Falling out of his Swedish bed, he pours milk over the Swiss breakfast cereal. Italian coffee is brewing in the German coffee maker.
Pulling on clothes made in Malaysia and China, he walks out of his house and drives his Japanese car to work. Eight hours of staring at a screen, punting zeroes and ones around using American software.
He comes home and eats a Bangladeshi meal washed down with Czech lager. Then he settles down in front of his Korean television to watch a football team containing Dutch, Croatian and French players (yet playing in the Premier league). A nice New Zealand Sauvignon completes the evening.
And he complains about all these bloody foreigners.
Happy St George's Day.