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God save the Queen


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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Private Detective


before I wanted to be a private detective, but the other day I sat down to think about the reality of that office and I changed my mind and intentions. The detective is a gray type, but his grayness is far from the epic mediocrity show films black film. The most colorful of his job is to take pictures of unfaithful husbands embracing twenty-five Russian waitresses and chasing wayward teens to tattle to your parents after they drink mixed drinks and smoking dope. This, no doubt, has to make you feel like a worm: the detective is as close to the accused of the kind dispensed in adult form and shares it with the defendant, the zero probability of success in start a sentimental approach to the aforementioned teenagers frivolous, and that it gradually wears hard it is and have dedicated sense and undermines their self-esteem and undermines its morale. Even
, and since we live in a country subtropical rainforest rarely can the detective look into the real life of those worn coats that are so well on the big screen, unless you want to risk having him make a fool or an exhibitionist of those before that Men nowadays have already discovered the advantages of MC as fatigues. The existence of the detective is drawn, monotonous and devoid of emotions, nor the cases brought before it have anything to do with the complex problems that almost had lunch chess Hercule Poirot or Sherlock Holmes and his adventures often ends with a heroic chase gun in hand through the streets of a city as pinturera like Chicago or New York, but rather with the endless review a myriad of legal documents and obscene Polaroids in the office of judge in charge of distributing the spoils of a divorce
.
The police never used by more than television and literature do not stop making references to the course set, the private detectives who solve crimes beyond their understanding: for this occupation prefer accredited psychics and palm reader services , which also generally work for free under the threat of being arrested for conspiracy and fraud business. Women rarely fatal burst into the office of a private detective to ask him to help them find the murderer of her wealthy husband, instead run to the clubs frequented by Premier League footballers and children of baronesses owners of palaces and vast collections of paintings to try to make another marriage for money before the treacherous time into the kitchen of her beauty and cause them to pass the rice paste are painfully pan.
-taxable for its stealth, detective lives and dies an anonymous being inconspicuous and hardly anyone apart from the landscape. All his dubious exploits are in the private sphere and will never be reported by the media or glossed in textbooks, in any event listeners find boring their grandchildren in the future their children will leave their care when they leave with their partners from holiday to Mallorca, but conveniently will exaggerate and embellish with new characters, such as gnomes and fairies, to make them affordable to children's tastes and provide them with the dignity that he knows full well that they never had. Who strives daily to pass unnoticed has all the ballots for the years to get it finished and forever confused with the bland scenery of life as a stick insect is camouflaged in the ground filled with dried leaves of the forest, and there is little glory in the curriculum of the bugs of this type and in the biography of who are eager to hide their merits rather than his chest out and try to score goals next door, as do all other members unions with the only obvious exception of spies and criminals tend to do too heartless and most of the idle and unemployed.