When I lived in Harrow I had an Indian family move in next door. I kept chickens in my garden and one day a few of them got over the fence and laid some eggs. I went down to the garden and looked over the fence and there was Mr Patel picking up the eggs and putting them in a basket with a smile on his face.
I said "Hey Patel, those are my eggs". he said "oh no, no, no they are in my garden". I said "but they came from my chickens". This went on for about 5 minutes so I made the suggestion we settled it the old British way. Patel, being eager to adopt the ways of the enlightened said "that's a great idea". I told him to come around and i'll explain how it works, well in a jiffy there was Patel with the basket of eggs.
What we will do is stand with our legs apart and take turns of kicking each other in the bollocks, the one that stays down longest loses the eggs. Patel nodded in agreement and being the gentleman he was offered me to go first. I took a twenty-five foot run up and made contact with his gonads square on with a horrible crunching sound. Patel dropped to the floor like a sack of **** screaming and rolling around on the floor in abject horror.
Tweet-five minutes later he groggily got to his feet wiped the tears from his eyes and went "bugger me Mr Ginge you pack one hell of a kick. I thanked him he remarked "OK, my turn legs open". I said I'm bored you can keep the eggs...