Short story. I’ve got a new housemate residing in room C. He’s from UK and doing his internship in an Australian bank here – well it seems to me everyone in the house except me is working in a bank. My first impression is that he’s a really nice guy. His accent is clear that his english is very audible.
Just this morning, I learned a surprising thing. We had a bit of conversation with another housemate while suddenly some repair-men coming to set up the mirror. They spoke in Chinese but the British man could quite understand what those two men were talking. I was puzzled. He said he used to stay in China for a while.
So this sounds really pathetic. I’m chinese I can’t speak chinese. He can speak chinese. He’s not chinese. He’s not even asian. He’s a british.
Well, he’s undertaking his exam for a license to work in a stock market. So best of luck to him.
The Avenue