Somewhat out of sequence. Parts 1 and 2 shall follow shortly. But I REALLY needed to get this off my chest this morning.
Picture the scene. Quiet carriage blissfully free from shouty mobile phone conversations , and tedious exec wanabees feebly sparring with their junior staff. Opposite two old school, old blokes greet each other warmly probably surprised the other is still alive.
One is executive director of this, the other retired chairman of that. I know all this because their privileged upbringing is not governed by the same rules as the rest of us. They talk loudly and confidently, either unaware or uncaring that twenty other people are firing up their stares of death.
No one says anything of course because we’re British. Except when a grumpy Northerner, with a bastard head cold, is stripped of even the faintest veneer of social politeness.
Worthy 1: “So have you seen old Bryan Potter at all?”
Worthy 2: “No not since the last ‘Crush the Poor’ black tie do at the Grosvenor“
Worthy 1: “Yes, he didn’t look well did he?”
Grumpy Northerner: “He’s dead. Obviously“
Worthy 1: “I beg your pardon“
GN: “Dead. Brown Bread. Gone to a better place. Oh sorry, wasn’t I included in your conversation? You were just talking so loudly I assumed it was a public meeting“
Worthy 2 Splutters: “How Rude“
GN: “Yeah you are, why don’t you f*ck off to next door where all the other noisy self-important wastrels* are?“
Silence in the carriage again. Embarrassed silence I’ll grant you but silence all the same. Broken only by two old blokes huffing out of their seats, and lamenting the lack of respect from their lessers.I cannot tell you ladies and gentlemen how much I LOVED that. 41 and going soft on the outside, 21 and still railing against the bloody world on the inside.
* I was particularly proud of “Wastrel”. Because normally when I’m that angry the my vocabulary is reduced to “F*ck off you F*cking F*ckers“