The Foreigners

Wow. I actually managed to find some motivation to do some work and feel i have sufficiently progressed the project I am working on this morning that i will escape any sort of bollocking from my boss despite my slackness for the last three days.

My footballing joy from the weekend was soon destroyed by a bad day on the parks on Wednesday. Firstly my team, the prodigious Evington FC, were beaten 3-1 by the bizarrely named Hat and Beaver, and then our supposed National pride and joy were soundly beaten 1-0 by Northern Ireland in possibly the most lacklustre England performance since we got beaten by Denmark two weeks ago. I am all in favour of dismembering Sven!

I was stopped by an African man on my way back to work at lunchtime. "Excuse me" he said, quickly using up the only two English words in his vocabulary, "Besa tunga". That is what is sounded like to me anyway, so obviously i asked him to repeat himself, which he did...several times...and each time getting slightly louder. I suddenly realised what all the French students that my mate Steve used to have stay with him must have felt like when Steve's mum was talking to them. "Sebastien, would you like a sandwich", "Pardon??", "Would...you...like...a..sand-wich??", "Pardon??", "WOULD...YOU...LIKE...A...SANDWICH??".

Anyway, the African dude finally pointed to his wrist making me realise he was after the time - sign language should always be the first port of call when communicating with foreigners! "Ten to two" i replied before quickly strolling off down the street. I wonder if he understood me?!?