BRITISH HOSPITALITY

Ralph, age 72, is visiting London for the first time. He decides to skip the afternoon tour and explore the city on his own.

 

He wanders around, seeing the sights, and occasionally stopping at a quaint pub to soak up the local culture, chat with the lads, and have a pint of Guinness.

 

After a while, he finds himself in a very high-class neighbourhood. Big, stately residences ... no pubs, no stores, no restaurants, and worst of all ... no public restrooms.

 

He really, really has to go, after all those Guinness beers and all that trouble with his prostate.

 

Ralph finds a narrow side street with high walls surrounding the adjacent buildings and decides to use the wall to solve his problem.

 

As he is unzipping, he is tapped on the shoulder by a London bobby (policeman), who says, "I say, sir, you simply cannot do that here, you know."

 

"I'm very sorry, officer," replies Ralph, "but I really, really HAVE TO GO, and I just can't find a public restroom."

 

"Ah, yes," said the bobby, "Just follow me."

 

He leads him to a back delivery alley, then along a wall to a gate, which he opens. "In there," points the bobbie. "Whiz away, anywhere you want."

 

Ralph enters and finds himself in the most beautiful garden he has ever seen. There are manicured lawns, statuary, fountains, sculptured hedges, and huge beds of gorgeous flowers, all in perfect bloom.

 

Since he has the cop's blessing, he unburdens himself and is greatly relieved.

 

As he goes back through the gate, he says to the bobby, "That was really decent of you. Is that what you call 'British hospitality'?"

 

"No sir," replied the bobbie, "that is what we call the French Embassy."