When you think Friday Thirteenth, you think of Doctor Who. Naturally. Whilst some barely-related-to-the-theme singalong "classics" were rolled into a "mega mix", I noticed one of the young waitresses standing at the sides watching the show for a few minutes before heading off to gather more empty cups. I don't know how well her English is, or whether she understood what the fuck was going on. I myself had little clue as to what Bohemian Rhapsody had to do with travelling back to 1930s India.
I noticed later three or four Cypriot children following this bloody irritating psuedo-Jamaican song in the vain of heads shoulders knees and toes they play at the end of every night. If not already knowing some English, they can approximate the names of various anatomical parts. On the obverse, with academic-register English I can fashion some rudimentary Greek sentences. Ego gnosis Ellinika. The sheer momentum behind English is what will make it the world language in the run-up to the singularity.
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