“Flora knew her hunting gentry. They were what the Americans, bless them! call dumb.”
– Stella Gibbons, Cold Comfort Farm
After participating in that great British tradition of fireworks in the park, we got to participate in that other great British tradition, the insane bottleneck queuing of people trying to leave said park after said fireworks.
As we shuffled along like penguins on a march, Jeff and I got squished up against a number of people but spent the longest time in close contact with a set of harried parents. Harried because they were outnumbered by their collective posse of children who were behaving, shall I say, less than delightfully. Funny to watch, but I imagine much less funny to wrangle.
A couple of these cherubs were engaged in a slapping war, another pair were shoving the youngest children around, but the most hilarious were a small boy and girl (I’d guess five years old or so) trading insults. Luckily after the following outburst we were shoved in different directions because I don’t think I could have held in my laughter much longer! The hostilities (and their volubility) had intensified pretty dramatically.
“Well you’re stupid.”
“No! You’re a twit.”
“You’re a git.”
“You’re an idiot!”
“You’re a ****!”
“Well you’re…you’re American!