Well, there I was in this Chinese takeaway in Glasgow (which is a village in Scotland). You know the kind of place. I mean, you know the kind of place the Chinese takeaway is. Not the kinda place Glasgow is.
It’s one of those Chinese takeaways that preheats the pies, sausages and anything else it sells, some days before. They are then left piled high in the dirty greasy bit at the top of the fryer.
Most locals go in for a portion of chips, that’s chips that were fried in 3 month old oil yesterday and then flash reheated today for 2 minutes before being wrapped up today.
So, I finally got to the front of the queue when a couple of the regular fighting drunks took their altercation outside. Whilst waiting for my order to have the fungus scraped from it in another room I noticed this sign on the stained wall behind the counter:
Lucky for me I only had proper English money with me, so I was made very welcome.
England's England 