My brother and Anita came over for lunch today, first time Anita hadn't seen donkey.
We had a nice roast lunch (lamb) and they bought over wine and a few nice goodies for me (cos I'm poor). The large piece of wild salmon now in the freezer was unexpected, I was happy enough with the bag of potatoes because it means I don't have to carry them back from the town.
As they left, they asked me to go down to the car as they had one more present, which I was asked to open and then text my reaction.
So here it is:
If you're a chav, especially if you live in a high rise like I now do, it is de rigeur (even if you don't know what de rigeur means), to stamp your nationalistic mark on everything. The truly committed (or at least those who should be), have bulldogs, St. George flags and the likes tattoed on their useless carcasses. Then they decorate their habitat, usually beginning with a large flag hanging off their balcony, so everyone passing by knows a "true Englishman" lives there.
Noting that I have begun the decorating phase of the Regent apartments, my brother was concerned that I have no outwardly chavvy accoutrements to stamp my chav individualism on my gaff and so I was presented with this fine precision crafted set of St. George lights, indoor or outdoor (so they can be strung from a balcony).
Maybe not quite yet, but actually I do like the lights. Notice the box says they are "football lights". A bit like how Nessum dorma became a "football anthem" the flag of our patron saint now states quite categorically that I'm all there for a pint of Carling Black Label and a fight at closing time.
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