But at exactly what point did the foreigner become a local?
I am part-Kantian, in my view of shopping in PJs. That is to say sometimes I would object sometimes and other times not. In this case I do not, because clearly bears and penguins are okay. I'm also a part-time vegetarian, which ties in with the part-time Kantianism.
A couple of years ago, an old pal was being treated for cancer. Prior to the treatment he'd go to the pub in his PJs. The Merrylanders were wonderfully accepting and are a fair people. He died in January, but had a few nice drinks with new friends prior to saying Adios.
Want a pint in your PJs or dressed up as a penguin? No problem in the Old Merry.
A welchman does not arrive.
She is the first born.
A foreigner cannot become what he is already.
A coming is a change.
A local maybe a foreigner to another foreigner, both of whom may be local. The English language is cursed.
I prefer the Turkish word yabanci. Simply a stranger, but with no indication as to whether they are from the far or near abroad.
The problem is eternal: at what point do the grains of wheat become a heap. Where to draw the line. The Merrylanders draw all sorts of arbitary lines - but they leave it to the experts, the fellows in the know.
Tesco is a supermarket, not an arbiter of good taste (as you will notice if you shop there). But it has made its stand and told the chavistas to smarted up.
I spoke to the barmaid in the local pub. She says her friends ocassionally "pop in for fags" in their PJs.
It's called Slob Chic. A phrase I intend to copyright and make a few quid out of.