Brits Abroad

Bathing in sweat, sore and itchy

“Under the brolly, love, it’s too hot for me”

Pussy swollen lumps made worse by continuous scratching

Memories of cattle market confinement in the air – reawakened

As new, moon-tanned arrivals

Take their first excited plunge

Or down their first alcoholic holiday beverage

(The five at the airport don’t count)

Performances of mastery of intercontinental language and conversation prevail

“Dos-ser-vess-ass-poor-fa-voor-mer-see”

“Where can I get a fry-up?”

“None of that foreign rubbish, mind”

Suitcases open to reveal every strip

For the last five seasons

And an attitude that won’t get them further

Than three hundred metres from the hotel

My god, there could be natives afoot

As once again the great two week migration begins

British diplomats in all shapes and sizes

Of different backgrounds and ethnicities

Converge in unity once again to stamp on Europe

The elegance and intelligence

Of modern British culture