This probably doesn't count. And might be a repost. And is shit anyway. Basically; Sorry.
This is more overhearing and less secret, so feel free to skip the story or wait outside the website to beat me up when I leave tonight.

The wife once introduced me to an event which had been a big part of her childhood; The Wisbech Sunday Market. This was a colossal car-boot sale held in deepest, darkest Fenland. Now, for the uninitiated, this part of the country is subject to a lot of lazy stereotypes about incest, suspicion of outsiders, chasing trains away with pitchforks etc, none of which I experienced in my time there. Much like any other town though, it does have its fair share of thick twats and people who stopped reading the Daily Mail because it had gone a bit too Lefty.

Anyhow, I was taken to this Sunday Market as the wife felt I should experience it at least once in my life. As we entered, I overheard something which set the tone for the day; A man in his 60s, moaning exasperatedly to his companion in a strong Get-Orf-Moy-Laarnd accent "What are we supposed to call them now, then?! Golly-people?"
(costas, Fri 26 Aug 2011, 14:15, 1 reply)

Good story - I think it's funny and you get a click from me.
Edit out the apologetic first two sentences and I reckon other people will think so too.
( sanityclause is waiting until, Tue 30 Aug 2011, 15:02, closed)