All of our Forriners are manual workers

We took them on in the fabrications dept cos no English kids we took on would stay more than a couple of weeks: it's hard work, and dirty. These fellers are happy as pigs in the proverbial. Bugger me, they can drink, too.

The Poles meet up in the canteen, and while we're all blankly chewing on our ham sarnies, they're cooking things up which honk of garlic and shouting at each other as they slice sossies into the pan. That's the Poles, mind: they're all one big friendly group, while the Czechs sit one to a table and ignore each other.

One of the Poles, Stanislaw, is a fabulous bloke. he'll come up to the fag shelter and plonk himself down next to me, spark up, take a long pull on his burn, and, gazing into the distance, will say "Tirry Bootkher" to which I'll reply "Gzzhhzzhh Lato". He'll think for a minute and say "Bobbya Moore". I'll say "Wossname Lubanski" and he'll correct my pronunciation: "LubAINski" And then he'll think for a bit and say "Peetr Shilton".

We've been going on like this for months. It's more fun that you'd guess.

Posted By: Sugbad The Bad on July 1st 2007 at 19:39:10


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