An Open Letter to the Fat, Balding, Drunken British Yob in Brugges

Dear Mr Fat, Balding, Drunken British Yob we met in Brugges,

Yes you.  Thank you for reinforcing my belief that British tourists when abroad are complete and utter twats.

We met you at the restaurant on the square in Brugges on Saturday night.  You and your simpleton family were on about their 4th or 5th bottle of wine when we arrived.  You particularly were being loud mouthed and noisy, but hey - we made our way to our table and ignored you.  Well, we managed to until I needed to go to the toilet.  I got up to go and you first of all insulted me by calling me a boy, and second of all insinuated that I was a paedophile as you expressed your concern about what I might exactly do with your roly poly lump of a son, who it seemed also needed to go.  The apple doesn't fall far from the tree on that one, now does it?

Then when I returned to my table you loudly wondered again what I had done with the git.  To the consternation of the whole restaurant, looking down into their meals out of embarrassment for yet another 'Brit Abroad'.

And then, when it was time for us to go, you again made some loud, obnoxious comment about me and your butt-ugly offspring, which this time received uproarious laughter from your inebriated simpleton family.

But the final straw was the Inspector Gadget reference you made when I put on my coat.  Now that was real wit, wasn't it?

So I would just like to say to you, congratulations, you spoiled my weekend in Brugges, and reinforced for me two things - first of all, that Brits abroad can be total yobs, and second of all - that every day I wake up and thank God that I'M NOT BRITISH!!!!