In honor of Mike, a witty guy who writes a serious blog about making money, we found a few interesting facts about his home land of Cornwall, in SW England, London.

King Arthur ruled from where?.

History would have us believe that the legendary king lived in a stone building with turrets and a round table with more knights than you could shake a stick at. The experts also claim that the name of this mythical castle is Tintagel and his magical sword was Excalibur.

As far as The Pisstakers linguistics department is concerned, this Tintagel milarkey is bolleaux and is clear evidence of how tin and the celtic word for castle, castegg, got distorted out of all recognition. Arthur lived in a tin miner's shack under the shadow of a castle owned by a mad Welshman, Sir Leekalot.

Furthermore, he never could get it together with Guinevere who had a thing for a poncy knight called Lancelot. He used to drink heavily in an effort to console himself and spent many an hour in the company of the more butch knights like Sir Galahad. A wise king, he favored the non-alcoholic properties of Kaliber which enabled him to drink gallons of manly looking ale and still stay sober enough to remember all the knights' names.

Clotted cream is for clots

So you have had a hearty lunch of fish and chips, all coated with trans-fatty complex turbo grease. You are thankful you passed up the offer of a deep-fried Snicker, as you have your eye on a pint of warm ale down the local Tintagel Arms. You also need some extra space in your gut for a pickled egg in a bag of salt 'n vinegar crisps. When you mention to your wife that you are popping in for this "quickie", she knows that it is not a sexual reference, as your beer gut prevents you from jumping any barmaid alive. However, she does interpret one drink as an end plan to roll out of the pub legless in time for 11pm last orders back at the fish 'n chip place - permission for a quickie is therefore denied. You have to hold out till 4pm for afternoon tea.

Afternoon tea

You go to a posh country garden hotel and place your order for afternoon tea with a reject from MacDonalds. For about $10 you get a nice pot of tea, a couple of scones, strawberry jam and obligatory clotted cream. No matter how polite you are, the waitress will smirk and huff and do her best to drop the tray onto the table with as much of a clang and as little spillage as possible. It is the game. And your fun and games begin when the troll skips off for a cigarette in the kitchen.

The tea

It comes in a generic stainless steel pot with the univesral leaky lid. No matter how sober, you will pour tea onto the white paper table cloth. The milk will have a wasp in it, and the cups won't be clean. Just get over it already. Unlike American tourists, Brits do not suffer from excessive hygiene issues.

Scone or scone?

Next up, the weird and wonderful scone with clotted cream and jam. Riots have been known to break out over the pronunciation of s-c-o-n-e, so the best advice is to ask your wife, husband or co-eater, to pass you the plate of cakes. They will give their own interpretation of the word, and to keep the peace you repeat "scone" in the same way.

With a scone on your plate, the next dilemma is what to put on it first. In theory, a piece of bread has butter then jam on top, so the hungry pleb will do a repeat of a jam butty - and break the rules of clotted cream etiquette. Put the jam THEN dollop on the cream!

Biter beware

Remember the wasp you fished out the milk? Well his surviving family will be pissed at the murdeing human responsible. So there is no way you will have enough time to consume both your scones before an angry wasp attack. Best tactic is therefore to rip a corner off the paper table cloth and wrap up the second scone in readiness for a quick exit, back to the safety of the pub. Kushty, me handsome.