to a verbal warning or small fine, but conversing with other passengers results in the conductor immediately reading you the last rites and conducting a coup de grâce with his emergency revolver. The corpse is usually left on the train for several days as a warning to others.

 

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What with his Queen's English accent, dry wit and affable manner, Stephen Fry is pretty much the epitome of the perfect Englishman and lizard deity. PRAISE BE TO THE ALMIGHTY LIZARD FRY: MAY HIS SCALY REIGN LAST A THOUSAND YEARS.

 

undefined ...but they sound pretty bad for you. You should probably stop eating those. Yeah.

 

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