Yes, I do say, that’s British music at its finest, that is. It’s full of quality craftsmanship, not like that Yankee rubbish. You know what they say, the colonies are a byword for shoddy craftsmanship, just like the Germans!

I remember when we used to go out and give the Huns a sound thrashing. Our boys would fly out, pop some Jerries until they’d bugger off, and then land in time for tea. Yes, those were the good ole days. Those sauerkraut-sucking pooftas never stood a chance. They were too busy arranging their leather shorts and dreaming about lederhosen to fight in a proper war. It’s unsurprising really. How are you supposed to fight a war when the Italians are your greatest ally. You know that you don’t have a proper country when your entire workforce clocks out at noon every day and takes a 16-hour lunch break.

Anyways, jolly good show, old boy! Cheerio, pip-pip, and all that rot! Bob’s your uncle, et cetera, et cetera.