I had a strange conversation in town today, with a lady who was preparing to sell some Chimney cakes

I first became aware of them in Czech Republic, so I thought they were Czech. Now it turned out they are actually Hungarian. Anyway, I thought that lady was Czech or at least knew something about them and, as it was early morning, and the cakes weren’t ready, I felt, if I just talk to her for a minute or so, I will not feel like I have to buy them.

So I came up and asked ‘Are those the Czech thing?’ ‘I’m sorry?’ She spoke with clear British accent and as I kept trying to explain I first saw them in Prague, she kept behaving like if she completely didn’t know what I was talking about.

‘What are they called then?’ I asked, looking at the menu on display.

‘Chimney cakes. That’s the translation’. She replied.

‘OK’ – I nodded and walked off thinking we have nothing to talk about. If it was a translation, she knew the cakes weren’t part of British heritage. Yet somehow she was unable to admit that.

It really does look to me like The British think they are the centre of the entire Universe. Do you not get that impression sometimes?