prettyeyes4you
11-27-06, 02:51 AM
You Know You're From London When...
You say "the city" and expect everyone to know which one.
You have never been to The Tower or Madame Tussauds but love Brighton.
You can get into a four-hour argument about how to get from Shepherds Bush to Elephant & Castle at 3:30 on the Friday before a long weekend, but can't find Dorset on a map.
Hookers and the homeless are invisible.
You step over people who collapse on the tube.
You believe that being able to swear at people in their own language makes you multi-lingual.
You've considered stabbing someone.
Your door has more than three locks.
Your favourite movie has Hugh Grant in it.
You consider eye contact an act of overt aggression.
You call an 8' x 10' plot of patchy grass a garden.
You know where Karl Marx is buried.
You consider Essex the "countryside"
You think Hyde Park is "nature."
You're paying �1,200 a month for a studio the size of a walk-in wardrobe and you think it's a "bargain."
Shopping in suburban supermarkets and shopping malls gives you a severe attack of agoraphobia.
You've been to Tooting twice and got hopelessly lost both times.
You pay more each month to park your car than most people in the UK pay in rent.
You haven't seen more than twelve stars in the night sky since you went camping as a kid.
You own hiking boots and a 4WD vehicle, neither of which have ever touched dirt.
You haven't heard the sound of true absolute silence since 1977, and when you did, it terrified you.
You pay �3 without blinking for a beer that cost the bar 28p.
You actually take fashion seriously.
Being truly alone makes you nervous.
You have 27 different menus next to your telephone.
The UK west of Heathrow is still theoretical to you.
You're suspicious of strangers who are actually nice to you.
You haven't cooked a meal since helping mum last Christmas with the turkey.
Your idea of personal space is no one actually standing on your toes.
�50 worth of groceries fit in one paper bag.
You have a minimum of five "worst cab ride ever" stories.
You don't hear sirens anymore.
You've mentally blocked out all thoughts of the city's air quality and what it's doing to your lungs.
You live in a building with a larger population than most towns.
Your cleaner is Russian, your grocer is Korean, your deli man is Israeli, your landlord is Italian, your laundry guy is Chinese, your favourite bartender is Irish, your favourite diner owner is Greek, the watch-seller on your corner is Senegalese, your last cabbie was Pakistani, your newsagent is Indian and your favourite falafel guy is Egyptian.
You wouldn't want to live anywhere else until you get married.
You say 'mate' constantly
Anyone not from London is a 'wanker'
Anyone from outside London and north of the Watford Gap is a 'Northern Wanker'
You have no idea where the North is.
You see All Saints in the Met Bar (again) and find it hard to get excited about it.
The countryside makes you nervous
Somebody speaks to you on the tube and you freak out thinking they are a stalker.
You talk in postcodes. "God, it was really warm round SW1 the other day"
You Know You're From Australia When...
Your next door neighbours can be from Tunisia, Israel, Indonesia, Japan, Zimbabwe, Iraq, Brazil, Spain, Malaysia...
The community is so concerned over the fact that muslim women can't use public swimming pools because there are men present that they have female-only periods.
The Greeks and Mexicans next door ask you over to have a barbeque.
You don't actually use the words 'sheila' or 'shrimp'.
You sleep with Aeroguard on.
You're wearing a cap emblazoned with 'Get A Dog Up Ya.'
You feel obliged to spread salty black stuff that looks like congealed motor oil on bread and actually grow to like it.
You actively dislike Americans, but watch their TV, eat their food and worship their idols.
You think Tall Poppy Syndrome is a national condition.
Democracy means the freedom to draw caricatures of John Howard.
Your idea of a lethal weapon is a slug gun.
The closest you ever got to going overseas was your packet of 5 Days In Rio grundies.
A posh meal = an all-you-can-eat buffet.
The term "musical instrument" also extends to wobbly bits of ply-wood, hand saws, gum leafs and combs.
Your most offensive curse also doubles as an exclamation of awe or amazement, like, "fark orf!"
All of your internationally famous people don't live here.
You think footballers dressing up in drag on TV is funny (but your son being gay isn't).
You relish test cricket - the longest, slowest game in sport (and that's not even counting the replays). After all, what else gives you an excuse to sit on your arse for five days, watch TV and sink piss with your mates?
You don't drink Fosters, but you let the world think you do.
The only thing better than beating the Pohms at ANY sport is giving them shit for it.
You love, adore and admire a particular team/sportstar/actor on a winning streak - until they lose. Then they're just crap and 'past it.'
You can compress several words into one - ie 'g'day', 'd'reckn?' This allows for more space for profanities.
You favour either Holden or Ford - or a souped-up WRX with new kit and a bootful of subwoofer.
Driving down the main street/beach road playing bad techno is your idea of a perfect Saturday night / Sunday arvo.
You make kooky films, sometimes about wayward road trips (across the outback preferably). Quite a few are crap.
You know all the words to Khe Sahn but not the national anthem.
Your nickname ends in 'a' or 'o'.
You have a customised stubby holder.
Your soap stars become pop singers and move to the UK.
You've ever used the words - grouse, tops, ripper, choice, sick, rad, exo, ace, wicked, ballistic - to mean good. And then you place 'bloody' in front of it when you really mean it.
Your cooking apron has plastic breasts on it.
The "Aussie Aussie Aussie! Oi oi oi!" chant has been a religious experience in the past.
The blokes at the local gym think your weight training is an opportunity to ask you out on a date.
The big national sporting events are men-only.
Your politicians believe than sticking the prefix 'un' in front of your nationality is an effective way of making you sit down and shut up.
Our mantras are 'fair go for all', 'mateship' and 'little Aussie battler' - but we still publicly condemn those with different viewpoints to us.
The barbeque is a male-dominated arena. And the women do the salads.
'Fair go for all' excludes indigenous people.
An eight-hour trip to go camping for the weekend isn't out of the question or excessive.
You take pride in living in a tolerant multicultural society but firmly believe that all Poms and Kiwis are fair game.
You insist on asking every celebrity who steps of an aircraft what they think of Australia. If the response is not overwhelmingly positive, they should be subjected to immediate public ridicule.
The private lives of footy and cricket players become more important than local and national news stories.
Slick pick-up lines like 'Wanna shag?' and 'Carn, show us yer tits' can constitute male-to-female conversation.
You say 'no worries' quite often, whether you realise it or not.
You realise you have no Bill of Rights.
The first thing guaranteed to get eaten at parties is fairy bread.
So that's the special ingredients that make up an Aussie - whatever your taste.
ou Know You're From Britain When...
You believe that Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday are all good nights for drinking. Sunday day is also entirely reasonable.
You're always a half an hour late to work ... no-one notices or cares.
Coming to work with a hangover is entirely accepted and indeed expected at least once a week.
You can actually give directions to some of those annoying tourists in Oxford Street!
You step over a drunk in the tube station rather than offering to help them.
You don't even bother looking out of the window when you get up in the morning to check what the day is like. You know it is overcast.
You consider a suit to be normal attire for the pub.
You expect men to actually cut, comb and style their hair (using hair products). And to wear decent clothes.
You dissolve in laughter when listening to the funny accent of the Aussie international telephone operator (or on TV!).
You think �40 for a haircut is quite reasonable.
You can't remember what 'customer service' means.
After a big night out you find yourself looking for a Curry house
More than three hours sunlight on summer days seems excessive.
You don't think twice about tipping your hairdresser
You finish every sentence with 'Cheers' or 'Yeah'.
You only just realise you have lost your sunnies, you left them in Greece 2 summers ago.
You like English cuisine. I mean, it's hard to beat a full English breakfast.
You are on to your 6th umbrella and your second overcoat... this year
You've bought a disposable baby BBQ from Tesco.
A day at the beach means wearing the warmest clothes you own while standing on golf ball-size pebbles and the thought of swimming doesn't even enter your head.
You always call soccer football and you have a team and it's not Manchester United.
You don't think twice about buying a packaged sandwich.
A sunny lunchtime means searching for a patch of grass and stripping off practically down to your underwear
You've accepted queuing as a way of life.
You believe that every American is a fatass addicted to hamburgers and hotdogs.
You despise the French (but then, who doesn't?).
You say "the city" and expect everyone to know which one.
You have never been to The Tower or Madame Tussauds but love Brighton.
You can get into a four-hour argument about how to get from Shepherds Bush to Elephant & Castle at 3:30 on the Friday before a long weekend, but can't find Dorset on a map.
Hookers and the homeless are invisible.
You step over people who collapse on the tube.
You believe that being able to swear at people in their own language makes you multi-lingual.
You've considered stabbing someone.
Your door has more than three locks.
Your favourite movie has Hugh Grant in it.
You consider eye contact an act of overt aggression.
You call an 8' x 10' plot of patchy grass a garden.
You know where Karl Marx is buried.
You consider Essex the "countryside"
You think Hyde Park is "nature."
You're paying �1,200 a month for a studio the size of a walk-in wardrobe and you think it's a "bargain."
Shopping in suburban supermarkets and shopping malls gives you a severe attack of agoraphobia.
You've been to Tooting twice and got hopelessly lost both times.
You pay more each month to park your car than most people in the UK pay in rent.
You haven't seen more than twelve stars in the night sky since you went camping as a kid.
You own hiking boots and a 4WD vehicle, neither of which have ever touched dirt.
You haven't heard the sound of true absolute silence since 1977, and when you did, it terrified you.
You pay �3 without blinking for a beer that cost the bar 28p.
You actually take fashion seriously.
Being truly alone makes you nervous.
You have 27 different menus next to your telephone.
The UK west of Heathrow is still theoretical to you.
You're suspicious of strangers who are actually nice to you.
You haven't cooked a meal since helping mum last Christmas with the turkey.
Your idea of personal space is no one actually standing on your toes.
�50 worth of groceries fit in one paper bag.
You have a minimum of five "worst cab ride ever" stories.
You don't hear sirens anymore.
You've mentally blocked out all thoughts of the city's air quality and what it's doing to your lungs.
You live in a building with a larger population than most towns.
Your cleaner is Russian, your grocer is Korean, your deli man is Israeli, your landlord is Italian, your laundry guy is Chinese, your favourite bartender is Irish, your favourite diner owner is Greek, the watch-seller on your corner is Senegalese, your last cabbie was Pakistani, your newsagent is Indian and your favourite falafel guy is Egyptian.
You wouldn't want to live anywhere else until you get married.
You say 'mate' constantly
Anyone not from London is a 'wanker'
Anyone from outside London and north of the Watford Gap is a 'Northern Wanker'
You have no idea where the North is.
You see All Saints in the Met Bar (again) and find it hard to get excited about it.
The countryside makes you nervous
Somebody speaks to you on the tube and you freak out thinking they are a stalker.
You talk in postcodes. "God, it was really warm round SW1 the other day"
You Know You're From Australia When...
Your next door neighbours can be from Tunisia, Israel, Indonesia, Japan, Zimbabwe, Iraq, Brazil, Spain, Malaysia...
The community is so concerned over the fact that muslim women can't use public swimming pools because there are men present that they have female-only periods.
The Greeks and Mexicans next door ask you over to have a barbeque.
You don't actually use the words 'sheila' or 'shrimp'.
You sleep with Aeroguard on.
You're wearing a cap emblazoned with 'Get A Dog Up Ya.'
You feel obliged to spread salty black stuff that looks like congealed motor oil on bread and actually grow to like it.
You actively dislike Americans, but watch their TV, eat their food and worship their idols.
You think Tall Poppy Syndrome is a national condition.
Democracy means the freedom to draw caricatures of John Howard.
Your idea of a lethal weapon is a slug gun.
The closest you ever got to going overseas was your packet of 5 Days In Rio grundies.
A posh meal = an all-you-can-eat buffet.
The term "musical instrument" also extends to wobbly bits of ply-wood, hand saws, gum leafs and combs.
Your most offensive curse also doubles as an exclamation of awe or amazement, like, "fark orf!"
All of your internationally famous people don't live here.
You think footballers dressing up in drag on TV is funny (but your son being gay isn't).
You relish test cricket - the longest, slowest game in sport (and that's not even counting the replays). After all, what else gives you an excuse to sit on your arse for five days, watch TV and sink piss with your mates?
You don't drink Fosters, but you let the world think you do.
The only thing better than beating the Pohms at ANY sport is giving them shit for it.
You love, adore and admire a particular team/sportstar/actor on a winning streak - until they lose. Then they're just crap and 'past it.'
You can compress several words into one - ie 'g'day', 'd'reckn?' This allows for more space for profanities.
You favour either Holden or Ford - or a souped-up WRX with new kit and a bootful of subwoofer.
Driving down the main street/beach road playing bad techno is your idea of a perfect Saturday night / Sunday arvo.
You make kooky films, sometimes about wayward road trips (across the outback preferably). Quite a few are crap.
You know all the words to Khe Sahn but not the national anthem.
Your nickname ends in 'a' or 'o'.
You have a customised stubby holder.
Your soap stars become pop singers and move to the UK.
You've ever used the words - grouse, tops, ripper, choice, sick, rad, exo, ace, wicked, ballistic - to mean good. And then you place 'bloody' in front of it when you really mean it.
Your cooking apron has plastic breasts on it.
The "Aussie Aussie Aussie! Oi oi oi!" chant has been a religious experience in the past.
The blokes at the local gym think your weight training is an opportunity to ask you out on a date.
The big national sporting events are men-only.
Your politicians believe than sticking the prefix 'un' in front of your nationality is an effective way of making you sit down and shut up.
Our mantras are 'fair go for all', 'mateship' and 'little Aussie battler' - but we still publicly condemn those with different viewpoints to us.
The barbeque is a male-dominated arena. And the women do the salads.
'Fair go for all' excludes indigenous people.
An eight-hour trip to go camping for the weekend isn't out of the question or excessive.
You take pride in living in a tolerant multicultural society but firmly believe that all Poms and Kiwis are fair game.
You insist on asking every celebrity who steps of an aircraft what they think of Australia. If the response is not overwhelmingly positive, they should be subjected to immediate public ridicule.
The private lives of footy and cricket players become more important than local and national news stories.
Slick pick-up lines like 'Wanna shag?' and 'Carn, show us yer tits' can constitute male-to-female conversation.
You say 'no worries' quite often, whether you realise it or not.
You realise you have no Bill of Rights.
The first thing guaranteed to get eaten at parties is fairy bread.
So that's the special ingredients that make up an Aussie - whatever your taste.
ou Know You're From Britain When...
You believe that Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday are all good nights for drinking. Sunday day is also entirely reasonable.
You're always a half an hour late to work ... no-one notices or cares.
Coming to work with a hangover is entirely accepted and indeed expected at least once a week.
You can actually give directions to some of those annoying tourists in Oxford Street!
You step over a drunk in the tube station rather than offering to help them.
You don't even bother looking out of the window when you get up in the morning to check what the day is like. You know it is overcast.
You consider a suit to be normal attire for the pub.
You expect men to actually cut, comb and style their hair (using hair products). And to wear decent clothes.
You dissolve in laughter when listening to the funny accent of the Aussie international telephone operator (or on TV!).
You think �40 for a haircut is quite reasonable.
You can't remember what 'customer service' means.
After a big night out you find yourself looking for a Curry house
More than three hours sunlight on summer days seems excessive.
You don't think twice about tipping your hairdresser
You finish every sentence with 'Cheers' or 'Yeah'.
You only just realise you have lost your sunnies, you left them in Greece 2 summers ago.
You like English cuisine. I mean, it's hard to beat a full English breakfast.
You are on to your 6th umbrella and your second overcoat... this year
You've bought a disposable baby BBQ from Tesco.
A day at the beach means wearing the warmest clothes you own while standing on golf ball-size pebbles and the thought of swimming doesn't even enter your head.
You always call soccer football and you have a team and it's not Manchester United.
You don't think twice about buying a packaged sandwich.
A sunny lunchtime means searching for a patch of grass and stripping off practically down to your underwear
You've accepted queuing as a way of life.
You believe that every American is a fatass addicted to hamburgers and hotdogs.
You despise the French (but then, who doesn't?).