The Englishman, the Frenchman and the Aussie

Three travellers are stuck in an airport departure lounge because their flight has been delayed for several hours. There’s an English businessman, a French diplomat and an Aussie journalist. After sitting drinking together at the bar for a while, they have exhausted the conversational possibilities of politics and religion (the Pom’s not terribly keen to talk about sport, particularly cricket) and the discussion heads in the direction of all such discussions. They start to talk about sex.

The Frenchman, with all the arrogance typical of his countrymen, adopts a superior tone:

“As you kner,” he says, “we Franch, we are zer best loverrs in ole zer worl’. Do you kner, I wance made lerv to a woman and she became so carried away by passion zat at zer point of her ecstasy her body elevated eetself feefty millimetres above zer bed!”

The Pom isn’t overly impressed by claims of French superiority. Like all Englishmen, he can’t stand the French anyway and the feeling is entirely reciprocated from the other side of the Channel. Anyway, the Englishman feels it’s time to put the record straight.

“Look,” he says. “Because we’re a modest lot, we English don’t generally boast about this (unlike some of our European friends)”. He looks pointedly down his longish nose at the Frenchman. “However, I’ve had a couple of drinks and I feel it’s time to let you chaps know that the truth is we English are actually the world’s finest lovers. As evidence I will simply point out that once, when I was making love with a woman – and incidentally, you might take note of the fact that I said with rather than to, unlike our Gallic companion here – which is rather the point, y’know. Anyway, while I was making love with a woman, we reached such heights of ecstasy together that both our bodies floated six inches above the bed!”

He takes a satisfied swig of his gin and tonic. There is a pause and all eyes swivel towards the Aussie – who has remained silent so far. The Aussie becomes aware of the scrutiny as he takes a pull at his beer.

“Ah yair,” he says. “My turn, eh? Well . . .lemme see. Yair . . . I know. I was givin’ Narelle one a coupla weeks ago. Got out of bed to wipe me d*ck on the curtains and she hit the bloody roof!”