Once, when I was very small, My mother and my aunt and myself were driving around Cornwall England. We came upon a small village, and had no idea where we were. There was an old gentleman leaning up against a building with his hands in his pockets and his pipe in his mouth. Aunt Zoe pulls up and tells Mom to roll the window down and ask him the name of the village.
Now, Mom was an American, but, after twenty years in England, had developed her own British accent. She rolled down her window, and, in her best Hyacinth Bucket voice, asked, "Can you tell us where we are, please?" I'm sure that the "my good man" was hanging in the air, even though she didn't say it out loud.
The old boy straightened up, and slowly removed his hands from his pockets and his pipe from his mouth and said (slowly), "You looks like you was in a car!"