To be a jolly foreigner is to be an adventurer, to taste a foreign culture and say I really like some thing called "wurst" or something called "frutti". To learn that things new and know things better.
And yet when the taste buds splutter a little, when a vaguely remembered brand name from Blighty crosses a supermarket shelf, expense is not spared as it fails to make the other side of a shelf.
Jolly Foreigner is not only phoning home, but eating at home Brit style.
The rot has set in....
Online searches are made for English shops, Brit shops, American cousin shops....
There is a desperation that overrides mere trivialities of cross-cultural integration, a need to sup at the tablecloth made of red, white and blue.
Museums, statues, parks, exhibitions, sites of local interest are forsaken to visit a British shop that sells Brit things and to buy Brit things.
A thirst is slated. A hunger is fed.
Its time to go back to the wurst.
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