01x02 - Out and About

Episode transcripts for the TV show "Very British Problems". Aired August 2015 - current.*
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"Very British Problems" is a humorous look at the British and their habits.
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01x02 - Out and About

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Britain, the home of the British.

Its 60 million citizens busy themselves doing things like having a snack or a cup of tea, getting home from work and staring into their mobile phones until it's time for bed.

The British are united by a rich culture and a proud history, but we're also united by much more powerful and problematic forces.

Our Very British Problems.

♪ Mis-shapes, mistakes, misfits ♪
♪ Raised on a diet of broken biscuits ♪
♪ Oh, we don't look the same as you ♪
♪ And we don't do the things you do ♪
♪ But we live round here too... ♪

If you've ever tutted in a queue, worn an anorak on your summer holiday -- just in case -- or apologised to an inanimate object, then you are suffering from Very British Problems, and you are NOT alone.

I don't know why I do it, but I do it all the time.

♪ Just for standing out Now, really... ♪

VBPs are deeply ingrained in the national psyche.

Ugh!

From our adherence to strict unwritten rules of behaviour...

Grr!

.. to our awkward social interactions...

"Oh, sorry!" "Sorry!"

.. we have a horror of offending, and an infinite capacity for embarrassment.

I'd eat a plate of cold sick, I think, before complaining to a waiter.

But why are we like this?

Why do we insist on making things so difficult for ourselves?

And do we secretly enjoy it?

I'm an island race -- leave me alone!

In this series, we'll investigate the hidden codes and prompts we all somehow inherently recognise and understand.

Tutting is one of the most British things.

We'll look for the logic behind the British behaviour that the rest of the world finds baffling.

I've never met a people who were better at not getting to the point than Brits.

And, if you're suffering in silence, we'll help you be proud of your condition.

Ah, it's tough being British.

They might be problems, but they're OUR problems.

Last time, we dealt with some basic VBPs which occur when close to home.

This week, we're going further afield.

From the moment a Brit leaves the house, we are immediately beset by awkward situations and tricky dilemmas that could easily be avoided by staying at home.

In this episode, we'll consider the Very British Problems we all face when dealing with the outside world.

For the British, being in public comes with an obligation to be polite.

In an international survey, politeness was reported as the Brits' most attractive quality.

But, for the British, being polite is complicated.

Simply holding a door open is fraught with difficulties.

The door one is a tricky one, holding a door open.

Is it too passive-aggressive to stand there for 40 seconds while they amble up?

It behoves the person coming behind to break into a little jog.

If they see you holding the door open and they continue at the same speed -- rude.

I peg it towards them. Run.

And I'm furious -- I didn't want the door held.

But, you know, what can you say? "I don't want it, mate!

"Close it! I'll get my own door!"

Holding a door puts pressure on both the holder and the holdee.

A complicated balance that Brits find incredibly stressful, to the point where it might be easier to get rid of them and just have holes in walls.

Holding the door in a lift is even more complex.

You've got to consider the feelings of both the people already in the lift and the people who want to get in.

A catch-22 for British politeness.

I mean, it can get annoying.

You see someone coming and you stop a lift, and they come.

Then someone else has come, "Oh, stop the lift again."

A third person, you just think, "Oh, sod 'em."

I mean, frankly... you'd be there all day.

We have almost half the number of lifts in Britain than they do in Spain or Italy, ostensibly because fewer of us live in apartments.

But perhaps because the rules are just too complicated for us.

If they're old or very young, then I'm like, "Oh, you know, it's...

"I'll keep holding it."

But if it's someone... "Wait for the next one -- you can see we're full," or, "We've been in here a while."

But also I'm not very good with the buttons so sometimes I just look like a bit of an arsehole, cos I'm like, "Er... Errr...!"

And they're like, "Hold the door!"

"Er...!" I can never find the button!

But regardless of whether it's a lift or a normal door we're holding, we do, of course, expect people to reward our politeness with a polite "Thank you".

I've held so many doors open in my life now that if I hold a door open and someone doesn't say, "Thank you,"

I now will say, "No, thank YOU," very loudly and aggressively.

I really hope no-one ever turns round and makes anything of it.

Our obsession with polite behaviour like holding doors isn't selfless, though.

A big part of it is because we're afraid that other people might think we're rude, and a very British solution to this is to apologise... pre-emptively... at every opportunity.

I've certainly apologised for things when I didn't need to apologise, when it was another person's fault or something.

You know, something will happen, like when someone else knocks over your... "Oh, I'm sorry!"

Why am I sorry? You just knocked over my drink.

Or someone spills something on you. "Oh, sorry!"

Why? You just spilled it on me.

You do that weird thing where your reflex, your knee jerk, your instinctive response is to apologise and I think that's really British. It's like I just...

"I am sorry for even existing."

"Sorry, have you got the time?"

"Sorry, I was wondering if you knew the way to..."

"Sorry, where's the ticket office?"

Often "sorry" is just thrown in, it's almost barely audible.

You could have one of those little counters going on in the day of how many times I say "sorry"...

.. for things that are completely not my fault.

I reckon you could walk down Oxford Street and just shove a lot of people in the back, and they would all say sorry to you.

I might do that.

A study found that the average Brit says sorry at least eight times a day.

With a population of 64 million, that's 510 million "sorry"s.

Sorry, 512 million. Sorry.

This makes us look like a very accommodating lot, but this one little word is loaded with complicated, hidden meanings for the Brits.

When someone has wronged you in some way and then they say, "I'm sorry you feel that way," that's definitely not an apology.

That's what you say to someone when they're ill!

But if you've got something to apologise for, you cannot say the phrase...

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

That makes it worse.

For the British, an apology can cause more problems than it's trying to solve.

So when you apologise, people go, "Oh, sorry about that, mate," and then we can't deal with the apology.

We think, "Oh, this is getting a bit uncomfortable.

"They've apologised -- how do I respond?"

"Yeah, don't worry about it, mate."

Well, what do you mean "don't worry about it"?

What was the point of apologising in the first place if you don't want me to worry about it?

Now I'm worrying about the fact that I was worrying about the apology and now you've made me worry about the apology cos I'm not sure if this is a real apology or not.

If somebody apologises to me, it's kind of like outdoing each other, it's like Top Trumps of apologies, isn't it?

"No, I'm sorry." "No, I'M sorry."

"But I'm sorrier!"

"I'm sorrier than you!"

Straight-talking foreigners are quick to translate what we mean.

"Sorry."

The amount of times I've had someone come down the pavement, there becomes that little thing and so you go that way, you go that way, back and forth, and then you'll hear, "Sorry."

That didn't sound like "sorry" at all. That sounded like...

"f*ck you, get out of my way!"

But they will say, "Sorry."

British people do this sort of thing where they apologise but I never really feel like they're sorry.

It's kind of like "Sorry. I'm so sorry to tell you this, but actually you haven't been paying off your mortgage repayments. Sorry about this, but we're actually going to have to repossess your house. Sorry about that. Sorry. Really do apologise. Sorry. Yeah, could you get the kids out, please? They're crying, it's really annoying. Sorry. Thanks. We're gonna take that TV as well. Sorry."

"Sorry." I'm not sorry. I couldn't be less sorry, I hate you.

I hate you and everything you stand for.

I'm never sorry about anything.

I have no reason to be.

Why would I be sorry?

So, behind the veneer of British politeness, like our constant apologising, there's a lurking, simmering aggression that we're struggling to contain.

Nowhere is this more visible than when we're confined inside a car.

Voiceover: 'A good fellow, a loving husband and a nice chap.

'But just watch how your whole personality changes when you get behind the wheel of a car. You're not unique, by any means. Why is it that the nicest and politest of people in ordinary life so often become such selfish, stupid drivers? Cos see how he behaves when the lights change.'

Britain has the highest incidence of road rage in Europe. Why?

Because the car is a secure metal box that's lockable from the inside, which means the British feel safe enough inside it to let themselves vent their repressed anger.

'Look at this, and just lip-read the language.'

' "Rargh! Rarrrrgh! Gerroutofit!" '

But however bullish we might feel, the prospect of an actual confrontation remains a horrifying prospect for the British.

I remember once I was driving into work and I didn't let someone out in front of me when I should have done. You know when you're driving...

I don't think I had the excuse of being in a hurry, I was just thinking, "Oh, nah." You know, couldn't be bothered.

And then, in that horrible way, he pulled up alongside me.

And I could sense him staring at me, I could sense him staring at me, so I busied myself trying to find something on the floor of my car that wasn't even there.

I was like, "Well, I can't look at you, cos clearly I'm looking for something," and I'm down here, looking. And I could sense him still staring.

I finally looked up, and it was someone I knew, who said, "You didn't let me in." It was awful!

The most British way to avoid confrontation behind the wheel is by using special visual codes.

The "thank you" wave, I felt like I got... in as part of my driving lessons, as well as changing gear.

You know what I mean? Mirror, signal, manoeuvre, "thank you" wave.

I now go to absurd lengths, I now even...

I think the only time I use the hazard lights in my car is to let people know, "Thank you."

I've come to the conclusion that's why we have hazard lights in cars.

I've never had a situation where I had to put hazard lights on properly but when I'm driving -- "Thank you!"

Give them the wave, give them the hazards, make sure they've seen... Yeah, that's great.

It's almost like that's more important to me than mirror, signal, manoeuvre.

It's like manoeuvre, wave, hazards, "thanks a lot".

And, as usual, we expect our politeness to be reciprocated.

The non-thank.

You're in your car, let somebody out of a junction, and they just drive out?!

Without acknowledging you?!

I want a hand raise for four seconds.

Give me a little wave, say, "Hi," let me know I'm a good person.

Vindicate me.

So with our door holding, apologising and "thank you" waving, the British are truly the most polite nation on Earth.

Or at least that's what we want people to think.

Time for a quick break now.

After you.

No, no, really -- I insist.

Before the break, we learned about some of the rules of politeness the British impose on themselves when out and about.

In Britain, if you left the house in hope of obtaining any kind of goods or services, you'll soon find yourself in a queue.

The queue was invented by the British because it emphasises their sense of fair play.

Everyone does it for buses, shops, cinemas and everything else.

The writer George Mikes said that a British man, "even if he is alone, forms an orderly queue of one".

The queue shows off the very best British qualities -- our desire for order, our sense of protocol and our selfless patience -- which is why, when the queue is not respected, the problems start.

Like, I've had people jump queues in front of me and then the person who's serving them serves them, knowing that they've seen me standing there...

That gets me mad!

If someone's trying to jump in the queue, normally, the first thing that happens, the people that are in the queue, queuing properly, have a bit of eye contact, sort of go, "Are we aware this is happening?"

They always look for support from someone else, you know, the kind of...

You just give the look of like...

.. or you just start huffing like... [HE HUFFS]

When our tried and trusted code system of sounds and gestures doesn't work, the only alternative is actually confronting the queue jumper, and confrontation is not a British strong point.

I was doing a play in New York, and we were in a very touristy shop trying to buy a very touristy little, sort of, trinket thing for, I think, one of our nieces or nephews, and it was a very long queue, and someone butted in and I couldn't...

My wife was like, "What happened to you?"

You suddenly went from how we were having a lovely holiday and you just became Michael Douglas in Falling Down.

Here is a lesson in queue etiquette.

Queue etiquette!

Yes, I was next, you saw I was next. I've been standing here for the past 16 minutes and blah, blah, blah, he was standing behind me, that one came first, blah, blah, blah, then you served that person.

I mean, am I invisible?

Am I that short?

Am I that short that you didn't see me?

But then, it's a waste of time.

You saw me, but you chose -- you chose -- not to serve me.

♪ I predict a riot I predict... ♪

Queues are the backbone of British society.

In a worst-case scenario, when the system breaks down and there is no queue... well, it hardly bears thinking about! It's like Lord Of The Flies.

We had Black Friday last year, there was no queue.

People came through that place like a stampede.

People got k*lled over a plasma TV.

See, queues could save our country.

But the issues don't end with the queue.

Once you've got to the front of it, there's a whole new set of British problems to deal with.

If you're at the checkout in a supermarket, that can be quite a lengthy process, we're talking about a few minutes here, so you probably do need to get into conversation.

What I don't really like is when they start asking you questions about yourself.

"So, what are you up to today?"

I, literally, have sometimes gone, "Sorry?"

I want to go, "It's none of your business.

"It's none of your business," which is awful, isn't it, because they're only being friendly.

When all eyes are on you, performance anxiety can kick in.

There's just this pressure of, like, packing properly and packing quickly, and I can't do any of those things, you know, and so, you know, I just can't handle the pressure.

You can see people looking at you, judging you.

"Why's he putting the fruit with the frozen?" And stuff like that, because, you know, you start panicking, because you see everybody looking at you. Like, six other people before you have done it on their own and they've probably got double the amount of shopping.

And, of course, the payment process can be complicated.

There's that thing where you've got to put your code in, when you put your debit card in, and people don't really bother, but they were told at one point to not look, so an elaborate kind of, "I'm just gonna go over here and do something for a moment.

"Have you done that? Yes, thank you. I can return now to my duties."

Of course, for Brits, the awkwardness of the supermarket isn't limited to the checkout.

The whole experience is fraught with hazards.

You know, when they want to drag you into a demo in the supermarket, the customer questionnaires.

They were asking me about me income!

I was too awkward to stop it at a certain point and I ended up giving them more information about me than me wife knows.

In supermarket and shopping centre car parks, all the rules go out the window, so people forget how to drive, they don't know how to reverse, people forget how to walk.

The amount of times I've been clearly reversing out of a supermarket bay and someone just walks behind you, it's just, like, you would not do that on a main road.

Very unlikely you'd be reversing on a main road.

Well, you know what I'm getting at.

But I get so annoyed at people, people forget.

It's not surprising that supermarkets are a problem for Brits.

They're confined spaces where we're competing with strangers to get our business done as quickly and painlessly as possible.

A trip to the pub, though ostensibly more fun, offers many of the same pitfalls, as well as a completely different queuing system to navigate.

We are very regimented in our queuing and I think we get instinctively nervous in pubs, because it's not a line of people, it's a mass.

It's a melee.

Since opening hours were first regulated in 1872, getting served has taken on an urgency in Britain and we've had to become experts.

On the Continent, drinkers can while the night away at their leisure.

Over here, with 90% of British pubs still insisting on last orders at 11, once again the Brits are under pressure.

Everybody's looking for that opportunity to move in, just, you know, get a bit of purchase there and edge the other person out.

And some people are better at it than others, you know.

It's that, sort of, lurking nervously behind someone that's getting their drink.

Which way are they going to turn, left or right?

Get your shoulder in and get in there.

I try to edge, so the person who's coming out with the drinks, I deliberately edge...

I use that move to physically move myself in.

Yeah, so, I edge to the left, so then, they've got to spin round to the right, so the person who's to the right of me can't then barge past them, because they don't want to knock their drinks, and then I'm slipping round the back and I'm -- boom -- straight in.

It might feel like it's every man for himself, but taking that attitude only makes matters worse.

Woe betide you if someone's been waiting a long time and you just swan in and order a drink.

You will get a look.

Possibly even a tut.

I remember once being at a bar, someone saying, "Can I get you a drink?" And a woman screaming, "I was here before him!"

And she marched round the bar... and I just went, "No... I can appreciate that you think that that's the case, but I, honestly..."

"I was! Don't you start!"

Two people are saying it -- me and the barman recognise that I was here before you, and in the time we've had this conversation, I could have got my drinks and he could be serving you, so all you're doing is prolonging this wait for the drink.

The average British drinker has around 300 pints a year.

That's a lot to get through and there's no time to waste, so we become frustrated when we have to wait even longer for our drinks than usual.

You can have a Pirate's Pick-Me-Up or a Missionary's Downfall, a Kahlua Kiss or -- bingo! -- a Planter's Punch, that's a real knockout!

Another thing I hate is when you're queuing up for a pint and they all order, like, the most complicated cocktail and then the barman has to look at the bloody menu to see how to make said cocktail, and then you're there watching him prepare each one and he's like...

Chopping mint.

Yeah, chopping mint...

Chop it before we get there.

.. setting fire to an orange, or something like that, so it goes blue, and then the bird's like, "Oh, can I take a photo of it?"

Don't take a photo of it! We want to get a pint!

I think there should be a cocktail, like, bar, so there's one person and it just says "Cocktails" above where they stand, and if you want cocktails you have to go to that bit.

They could have a hat with "Cocktails" written on it.

Maybe, yeah.

Cocktail hat.

They could have all those little umbrellas coming out of it.

So, a trip to the bar can be laced with anger and frustration.

Brits spend 35 minutes a month waiting to be served.

Luckily, we've come up with a uniquely complicated system, not commonly found in the rest of the world, to ensure the burden of buying drinks is spread fairly, but this brings its own pressures.

You don't want to get the reputation of being the last person to buy a round.

I mean, half the time is spent in pubs laughing at Brian who's got his wallet out, "Oh, blow the cobwebs off, Brian. Oh, that hasn't seen the light of day since 1142."

Although the round system is founded on the British values of etiquette, fairness and money saving, not everyone can be relied upon to stick to the rules.

What I try to do is I have round tactics, so I like to go in... I like to get the first round in, because...

Early doors, let them know you're there.

Let them know you're there and, also as well, it gets slowly busier, so I try to get one in before it gets too busy and your mates are there and it's like, "Cor, 25 minutes to queue for that bar." It's like, "Yeah, good. There's another four of you have got to do this until it gets back round to me."

The other one is if you know you're going somewhere more expensive...

Yeah.

.. get the round in, in the first pub.

I tell you what... I don't like people who come into the pub a little bit later and they can see you've got a full pint and they go to you, "Oh, you're all right there, are you?"

And knowing or hoping that you'll go, "As you can see, I've literally got a full pint, so I don't need you to get one."

But sometimes I like to go, "Do you know what? I'll have another one. Save me going again, actually, so, yeah, you just get that one in."

When fellow drinkers aren't following the rules, Brits use special coded phrases to make sure they pull their weight.

In Britain, "Whose round is it?"

Means, "It's your round!"

I've more or less finished my drink and you're thinking, "Someone needs to say this."

Yeah.

So you have to do that thing where you go, "Oh, I might get another round in," to prompt someone else to go, "Oh, don't worry, it's my turn."

Yes.

And then if they call your bluff, and you've got two in a row!

But even when it's scrupulously fair, there are other dangers involved in round buying.

During the First World w*r, legal restrictions were placed on buying rounds to stop excessive drinking hampering the w*r effort.

The worst in a round is if, you know, the person who's the next round is drinking really slowly, or if it's you who's drinking really slowly, because you're just downing drinks because you don't want to be the person not in the round.

So, basically, everyone ends up drinking at the rate of the alcoholic because they dictate the round.

They're like, "Done!" "All right, we're all done then. We have to get another drink."

In the round system, it's assumed we'll enjoy at least as many drinks as there are participants.

Five people, five pints. Drinking in Britain is all about fairness.
We like the idea of paying for what we drink and nothing more.

But increasingly, modern pubs and bars are following the example of restaurants by encouraging us to tip, which means the obstacles continue even after you think you've paid.

My dad, bless him, my dad says, "Well, I only tip someone if the service has been fantastic."

And, "No, I will tip them accordingly. I will tip them... Hey, give me good service, get a good tip."

A tip puts a numerical value on saying thank-you, which Brits find awkward and vulgar.

Some restaurants try to circumvent this by adding the tip to the bill, but this can cause resentment.

Once I went into this restaurant and there was, like, the service charge was added to the bill and I complained, because I was in a buffet, and I was thinking, "I AM the service. I've been going up to that table 15 times. Why am I now paying for the service charge? You didn't even bring me a plate. The plates were all piled up there in the corner."

In other countries, such as America, the idea of tipping is deeply ingrained.

But then, so are eating contests and wearing a cap backwards.

The differences between these systems can prove a culture shock for Brits travelling abroad.

We'd go on up to the States, and I know there's a tipping mentality, but you come back, takes a good... at least two or three days to get used to our notion of service in comparison to the Americans.

I'll often wrestle bags off a porter, not because I want to carry them, just because it'll save the embarrassment of not knowing how much to give him.

You go to America, you just walk round giving money out all day, don't you?

You get out the car and you go, "Here, have a £5," and then you get to your hotel, "Go on, have another one."

And then you get to the checkout, or the check-in, and they say, "Would you like Stavros to take you to your room and show you round?"

"No, I'm fine." But he'll come up anyway and then he stands there lingering.

If I'm with me wife, what I do at that point, I go to the toilet and then she plays hell with me, I go to the toilet and I won't even go, I'll just stand in the bathroom while she has that awkward minute where he's stood there and he gets sent off with nothing.

I don't understand tipping, full stop.

So, we've learnt that even though we have all manner of VBPs to cope with upon leaving the house, the ever-resourceful Brits have put rules and systems in place to try and help, like buying rounds and queuing properly, and we're collectively making sure that tipping doesn't get out of control.

Oh, look at that, my pint's run dry. Whose round is it?

So far, we've been looking at the very British problems that trip us up when we leave the house.

The main reason Brits do this is to go to work.

And the British workplace is a VBP minefield.

I worked at a flower market.

I worked as a steward at a cricket ground.

I was an office manager for a while.

Worked in Dixons for years.

I worked at Argos on customer returns.

In the council road safety.

88% of Brits say they are happy enough in their jobs.

With neither the zealous Protestant work ethic of the Germans, nor the siesta-taking habits of the Spanish, this is a very British attitude.

But the job itself is irrelevant.

The main problem is that you have to do it amongst a group of people you wouldn't choose to spend your day with.

I'm quite prepared to work with people for years, years, and not even know anything about them.

Not know their second names.

When they leave the office, they could just disappear in a cloud of smoke for all I care.

You know, we're not there to make friends and nobody can force me.

People talk a lot in offices.

People like to know each other's businesses in offices.

People over-share in offices.

I remember sitting next to a woman who told everyone about her prolapse in great detail.

She just scooped it back up.

The French keep their workplaces formal, but, in a misguided bid to help us all get along, some British employers have taken on the American suggestion of having a work awayday.

Work awayday is probably one of the most painful things for so many British people.

It's like four days in Aberystwyth mountain climbing with people who I wouldn't mind if they d*ed on this mountain.

I remember being taken off to the middle of nowhere, where we'd all sit in a circle and try to bring up issues in the office we have with each other.

You know, that's a recipe for, you know, probably, a stabbing.

Why are we doing this?

You know, I think it's not British.

It's anti-British.

Team building aside, perhaps the quickest way to make friends or alienate people in the workplace, concerns that most British of all drinks.

70% of us had a cup of tea yesterday and we all wanted it made slightly differently.

Despite how complicated this makes things, in the British workplace, making a cup of tea just for yourself is virtually a sackable offence.

One of the worst things that people do in offices is not give each other the right to make a cup of tea for themselves.

You could key their car, you know?

You could insult their mother and they'd probably let it go.

But the idea that you're not joining in, in this kind of Blitz spirit of 3pm and making everybody a lovely cup of tea...

If you walk into the kitchen looking like you're really busy and angry, then it looks like you've forgotten, but you haven't and you're not in a bad mood -- you just don't want to make everyone tea.

Brits drink 165 million cups of tea every day and, with this amount of tea to make, you need a system.

Office tea and coffee clubs are a very British way of making a pleasant interlude into a problem.

What I hated most about working in an office is being in the tea and coffee club, because I don't drink tea or coffee but I still had to pay £2 a week to go in it.

I was on the spreadsheet and, so, if I didn't pay it, I had them chasing me up like bailiffs.

Normally, because I only drink, like, squash or water, but I'm paying two quid a week... I thought, "Fine, I'll do it.

"I'll pay the money and I'm part of the g*ng.

"I'm not drinking it but I'm going to be the bigger person."

But then I used to get sent out to go and buy 14 pints of milk, tea and coffee and biscuits and then, if I got it wrong, they have a go at me, but I didn't even drink it, but you've got to... It's like a little mafia.

It's like FIFA, that office I worked in.

Are you enjoying your tea, you good people?

Yes, it's a very nice cup of tea.

I was ready for it, too.

During the Industrial Revolution, bosses banned tea breaks because they thought they made workers slothful.

They're probably right.

Add up some people's tea breaks over a year and it's like an extra bank holiday, albeit one spent staring at a kettle waiting for it to boil.

Still made tea and coffee, just as a time-wasting exercise.

I'd go and get the kettle, empty it and then fill it with the coldest water I could find, to the top, then boil it, because if you get almost, like, really cold water, that's a good eight-minute boil, and then sometimes I'd even pour it out again halfway through.

Fill it up again, start again.

You can really drag out the tea-making and don't have to work.

I worked out very early on that, if you can make tea in an office, you can get away with anything.

If you're prepared to basically go into that tea room and find 16 mugs and make 16 different cups of tea in all their different variations, if you're the person that remembers that him over there in accounts likes that mug and they like the teabag just dunked twice, in this country, that works far more than having a first-class honours degree.

You get away with anything.

So, after a year of making endless cups of tea for people you don't get on with in a job you hate, there must be something to look forward to.

Nope, just the peculiarly British hell of the work Christmas party and its consequences.

Sometimes, after a Christmas party, a form of behaviour becomes a name.

So people say, "I hope this year no-one does a Sheila," because Sheila's done something last year.

No-one needs to explain anything else.

Everyone knows what doing a Sheila is.

I remember once seeing... There was a young person come up to the office who'd partaken of too much booze, and I had a tall boss, and I remember watching her coming down the stairs and use my boss as a pole, and pole danced round my boss.

Everyone stood there watching this young girl twirl around her boss, and, after that, it was called "doing a Sheila".

Going for the lunge with someone, on a work member...

There's nowt worse than when there's that thing of what's been building in your head is the complete opposite to the way they see you.

You lean in, you know what I mean, and go for the kiss and there's that absolute... You know, that sort of "How? How could you think that you stood a chance with me?"

And it's like, "Well, because we chat every day and we talk," and they go, "Yeah, about stock. About stock location." Do you know what I mean?

And when you're taking your break, "At what point...

"When did you ever interpret that as me, you know, seeing beyond this off-putting exterior?"

Europeans rarely celebrate Christmas with their colleagues.

They'll go for a meal at most, and they're baffled by the Bacchanalian extremes the British go to.

Christmas hangover recovery time costs British companies well over £100 million a year.

Work dos, we trashed places. We had some humdingers.

You know what I mean? I have a picture of me being spanked by a woman dressed as a n*zi.

It was a different age, wasn't it?

When it was acceptable to go out dressed as h*tler.

So the British workplace is a minefield of problems.

We spend our working hours drinking tea and hating our colleagues, before ruining our career by doing a Sheila at the Christmas party, all while working longer hours than even the Germans.

I've been at this now for nearly three-quarters of an hour.

Must be time for a tea break.

Before the break, we were looking at the many problems the British face in the workplace.

Clearly we all need a holiday or at least a day off, but of course the consequence of leaving the house for pleasure is a whole new set of VBPs.

The first of which is working out how to dress ourselves suitably.

What's a nightmare is when you can't tell what it's going to be like outside, and often in the morning I will open the front door and just stand there outside for ten seconds just so I don't go out dressing for weather 20 degrees warmer than it actually is.

You know, if you live in Alaska, it's cold and it's snowy, you just dress for it.

Here, it's mucking with your head.

Archive: In the British Isles, where most things are done in moderation, the sun does shine moderately from time to time.

But weather forecasting has become an absorbing interest.

People have always had a yearning to know what's about to fall on them -- rain, snow or sunshine. Should they venture out or stay at home?

Going out -- once again, we're back to my family or my wife, we're leaving the house and my wife will say, "Is it cold?" and I'll say, "Well, like you, I haven't been out yet, so I don't know."

"Oh, OK, do you think I'll need this?"

"Once again, I haven't been outside yet, I've got no more information than you. I can look on the news. I'll put my hand out the window. Do you want to go in the garden? I'll go in the garden."

"No, no, I just want to know if it's cold out."

"I cannot tell you if it's cold because I don't know yet. Let me go in the garden, I'll come back." I go in the garden.

I come back. "Yeah, it's a little bit cold." "How cold?

"Shall I wear this cardigan?"

"I don't know! I don't know how warm that makes you."

"It's cold, it's like a kind of mid-April cold."

"Is it going to rain?" "I don't know if it's going to rain."

"Let me look on my phone. There's a chance it's going to rain."

That's the worst if there's a chance.

If there's a chance of something, how do you prepare for a chance?

It's challenging, as anyone who's ever smelt a wet espadrille will tell you.

In 2009, the Met Office even had to withdraw its seasonal forecast because the British weather is just too unpredictable.

The only thing for it is to be prepared for whatever might hit you once you set foot out of the front door.

You have to be prepared for every single weather eventuality that might happen.

They have a pac-a-mac for rain showers, a fleece, stout walking boots for rain, shorts that zip off to make full trousers.

In the summer in Britain, you can't just go out in shorts and T-shirt, it's too risky. You've got to, like, put a jumper in the bag, raincoat, just in case it rains but just thin.

Yeah, brolly, a mackintosh, T-shirt, shorts, flip-flops and hiking boots, that's what you gotta leave with, just to get through one day.

I remember walking down the street and there was a guy walking towards me -- he had a vest on, shorts, and some flip-flops.

In his hand he was carrying some jeans and a hoodie and he had a bag with Timberland boots in it.

And I was intrigued, I was like, "Dude, why have you got that for?" and he's looked up and went, "You don't want to trust this, man," and just carried on walking.

But any preparation goes straight out of the window at the first sign of sun.

Our long winters and the fear that it could start raining again at any minute means the British get very overexcited by a sunny day.

The thing about England is when a bit of sun comes out, people go mad.

They're walking about with jeans on, no top on, and it's 11 degrees and drizzly.

I love those people when it's the first... in spring, when it's, like, April, May.

It's the first hot day and everyone will be like, "Beer garden! Beer garden!"

And then the sun goes down and the temperature drops to about five, they're in the beer garden in, like, flip-flops, shivering over a pint.

"I thought it'd be warmer!"

There's some difficulty in deciding what constitutes appropriate summer clothing for British men in particular.

They used to roll up their trousers, fashion themselves an origami sunhat and be done with it, but not any more.

British people are really bad at pulling off a summer outfit.

As soon as the sun even peeks behind a cloud in March, I see men in shorts and hairy legs going down the street, unbelievable.

British men, hot weather, and shorts...

.. is a deeply unpleasant combination.

British men cannot do shorts in any sort of stylish way.

We can't handle the footwear required, we've got pasty legs, hairy, it's just a really... there should be a law against it.

Of course, dressing appropriately for the British weather is for the upmost importance if you're actually holidaying in Britain.

As an island race who built, then lost an empire, for centuries the British would only go abroad to conquer somewhere or get sh*t at.

So, historically, we've convinced ourselves that there was plenty to enjoy at home, whatever the evidence to the contrary.

Childhood holidays for me were Butlins and Pontins in the kind of places that the only thing they had going for them was that holiday camp.

It would rain for the entire seven days until the car park would just fill up with water, murky water, and then we'd go and buy nets on the end of sticks and tried... hoping that there would be a fish in there.

Where've you come from, girls?

Lincolnshire.

Had a nice time?

Yes, thank you.

What's so good about Butlins, then?

So much to do, it's good fun.

Well, it's great entertainment, I really enjoyed it.

Wouldn't you prefer to be abroad? Riviera or something like that?

No.

When you're seven, eight, nine, you don't really know what a holiday is.

Your only experience of it is what you've done and it's only now when I look back that I realise that my mum and dad were taking us to what I can only describe as a sh*t-hole.

Like... it wasn't even a caravan park, it was this guy, Mr Beale...

My dad would give him, like, 20 quid and let us pitch our caravan and the awning on this wasteland of mud.

And the big thing my dad would say is, "Oh, it's got a swimming pool, it's got a swimming pool."

And I only realise now that what he had was a concrete structure which sat above the ground that he would just fill with a hose, and, like, I learnt to swim in that pool.

Being creatures of habit, once a holiday location has been identified, the British will return to the same place every single year, regardless of suitability.

We went on holiday every year to the same farmhouse in Scotland because once you've found somewhere you like, why change?

We would go to the beach every day, didn't matter if it was ten degrees, cos we were on holiday.

My mother would make us swim in the sea, it might have been the Irish Sea, it was a very cold sea.

The same sea that if oil riggers fall in it, they have a survival suit.

We had a swimming costume from BHS and my mum would take a picture of us and shout things like, "Smile!

"It looks like you're not enjoying yourself," as our lips gradually turned blue.

Archive: A holiday must be a change from the ordinary routine.

The opportunity of coming into contact with scenes and sounds that are unusual, not to say entrancing.

The experience of being away from home provides the Brits with an opportunity to sample the exotic.

Self-catering, of course.

So it wasn't much of a holiday for my mum because there were five of us and two dogs.

She used to go into Marks & Spencer's, very posh, and get a can of chicken in a white sauce.

And she'd go, "I'm not cooking tonight, we're having chicken in a tin," and genuinely, that was really exciting because it was like a space food.

Because we didn't have microwaves, it was chicken in a tin.

But even the Brits can only put up with so much Britishness.

One year, it rained solid for a week.

And basically it was me, my mum and dad and my two sisters playing Uno... for a week.

You know, and then occasionally a game of rummy.

And my mum said, "That's it, we are saving up and we're going to the south of France."

These days, cheap air fares mean that nearly 60% of Brits decide they don't need to put up with our unexciting holiday locations and unpredictable weather, and instead choose to holiday abroad.

But if you're going to take the leap of faith and leave our borders, it's crucial to be prepared for even more eventualities.

Going on holiday is... Oh... I can't pack.

I can't pack light, basically, I can't pack light.

Relaxation is not the point of a holiday, preparation is the point of a holiday.

When visiting abroad, the British do so in the certain knowledge that foreigners do things the wrong way, and that their countries are not equipped to meet our needs.

Archive: The basic strategy of European travel consists in cramming clothes for a six-week vacation into a weekend bag.

You can always identify British people due to the... each of them have a rucksack, both rucksacks, cos both have separate things.

The woman probably has got the medicines in it because clearly when you go abroad, and this is very important, abroad people don't have the same medicines we do.

Woman's got the medicines and the man's got the man things -- he's got the camera, the wallet, he's got the maps.

He's got the spare jumpers, the jumpers, three phones, everything, credit card, emergency numbers, laminated plan, emergency contacts, the number of the Embassy, bottled water, cos you can't drink water abroad, can you? My goodness.

My mum's one for that, she doesn't think... she thinks that an iron is something that was invented in Britain, you know what I mean, and it's ostensibly only used in Britain.

I think... there really should be some government-aided support group for people who pack a travel iron.

Above all, it's important to leave room in your suitcase for some British food.

Foreign cuisine could be too spicy, too raw or contain the wrong parts of an animal.

So it's best not to take the risk.

Whenever I go abroad, even though I want to, like, integrate into the culture, I can't help but want British things.

I have taken British food on holiday.

I like to take English mustard on holiday -- essential.

I sometimes take my own teabags.

And Heinz baked beans, you have to have a couple of cans wherever you are, because you can't get those in the Philippines.

There's one food in particular that Brits keep close to them at all times.

I have taken Marmite all over the world.

Yes! Surprisingly enough, Marmite, a super salty food paste made out of the slop left over from making beer, has never really caught on overseas.

In fact, Marmite recently launched a mini 70g jar so British air passengers can take it in their hand luggage after learning it was one of the most confiscated items at airports.

If I was going to go somewhere for a while, I would definitely take Marmite, because it's just...

I like that kind of thick, acrid, tar-like flavour.

Sometimes you need savoury and there isn't any portable savoury other than Marmite.

Being proud of their own levels of preparation, the British are suspicious of laissez-faire foreigners who seem to be utterly unprepared for anything.

If you see kind of Italian or French people, they just wander out in shorts and a T-shirt, maybe a wallet, maybe a pair of sun... Nothing else, though.

All bets are off in Spain when the locals go to the beach.

They do what they want! Just a towel, that's all they take.

My mum's got like a cooler bag, table and chairs.

It's so British, we're like, "This is our little area of the beach."

The Spanish are like... laying down.

One thing the British are never prepared for is the sun.

Britons have traditionally accepted sunburn as a natural part of any holiday.

Protecting yourself is a sign of weakness.

The empire wasn't built by men wearing factor 50.

While on lads' holidays, it's like... they always get sunburnt, like blood red.

I've been there as well, proper sunburnt.

But if they do, by the end of the holiday, decide to put sun cream on, they'll, like, do their face and their front and their legs, but there'll be one part, the lower back, because they can't reach it.

God forbid, you can't lie on a beach and ask your mate to put sun cream on your lower back.

If there's no girl there, then lads will not...

That's not a conversation that happens, they just let them burn.

Being an island nation separate and different from the rest of Europe, the British are proud to broadcast our nationality.

And as we can't usually converse in the local language, we have to find other ways.

It's funny abroad the amount of people who feel the need to display their Britishness.

England shirts and just... the Union Jacks.

I don't quite know of any other country that goes away feeling the need to point out their nationality, you know what I mean?

As if their salmon pink arms and their burnt forehead isn't enough to tell people.

But sometimes the desire to get an all-over tan can lead to another far more awful consequence than the risk of skin cancer -- embarrassment.

My family took a holiday to Majorca and one day we took a day trip to a beautiful beach.

Found a lovely spot, laid down, looked over and there was a woman sunbathing topless.

And it was my brother's high school teacher.

And she looked over at my brother and went, "Oh, my God!" and covered up her boobs instantly but it was way too late, my brother had seen it all, it was just hilarious, because she had to go back and teach him for another three years.

So what have we learnt?

From the moment you step out of the front door in inappropriate clothing, you'll have to contend with queues, ungrateful drivers and office politics before getting away from it all by taking a jar of Marmite on your summer holiday.

I'd just stay at home if I were you.

Next time, we'll be looking at some more personal VBPs including talking about our feelings.

Good God!

Music: Don't Look Back Into The Sun by The Libertines

♪ Don't look back into the sun ♪
♪ Now you know that your time has come ♪
♪ And they said it would never come for you ♪
♪ Oh-oh-oh ♪
♪ Oh, my friend, you haven't changed ♪
♪ You're looking rough and living strange ♪
♪ And I know you got a taste for it too... ♪
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