No searching of souls or pointing of fingers here. Just seven ways Europe rocks my tiny world.
1. Speedy passport lanes
I bet even the most hardened Brexiter will miss their lovely EU passport and the civility of the ‘EU passport’ lane. I’m buggered if I’m going to queue up behind the Chinese tourists, like a fucking chump. Have you seen the hard time they get from customs officials? Arrive at a European airport behind a flight from Beijing and half your holiday will be over before you make it out of the airport. No thank you. I’ll be getting a Bulgarian passport as soon as possible. You know, once I’ve become fluent in Bulgarian and maybe married a Bulgarian...
I love cheddar and cider and sausages as much as the next Brit. But you have to admit Europe is home to the best food and booze in the world. Greek olives and feta. French brie. French bread. French cakes. Belgian beer. Bulgarian tomatoes. Italian anything. German … dumplings? German … butter? Ham! German ham. Anyway, rioja, salami, camembert, gelato, you get the idea. I love it all.
|The small wedge is for you. The rest is for me.|
3. ‘Do. You. Speak. English?’
Ah, Europe, we’re sorry we never bother to speak your languages. Sure, we buy a Greek phrasebook and proudly carry it everywhere like a Blue Peter badge. But, when it comes down to it, the first words out of our mouths are usually, ‘Do you speak English?’ Or often just, ‘Two beers, please.’ And, because you rock, the answer is usually, ‘Yes, sure.’
At least we speak really slowly, though, like you’re all idiots. That’s nice of us, isn’t it? Yeah, you’re welcome.
4. Man bags
There’s a reason Joey couldn’t pull off the man bag: he was American. European chaps wear their man bags with pride, from the conspicuously big to the impractically small (our neighbour has one that’s just big enough for a mobile phone. He wears it while he’s gardening). Ladies, imagine a world where you never have to hear the other half ask, ‘Can I put this in your bag?’ That wonderful utopia exists. It’s called Europe.
|Stylish AND practical.|
Because sunshine and blue skies make everything better. Even Friday’s result was easier to bear under the Bulgarian sun (with a LARGE glass of wine, mind).
Nothing sums up the sheer barminess of Europe like Eurovision. Flares. Sequins. Fancy dress. Crap dance routines. Backslapping. Squabbling. Grindingly boring bureaucracy. Much as we love it, if we’re honest, us Brits have never really got it. The UK entry is like the embarrassing dad at a teenager’s house party. We don’t understand what we’re supposed to do, and everyone wishes we would just stay in the bathroom. Shall we do a serious song this year, guys? Oh, you don’t like that? Okay, how about we dress up as flight attendants or do a rap, that be cool? No? Hello?
|I mean, seriously, what the hell is going on here?|
70-odd years ago Europe’s biggest nations were at war. Even in my lifetime, a ruddy great wall divided Berlin. The fact that we even have a European Union demonstrates Europeans’ enormous capacity to forgive, move on and change.
Europe also forgave us all those times we got a bit carried away on holiday or at a European football match, unable to cope with all the cheap beer and vitamin D: vomiting on the pavements, getting naked in public, throwing chairs. (Why does some dick always throw a chair? What’s that about?) Thanks, sorry, thanks.