True Brit (warning; this is not a tennis post)

Sometimes I just love being British.

There are plenty of times I could take it or leave it, you understand. Like during the current mania surrounding Wimbledon and the chance that Andy Murray might make it to the finals this weekend. Sorry, tennis fans, but that, I could definitely leave. Mind you, tennis is not my thing, so that's probably not a good example.

I'm not keen on announcing my nationality in certain European holiday resorts either, but that's probably more because I am (not so) secretly a bit of a snob and can't abide grown men - or women - in three-quarter length trousers. (Although for some reason the Scandinavians usually manage to carry that look off...)

But there are other times, like in our local Sainsbury's yesterday morning, when I just love being a Brit.

A late middle aged American couple accosted a managerial type by the strawberry fixture. She was clearly irate about something...

She (very politely): "I'm going to make a complaint to you, if I may?"

Managerial type (probably mid-40's, Scottish accent, equally polite, without missing a beat and with a broad friendly smile on his face): "Complain all you like, I'm not going to listen..."

There was a moment of shocked silence (broken only by my snort), and then all three started to laugh. With just one sentence the manager had managed to diffuse the situation and put them at their ease.

I don't know how the problem was resolved - it clearly was, since I saw the couple shopping happily 10 minutes later - because I was too busy laughing whilst trying not to look as if I'd been doing anything as nosy as listening to someone else's conversation...

But maybe finding that sort of thing funny is a British thing?