Nevertheless, they decided to holiday in Devon, taking in the delights of Clovelly, then across Dartmoor to the South Hams. They got lost, but stopped and asked two old codgers for directions.
“Excusez-moi. Parlez-vous français?”
They looked blank. “What?”
“Sprichst du Deutsch?”
“Huh?”
“Italiano?”
“Ay?”
“¡Por Dios! ¿Habla español?”
“What?
“Português?”
“Huh?”
In disgust, Herr Hoffman drove off. “Crétin anglais!”
Bill turned to Bert. “Reckon we should learn another language?”
“Naw. Matey there spoke five, but didn’t do ’ee no good.”