The British are not very good at complaining. We just don't do it well. We'd rather suffer in silence and then whinge to our friends at leisure.
Last night we eschewed our usual Indian establishment for some pizza and pasta. As it transpired, this was a severe error of judgement. I'm a bit of a human dustbin; I generally eat anything. But this...
So we were very un-British and refused to pay. A united front was presented, even in the face of a knife-wielding chef. Instead we headed to the nearest pub, the landlord of which whipped up a few rounds of cheese and ham toasties. Magnificent.
There's some sort of lesson in there somewhere.
