British Hospitality
An American tourist in London decides to skip the tour group and explore
the city on his own. He wanders around, seeing the sights, occasionally
stopping at a quaint pub to soak up the local culture, chat with the lads, and
have a pint of stout.
After a while, he finds himself in a very high class neighborhood, big
stately residences, no pubs, no stores, no restaurants, and worst of all,
NO PUBLIC RESTROOMS.
He really, really had to go, after all those stouts.
He finds a narrow side street, with high walls surrounding the adjacent
buildings, and decides to use the wall to solve his problem.
As he unzipping, he is tapped on the shoulder by a London Bobby, who says, "I say sir."
"I'm very sorry Officer," replies the American, "but I really, reallyHAVE TO GO, and I can't find a public restroom."
"Ah yes," says the Bobby, "just follow me sir."
He leads him to a back "delivery alley", then along a wall to a gate, which he opens.
"In there," points the Bobby. "Whiz away, sir, anywhere you want." The
fellow enters and finds himself in the most beautiful garden he has ever
seen, manicured grass lawns, statues, fountains, sculptured hedges, and
huge beds of gorgeous flowers, all in perfect bloom. Since he has the cop's
blessing, he unburdens himself and is greatly relieved.
As he goes back through the gate, he says to the Bobby, "that was really
decent of you. Is that what you call 'British Hospitality'?"
"No sir," replies the Bobby, "that is what we call the French Embassy."
