Brits have lots of bad opinions, but few are as bad as the 1 in 10 people who believe that bacon is not an essential ingredient to a Full English.
God has deserted us
There have been a lot of instances in recent years in which the public have made their feelings known on a variety of topics. Whether it’s been elections across the world, or even Brexit, people across the world are making their opinions known, for better or worse.
Nothing, though, could have prepared us for this. In 2017, YouGov conducted a poll asking the British public what they believe to be an essential ingredient in a Full English.
A study conducted by Londonoffices.com has revealed that using clichés and jargon like ‘results driven’ or ‘low hanging fruit’ will drive your co-workers into a frenzy of irritation.
A study conducted by Londonoffices.com also revealed that clichéd remarks like ‘results driven’ and ‘low hanging fruit’ drive workers into a frenzy of irritation.
However, one staff member who took part in the survey admitted they just can’t help dropping hackneyed phrases into conversation despite ‘loathing’ it themselves.
Often the amount of irritating jargon I use goes up during important presentations and meetings,’ they confessed.
‘As soon as my mouth opens I just can’t seem to hold back on clichéd phrases, and I always find myself thinking about how much of an idiot I must sound.’
In an era of social distancing, one British institution has proven resilient.
“Which country has the longest coastline?”
“Which television characters are associated with Wimbledon?”
“Sniffled Rotten is an anagram of which famous cartoon character?”
I didn’t know any of the answers. And judging by the many bemused faces in front of me, I wasn’t alone. Some chose to confer with their partners, making sure to turn their mouths away so that no one might read their lips, before scribbling down their response. Others, seemingly resigned to their fate, took a swig of beer and leaned back in their chair. Looking down at my own paper, I knew the chances of my team—just myself and my boyfriend—winning this pub quiz was going to be slim. But hey, there was always the next round.
The questions were challenging, perhaps not unlike those that would be asked of “punters” at any of the thousands of pub quizzes that are typically held on a given night across Britain. Only this wasn’t a typical quiz night, nor was it taking place in a pub. Rather, this quiz was happening via a Zoom call at the Corona Arms, a “virtual pub” that, until a few weeks ago, had no reason to exist.
The outbreak of the coronavirus changed that. The first cases emerged in Britain earlier this year, and any semblance of normal life has since come to a grinding halt. Social-distancing measures have been put into place, and nonessential areas of congregation, including restaurants, gyms, and cinemas, are now closed. In the nationwide effort to curb the spread of the virus, not even a treasured institution like the pub—perhaps one of the most recognizable symbols of ordinary British life—was spared [ . . . ]
