I few weeks ago I signed up to be *matched* with an alumnus from Warwick. A couple days after arriving, my contact, Andrew, emailed me to introduce himself, offer some advice, and asked if I had any questions. A week later I replied with some questions and he offered to meet up with him & his wife for eats & drinks. Last night we met up at the Burnt Post. Ordered fish & chips, of course, and had Andrew pick me out an ale (StrongHeart pale ale).
Faux pas numéro un:
What I DIDN'T KNOW, was that many restaurants here have you find your own table, order at the bar, and pay at that moment. And yes, the Burnt Post is just such an establishment. Being a good host, Andrew took our orders, left his wife and I to talk while he went and ordered. Meaning, he paid for everything, including my ale.
Faux pas numéro deux:
FAUX PAS NOMBRE TRIOS, CRÈME DE LA CRÈME:
I'm just going to cut to the chase on this one. Andrew's wife compiled a string of phrases I said throughout the night that created laugh out loud, spitting hilarity at the table.
I said (at various times):
What I DIDN'T KNOW, was that many restaurants here have you find your own table, order at the bar, and pay at that moment. And yes, the Burnt Post is just such an establishment. Being a good host, Andrew took our orders, left his wife and I to talk while he went and ordered. Meaning, he paid for everything, including my ale.
Faux pas numéro deux:
After dinner & conversation, Andrew suggested another round of drinks. His wife was up for it, so I said I'd go get a different beer. Andrew offered to make the selection, I agreed (always up for a surprise) and off he went.
At about halfway through our drinks, I asked when our checks would arrive. That's when Andrew smiled and said he was waiting for me to ask, then let me know how the ordering process worked. In short, he paid for everything while I sat there ordering ales like I owned the place. There was nothing I could do, but apologize for it all. He laughed and said no worries, he wouldn't have let me pay anyway.
The din was getting a bit much at the Burning Post, so we headed off for another pub. I wish I could remember where we ended up because it's just around the corner and one entire side of the street is a string of pubs. Nice places, small, cute, lots of local microbreweries.
I'm just going to cut to the chase on this one. Andrew's wife compiled a string of phrases I said throughout the night that created laugh out loud, spitting hilarity at the table.
I said (at various times):
"I'm going to the restroom."
"My pants are dirty."
"I need to check my fanny pack."
All together, the English (UK) translation is:
"I need to lie down somewhere,
my underwear is dirty,
and I need to check my vagina bag."
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