Not getting into a foight
I went to Oz about 10 years ago to be my mate's best man.

We were in Wagga Wagga. For those who know, yes, and it was. For those who don't, it's Swindon with an antipodean accent.

We - a group of Aussie and Brit lads - spent much of the time drinking, and on Friday evening found ourselves in some nowhere bar, standing room only.

By now pretty tired from a week's drinking, and the afternoon's chores, we were a relatively quiet bunch, and happy to watch the bar revolve around us.

Standing there, I said to the my mate next to me, "I'm bored. D'you fancy a fight?"

He ignored it for the meaningless irrelevance it was.

Not so Jake The Miniture Muss, who happened to be walking past us at that very moment, and who caught my eye just as I got to the words "D'you fancy a fight?"

He stopped dead. As did my heart. He was a few inches shorter than me, but broader in the shoulders than I was tall, barrel chested, with a handsome scar right across his well-tanned, bristly cheek.

Without breaking stride he was RIGHT in my face, smiling sardonically.

"A foight?!" he spat.

"Erm?!" I squeaked.

"Oi don't FACKIN' think so, ya Pommy BASTARD!"

And walked off. To the great amusement of my fellows.

Still; I had the last laugh, though - I don't fucking live there.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 15 Mar 2013, 13:19, Reply)