View Full Version : Miserablus Britannicus Gitus

Tricky Woo
18th Nov 2006, 15:50
I vote for Yorkshire people; all of 'em, including them wot live in the bits that aren't called Yorkshire anymore 'cos of Tory election boundary adjustments.

Your vote?


tony draper
18th Nov 2006, 15:57
Hmmm, alus found Yorkshire Folk ok for Southeners, just across the border into Licolnshire now,real weird.

18th Nov 2006, 16:01
Miserablus Britannicus Gitus
My nominations are for those who are, over the top excessive firework lighters and others; who start bonfires on days with clear skies.

18th Nov 2006, 16:14
I say Mr Drapes, us yellow bellies resent that remark.
Pah, didnt hear anyone complaining when they built all those bomber bases on us during the war...Hrmph....mutter mutter...

18th Nov 2006, 16:22
Nobody as normal as a yellow belly, Mr. D.

North of the Humber, west of Gainsborough and south of the Wash that's where all of the strange folk live...

Tricky Woo
18th Nov 2006, 17:23
Forgot about them fenlanders. Bloody weird, the lot of 'em.

And it's true, yer pure blooded fenlanders got web feet. Some of 'em have webbed fingers too. Duck-billed flattypus, they's called. A wonderful example of natural selection; must have been a life or death differentiator when they were swimming about tending their watercress beds and building their dams.

And miserable as hell. Something to do with the big skies there, nothing to break up the emptiness.


18th Nov 2006, 17:42
Not trying to rekindle old enmities with that first post, are we Trixie?


18th Nov 2006, 17:57
Me mam wuz one of them - but I never sor er feet.

I wuz borned there - but Im no good at crickit. But I can put new corks in the clutch plates of a BSA M25.

Give me a bit of piano wire (and two trees) and I can do a lot to stop an hinvasion.

Wot about the battle of the river plate we win it 3 times a week and ave dun since 1947?

Hits good tank cuntry an me an .& my mate dug hup all the edges for a cleer feeld of fire.

If'n I didn't hexist youd ave to invent me - not so you hold been - there is a contract out on you as we speak. So no more pudding or tea and look out for wires and trees.

I am - a warkie - a celtic Yorkie - to you and I can kill with a look: my eye is registered and has to be kept in a locked cabinet

tony draper
18th Nov 2006, 18:15
Should you ever leave Lincoln heading north up an ancient arrow straight road known as the A15,be warned midway along said road it is crossed by another even more ancient trackway called the A631, at the point where these byways cross stands a Transport Cafe,leastwise thats what it calls itself, do not stop,no matter if you are gagging for a cuppa and a sausage roll ,do not stop,put your foot down and be off this road before the sun sets.

18th Nov 2006, 18:43
Did you learn to play at the cafe Mr D?

tony draper
18th Nov 2006, 19:02
No Captain Tin, that Cafe only partialy exists in this spacetime continuum, sometimes it is there other times it is not,and the creatures that sit at the tables,Dear god !! the creatures, Steven King could get three books outa that eatery.

Tricky Woo
18th Nov 2006, 20:35
Brummies! Just remembered them Brummies. Soddin' miserable, the lot of 'em. But there's one of 'em that can out misery the rest of 'em: Nigel Mansell.

Ye Gods, what a miserable git. How can any man with three eyebrows be sooooooooooooooooo soddin' miserable?


19th Nov 2006, 17:02
Barrow in Furness and Dalton, Cumbria. Very inbred.
The end of the longest cul-de-sac in Britain.

Krystal n chips
19th Nov 2006, 17:10
Barrow in Furness and Dalton, Cumbria. Very inbred.
The end of the longest cul-de-sac in Britain.

You forgot the end of the road----Walney Island :E ----otherwise, spot on !.

I think it's a holiday destination for their Deliverance cousins----from Cambs. actually--there's certainly a close resemblance shall we say.

19th Nov 2006, 17:23
NOT the end of the World - it just seems like it.
(Used to be a regular visitor at the Leyland Bus (later Volvo Bus) factory there - close to the steel works producing rails for 'British Rail'.
Godforsaken area it was (and probably more so now that Industry there has closed).
When staying over in the area, the highlight was a trip down to Seascale to see Windscale, Calder Hall and Sellafield (Nuclear Plant) - apart from a drive back over the Hardknott Pass (weather permitting).

19th Nov 2006, 17:38
Obviously none of you guys have ever been to Cornwall. These are without doubt the most miserable sods on the planet, with the exception of Barcelona taxi drivers.


Tricky Woo
19th Nov 2006, 18:58
Ahh, the bloody cornish.

I was there a few years ago:

Woo: "Hello."

Cornish: "Top o' the morning to yer".

Woo: "Could I have a cornish pasty, please?"

Cornish: "Erm... we don't sell 'em anymore? D'you want a pint of guiness, begorrah?"

Woo: "Guiness?"

Cornish: "Traditional cornish guiness?"

Woo: "Traditional?"

Cornish: "Aye!"

Woo: "Guiness?"

Cornish: "Didn't yer know? We're the original irish, begorrah!"

Woo: "Erm..."

Cornish: "Them welsh twats, and them irish twats reckon they're the original irish, but we're th real thing:

Woo: "Wait! Hang on! What's so irish about..."

Cornish: "Fldyll tollwyn dyffyd thwyk, thwak".

Woo: "Erm?"

Cornish: "That's original irish for 'We're the real thing, baby'."

Woo: "Sounded welsh".

(stunned silence)

Cornish: "Now listen. You English fcukers can take away our culture, eradicate our language, rape or lands, and fill our land with caravans. But don't ever, ever accuse us of being... miserable welsh gits."

Which all goes to show: misery is all relative.


Noah Zark.
19th Nov 2006, 22:48
Bloody 'ell, Trickly. You sound as if you can out-Miserablus the rest of us with consumate ease. Run out of tablets or something?

20th Nov 2006, 04:59
Miserablus Britannicus Gitus?

Gotta be expats. Miserable where they are, but they´ve spent so much time knocking home they can´t go back because of pride.... :E

Tricky Woo
20th Nov 2006, 05:15
I think you might find ex-expats are the very worst, Mr ORAC.

Only the most broken and whipped curs slink back to the UK, to retire in some flowery cottage with nothing but a few trinkets to remind them of better days.


20th Nov 2006, 06:21
Which reminds me, looks like I might be finishing in Madrid at Xmas......and going back to Paris....Wonder if I can get my old apartment back....

Nice to see the Frog pubs/microibreweries are still there though, so I´ll be able to get a decent pint again... :ok:

21st Nov 2006, 02:40
Gotta be expats. Miserable where they are, but they´ve spent so much time knocking home they can´t go back because of pride....
I'm a happy expat,
I love what I do
I never feel a tiny bit
sorry for any of you,

We get loadsa money,
We see lots of sun
Every day, in many ways,
We have lots of fun

One day we'll have to end it
Go back to skies of grey
But we will still be happy
with our grandchildren to play

Sorry for the rotten
verses wot I rote,
But rhyme is not my forte -
I'm an engineer not a pote.

Admit it Tricky, expat life is fun. Even running the rapids through the steaming tropical rainforests of Switzerland or lying under the palm trees on the golden beaches of Geneva. ;)

Tricky Woo
21st Nov 2006, 07:51
And being fed peeled grapes by a dusky maiden as my feet dangle in a Swiss lagoon.


tony draper
21st Nov 2006, 08:27
Tiz the poor quality of expats that lost us the Empire,one cannot see these hedonists running a Rubber Plantation or being a district commisioner running these enterprises with just a case of gin and a Webley and Scott 455.

Tricky Woo
21st Nov 2006, 09:22
Not true, Herr D, but an interesting digression nevertheless.

There were three distinct British Empires: the tax collection Empire (i.e. India) the plantation Empire, i.e. rubber and tea in Burma, etc, and then lastly the colonisation Empire, i.e. Canada and Australia.

The Empire in India was easily the cheapest tax collection empire in history. The density of commissioner to local populace was something ridiculous like 1:10,000, and the teeny weeny garrisons of soldiers necessary to keep the peace would have left an ancient greek or roman aghast. And these commissioners were the blokes armed with webley and gin... and a tax accounting book. And the secret? Itsy bitsy taxes spread over vast populations and areas generate massive tax revenues. If the taxes are diddy enough, then the locals are more likely to cough up than revolt. And it worked; tax revenues (net of a few local charges fro commissioners and garrison) were stupendous, and destined for blighty's government coffers.

The plantation Empire was a parallel and sometimes overlapping empire, but very different in character. Primarily these bods left the UK to start a plantation using cheap and plentiful local labour, make a handsome killing, then wrap up and back to blighty with the loot. Again, webleys and gin were the essentials. But generally it worked; loot was made and poured back into the UK paying for numerous retirement cottages in the home counties. Again, it worked; wealth came back to the UK in the pockets of returning fortunates, swelling the british economy in turn.

Lastly, the colonisation Empire. Aha, here's where things get tricky. The problem with colonists is that they don't intend to come home with the loot. The loot stays right where it is: in the colony. Furthermore, yer expectations as a home country is that yer colonists are decent, wellbred gentlemen, and therefore more than capable of coughing up similar taxes to yer home resident gentlemen. Furthermore, running and guarding a true colony is way more expensive than keeping the peace over a few plantations, or millions of peaceful Indians. Why would that be? Because history shows that yer colonists always kick off as their links to the home country are thinned by the passage of time. Yer garrison is there to protect the colony from the colonials, not unfriendly neighbours or the poverty stricken natives.

Ergo, what lost us the Empire? Other than two world wars, that drained the home government of cash and credibility.

Well, the Indians rediscovered a sense of national identity, and used the weakness of Britain after WW2 as an ideal time to chuck the Brits out. It was all done in rather a nice way, but the threat was clear; clear off, or a few hundred million indians will make a mockery of your sad little garrison, especially when one considers there weren't any more soldiers available with a stomach for further war at the time. And if anyone considers such a threat to be moot, consider just how ferocious those peace-loving indians were to each other while carving up their sub-continent in 1947. Bye bye to the tax Empire.

And the japanese occupations of the plantation areas of the Empire lost us rather a lot of prestige, plus the well bred gentlemen now knew that the risk of dying a untimely death at the hands of johnny foreigner wasn't just a kipling romance, but historical fact. Tens of thousands of such gentlemen had died building railways for johnny foreigner across jungles, while being guarded by johnny foreigners wielding effective modern weapons manufactured by johnny foreigner. So the cost of garrisoning would have exploded, and no cash was available for that. Ergo, if yer want to carry on farming, yer got to take a big risk. Sod that, said the next batch of potential plantation owners, I'm staying home. No plantations, no point in sticking around. Exit stage left the plantation Empire.

And the colonial Empire? Them colonists did what any colony has done in history; they developed their own local identity, became self-sustaining locally, got big enough for their own boots, and (nicely) negotiated an exit from the Empire. And the Brit government was only too happy, as they cost a bloody fortune. And that cost could no longer be offset by the income from India.

So, the tax revenues from India was the cash cow that sustained the lot of it. A jewel indeed. So we're clear: bloody Gandhi's got a lot to answer for.


21st Nov 2006, 10:48
Ah so its all the Indians fault.

Where was the cavalry when we needed em eh??

I blame Custer for showing em we could be beat........oops, sorry, wrong Indians.

21st Nov 2006, 13:34
Furthermore, yer expectations as a home country is that yer colonists are decent, wellbred gentlemen, .

How does one confess this where it will give Dr draper ammunition to be scathing? Oh well then: I am, or rather was, a member of The W******** Club from, indeed, the Old School.

Said club operates under palm and pine. When I came to Canada in 1960 I attended the Founder's Day dinner of the Club in ********, the youngest by far, one with but not of the group of Old Blokes there who ran banks, great corporations, universities, and the like.

The conversation at my table turned to Mac********, an Old Boy who had Come Out, as they put it, in the twenties or maybe thirties.

To their near-disbelief but soon chagrin, Mac******* had proved to be a ........ cad! There it was, in its stark horror: the man was a cad. No other word for it. A cad. I cannot remember the form of his caddishness, but it was beyond question.... beyond question by them, anyway, and they were enough. They were the Ones Who Counted.

You might think that Mac*********, being unconvicted by any court other than them, independent of them, and of man's estate, might regard this judgment with amusement or at worst minor annoyance. Hoity, as it were, toity!

Not so. There was only one thing to be done for the good name of the Old School, and they did it.

Of their own resources they bought a one-way ticket in name of Mac******* from ******** to Southampton in one of Mr Cunard's steam packets and told Mac******* he would be on board that vessel in good time for its sailing scheduled for ...................... He was from that moment forever unemployable in Canada, they told him, and they had the power and connexions to make that stick; which in fact they did and would. He was never to return. A delegation would attend at his rooms on the appointed date and deliver him to the passenger terminal at the docks; best be packed and ready to go. So it befell.

It was a story straight from those Victorian books for boys that one read as a child. It was entirely matter-of-fact; they meant it; and they did it. And he accepted it. I suppose some things have changed.

tony draper
21st Nov 2006, 15:18
Yer there's just not the opportunity now for Cads Bounders or those caught cheating at cards and no longer welcome in polite society to head off for the Cape to make a new life and redeem themselves.
One supects that the words,
"Pater one has something to tell you,one has signed on a Clipper bound for Pernambucko and one intends to seek one's fortune in the Americas"
are seldom heard at the breakfast table now.
Saying that one hears that Switzerland still welcomes Bounders and Cads as they simply do not have enough home grown one's to fill all the vacancies.