“No offence,” said the man at the party who’d just asked how long I’d lived in London, “but if I were you, I’d get a new accent. No one likes American accents.”
“No, that is quite offensive,” I said.
“I’m not anti-American,” he said, “but you really should learn to speak differently.”
“Um, no,” I said, and went to speak to someone else.
Later, we passed on the stairs.
“What’s your problem?” he said. I was silent.
“Fat motherfucker,” he said.
I chose not to take it personally: not just because I am neither fat nor a motherfucker, but because I assume he was just enraged that he wasted £10 on his copy of The Game.
