I have been in England for the third month.
I woke up for something at six in the morning... I decided that there was nothing to do to put a mask of fake food on my head, because my salary is the next day, and my hair has been asked to eat for a long time. To be faithful, he went out to the Internet, where he found the praiseful odes of oatmeal... Having purchased the yellow egg that I was familiar with, and having roasted his roughly red hairstyle abundantly, left it, as it is supposed, for half an hour. Now, my mother, I will be at work in 20 minutes, and I’m chesting out the remains of cloves from my hair... And I already imagine a possible dialogue:

Chief (typical Western English): Anthony, what’s in your hair?
I am (not annoyingly) Oatmeal sir
N: What is she doing there, Anton?
I am stuck sir.