You advance menacingly towards the troublesome pair, only to trip over the pub cat and come crashing to the floor. Fortunately the argument's loud enough that no-one notices. Except the cat. And she's laughing too hard to say anything.
You fling the yelping foreigners into the street, dust off your hands and return to your seat. Other patrons nod and raise their forks in salute. A Londoner's breakfast is sacred. The proprietor brings you an additional kipper.
