Just to even things up a little and add a little fair play. 
LOL…good one
I only hate the french, it comes naturally 
To quote my most favorite Al Bundy: It’s wrong to be french ! :lol:
For those interested, it’s the second commandment of No Ma’am! :mrgreen:
Why so many hate topics? who hate this and who hate the other ?
all we need is love 
One on Americans…okay…second one on English…Too many…LOL
edited to add quote…
Thats right PK all we need is love…hmmmmm that really never works man
I never heared that somebody in russia hates the British:)
Usially the someone critics the British policy of supportion all sort of separatists or for the blind pro-american behaviour outside ( kinda Iraqi advevture).
But it rather far from the hate.
Well except may be the crazy Islamist in the Europe who hate everyone who do not look like they.
They all hate us. So where do I go on holiday?
Tuesday January 7, 2003
The Guardian
Rob LiddleThis week the glossy holiday brochures dropped on the doormat, along with strangely polite letters from several bailiffs and a Christmas card from an uncle I thought had died in 1962. This is a depressing time of year.
My yearly choice of holiday destination is governed by a very simple principle: I will not go to any country where, as an Englishman, I will be loathed, despised or resented by a majority of the populace. Obviously, instead, I would very much like to be loved. But if that’s not possible, a sort of amicable tolerance on behalf of the locals will suffice.
What I can’t stomach is the look of contempt or disgust on the immigration man’s face when he sees the colour of my passport or hears, from a distance, our strange guttural language expressing impatience at the length of the queue to get in when, only a few years ago, we owned the bloody country, ha ha.
It’s the horrible suspicion that creeps up, as you sit in the cab from the airport watching the coconut palms and the water buffalo drift by, that, at the bottom of his heart, the driver would really like to run you through with a kukri.
Or the disquieting notion that in the trattoria, out of sight, the chef, having been apprised of your nationality, is enjoying a more directly intimate relationship with your lasagne than you might perhaps have wished for or expected.
Am I thin-skinned or paranoid about foreigners? Sure; almost certainly. But that doesn’t mean that, really, they like us, does it?
Anyway; this dogged principle of mine means, in the first case, avoiding all former British colonies plus any countries in the developing world where our big businesses have poisoned, maimed or exploited most of the locals. That removes two thirds of the world.
We must then strike out any countries where drunken, stoat-faced, tattooed British Untermensch spend their summers - such as Mykonos where, a few years ago, the Greek island’s mascot, a friendly and inquisitive pelican, was buggered to death by some inebriated English tourist. Oh, they really don’t like us there any more. “Why you keel our pelican?” they ask, and you sort of shake your head sadly and get on the boat for Turkey, where the locals hate us even more than the Greeks do for other, more involved and consuming reasons.
Worse still than the benighted, prole-infested maritime breeze-block scumholes of Spain and Greece and the Canaries are those places annexed for a suffocating eternity, such as Provence and Umbria, by our loaded, whinnying middle classes. It is a thoroughly justifiable scorn and resentment, rather than outright hatred, that one meets here - and which is, in a way, even more painful to behold.
In fact, if we’re honest, the whole of Europe west of the Oder-Neisse line is pretty much out of the question.
Then there are the countries that hate us for a splendid agglomeration of convictions associated with politics, religion, culture or football. This has always precluded visiting South America (apart from Chile), the entire Arab world, the Maghreb, Asia Minor, Java, Sarawak and Kalimantan.
So where can one go? Apart from good old Israel?
Well, it used to be quite fun to spend some down-time in the disintegrating former colonies of our European allies. The fouler and more repressive the deposed imperialistic regime, the greater the cachet, locally, in not being a living representative of the formerly occupying nation. I’ve had some very happy, sun-drenched moments obtained simply through the status of being Not Portuguese. Trouble here is that Macao and Angola lose their allure after a while. As does, for that matter, Zaire. I will suffer many things in lieu of being hated, but not the Ebola virus or bilharziasis.
So it was always a depressing and restricted activity, choosing a summer holiday. But not half as much as it is now. Things have changed. Everybody in the world, it seems, hates us these days because of our two-step alongside George Bush. We are no longer merely pissed-up, licentious, arrogant, ignorant, exploitative Brits. Now we’re warmongering, supplicant, pissed-up, licentious, arrogant, ignorant, exploitative Brits. Even countries where we were once tolerated or even admired now recoil from us with expressions of extreme distaste.
I realise, of course, that this is not the most convincing moral argument for opposing the war with Iraq. It is not intended to be. I’m just telling you about my holiday problems, really.
I wonder sometimes if I should apply for citizenship of a country everybody likes, such as Ireland. The Irish are adored everywhere - not least, I suspect, because they are perceived to loathe the British with a ferocity unmatched anywhere else on the globe. I could quite happily join in the world sport of hating the Brits for a couple of weeks each year and greeting the locals with a vigorous top-o’-the-mornin’-to-yers.
Because it’s either that or a chalet somewhere on the Aleutian Islands and a toe dipped gingerly in the bracing currents of the Bering Sea.
There’s always Barbados.
I would say most in the US are fans! Although I cant say the Irish share the same views.
One of my favorite jokes of my Irish friend (might add im completely neutral on the N. Ireland thing):
A Scotsman, Englishman and an Irishman get a visit from God. He says he will grant them all a wish.
Scotsman: I want all the Scots back in Scotland and I want it to be a free independent country.
God: Done!
Englishman: Im tired of all the foreign people. I want all the English people back in England and I want a huge wall so high no one can get in or out.
God: Done!
Irishman: Let me get this right! All the Scots are in Scotland and the English in England?
God: Correct!
Irishman: And around England is this wall in which no one can get in or out?
God: Correct!
Irishman: Right! Fill that f**ker with water!!!
Just a joke! Thought it is was funny. Best of luck to our cousins across the pond.
If you can’t take a joke you shouldn’t have joined - as they say.
Tex is on vacation in Dublin to see the land of his Irish ancestors.
As he walks along he spots Paddy digging his garden:
Tex “What are you digging, Paddy?”
Paddy “Potatoes”
Tex “In Texas we grow potatoes as big as footballs!”
“Yes!” agrees Paddy “But we only grow them to fit our own mouths!”
Really funny joke if keep in mind that IRA killed a lot of innocent peoples using this way of thinking.
He he he that’s nice one dear Bravo.
Thank you.
And, there’s more:
The very next day, Paddy is back at work, laying fagstones on the pavement of O’Connell Street, for Dublin City Council, and just as he gets down to check the level of the flags, along comes Brendan, yet another Irish-American, from Maine.
“Good day to you sir. What is it that you are doing there?”
“Flagging!” responds Paddy, still concentrating on the bubble in the spirit level.
“Well!” says Brendan “Back home in the States, I’m a technical engineer with NASA, and when we assemble things, we must be accurate to within a thousandth of a millimeter of true!”
“Ah, that’s not bad…to be sure!” says Paddy, as he rises from the ground “But we professionals like to get it dead on!”
All the Irish people I know have no trouble with the English. Which, being as I’m related to quite a few of them, is a good thing.
Those who do are mostly either rabid nationalist nutcases busy trying to re-fight a 300 or so year old war, or Americans who think that because they once had Irish ancestors this entitles them to be professional Irishmen. And I have VERY little time for either type…
Although they drive on the wrong side of the road,they make fairly good muffins.
I don’t like the idea of muffins made out of Poms. Too meaty.
English muffins are a produce of America.
Good one, RS!