(A competition was held a few years ago to come up with a one-liner which encapsulated what it was to be English.  This was one of my favourite submissions.  I simply expanded it into a poem.  A re-post.)

 

I never cease to be surprised while we're on holiday

At the number of occasions that a French waiter would say,

“Hello.  What can I get you?” in perfect Ang-a-lais

How did he know so quick that we were English?

 

While you're shopping in the mall you see a family of four

First, there's Mum and Dad, then little sprogs block up the corridor

So fat that they take up a space the size of Ecuador

You can bet the lard-arse bastards must be English.

 

It's 3am in Magaluf, the nightclub's going strong

And a gaggle of young girls outside make up a drunken throng

When one bends over, bares her arse and twangs her little thong

You can bet the silly bastard must be English.

 

With standards of behaviour in our nation obsolete

It's a lot to hope at 5am the lads will be discreet

As sure as eggs is eggs if someone's pissing in the street

You can bet the dirty bastard must be English.

 

It's breakfast time next morning and the air is very thick

With a pungent, foul aroma and the floor is sticky slick

Then you see the local hotel staff cleaning up cold sick

You can bet the guilty bastard must be English.

 

And when it comes to fighting, well, we are a warrior race

'Course, it helps if there are six of us and just the one to face

With odds like that we'll kick the shit at anytime or place

Cos we want the world to know that we are English.

 

On the nudist beach you try to suss who's truly Goldilocks

When your eye is caught by clothing that is less than orthodox

'Cos the Old Git who is Persil white is wearing knee-length socks

You just know that silly bastard must be English!

 

These unredeeming features are not just confined to class

When a lady as she walks her dog will turn as bold as brass

And ignore the pile of steaming shit it's left upon the grass

But the dog doesn't know that it is English.

 

We get cheated every year out of the European Cup

And when abroad it's our birthright to ruck and sup and tup

So Dipso Fatso Bingo Asbo Tesco sums us up

So I wish to God that I'd been born a Belgian!