Once upon a long ago, I worked in central London, in a posh convenience store frequented by the wealthy residents of Kensington. And tourists. Horses of them. Many of whom were also on the wealthy side of stinking rich. Tourists will often ask for directions to the most famous parts of the city. And they would rarely come even close to pronouncing Leicester Square correctly. On a slow work day, one would take a perverse pleasure in feigned ignorance when asked ‘which way to Lie Cessed A Square?’, dragging out the ordeal for as long as the unwitting tourist’s dignity can bear. Before exclaiming ‘oh, you mean Leicester Square!’. And informing him or her that you have no idea which way it actually is.
In my defense, the English language was designed to humiliate foreigners. I was merely fulfilling its true purpose. But at least it’s not Welsh, and at least no one ever had to ask me the way to Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.