I've never understood why the British phlegm. According to my dictionary, which is very complete and up to date, is a label it a gob phlegm. However, the British, phlegmatic or not, I fall very well, especially the humorous distance facing the world and stuff. We have much to learn from them, and to do us no choice but to study their curious language, and who otherwise would hardly least we get the advantage of the lessons. To begin with, and get a goal we can achieve even without understanding a word the language of Shakespeare, you should back the flag. The flag of Great Britain is a sea of \u200b\u200bcute rag that looks as good off the facade of the United Nations in an imitation leather jacket punk. In terms of design and visual claw gives two hundred laps to ours, that despite the capacity exceeds of affright and colorful. With the British flag can go anywhere, but with Spain only manifestations of the AVT and the party that loses the football team.
Then there's the anthem. The anthem of Great Britain is majestic and orchestral, and ours seems a sort of village pasodoble verbena. When you hear the God Save the Queen, which was probably made to commemorate a historic regional trouble was supposed that it could only be solved by providential divine intervention, I feel like patriotic deeds epic undertaking, and when he hears what the other want is to get a girl to dance caught and try to get their hands on the sly and convincing for him to come to the era: two impulses which certainly bear a direct relation to the role played by each country on the world. The symbols of a nation tells us much about the essence of it, and the United Kingdom speak of dignity, poise and sumptuous breakfast including fried eggs and three slices of bacon. It's easy to go around being in London: all assume that you are a gentleman and strive to be well with you and keep up the circumstances.
Every man with a deep knowledge of the environment and the idiosyncrasies of one thousand territories in the world map is both Francophobe and Anglophile. I was born English and hatred of man upstairs I assumed as the value to a recruit anonymous, so I want to record here my love of English and by extension Britishness. I am a devotee of mushroom hats, pints of beer, cloudy days, tea and cakes at tea time with cookies, the complimentary close to the involvement and timing that borders on the sick, and if I have to choose between the Big Ben, the Eiffel Tower and the Plaza de Toros de Las Ventas and order the three monuments according to my preferences, I will without a trace of doubt in my voice or with a firm stroke if the survey is presented to me in writing and will proclaim or garabatearé name first round the clock, then the legendary arena and last if there is no alternative to the apparently unfinished the Parisian building.
why I always make a fool when a man dressed in thug comes up to me on the street and asks me for a firm to give us back Gibraltar: Gibraltar to me is and will guiri much that one day the fickle international law may put back into our irresponsible hands, thereby exposing its inhabitants to who knows what disasters pure, traditional life. Gibraltar is a piece of Britain that beats in our land as my heart is an organ that says pom pom accents of Surrey in my chest. I would like to be civilized as the English and the only way to do that I can think is allowed to colonize us in a position, with nuclear submarines and secret military bases full of brave soldiers, and not to low cost flights full of hooligans and septuagenarian who come to us looking for easy sex and cheap drinks and that the effect of alcohol or years have forgotten the beautiful values \u200b\u200bthat inspired the heroes who laid the foundations of his country.
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