Posted in bastards

Excuse me, sir but your middle class sense of entitlement is showing

 

Class war. As I always say, when they stop waging class war on me, I’ll stop waging it on them. No unilateral disarmament here.

You see them everywhere around here. The Daily Telegraph readers, the Daily Mail readers. Woman behind me at the Tesco checkout the other day. I’m standing there perusing something, waiting behind another person who is just being served, giving them some personal space, as you do. Daily Mail reader shoves herself in between me and what I’m looking at, “Excuse me,” she says, desperate to start putting her stuff on the conveyor, as if that’s going to make a difference.

Where’s the fucking fire?

I’m standing outside Waitrose this morning, about five minutes before it opens. I shop in Waitrose, in the main, because it’s not Tesco, and because they treat their staff well (you can tell, because they’re generally cheerful and polite). And because it’s smaller than Tesco, and I find I spend less on inessential things. Anyway, this Telegraph reader walks up, wearing his weekend clothes. He’s an old boy, retired, but he’s not blind. He sees me standing there, waiting for the shop to open. But the doors are open, because a member of staff is unlocking the trolleys.

The old boy sees me waiting, but just strolls past and into the shop. “Excuse me, sir, but we’re not open yet,” says the woman inside the door, setting out the cut flowers.

Of course, he has to have a debate about it. Wastes a minute of her time, walks out again and walks off, presumably to avoid looking like he’s, you know, queueing.

Because if there’s one thing these Tories hate it’s having to queue, or do anything that normal people do. Hence private health care, which uses the same hospitals and doctors, but allows you to jump the waiting list. Hence the private education system, which allows you to avoid that pesky need to work hard and qualify for something. You just meet a load of other rich people at school and you’re set for life, in your little private club.

But this old boy had no idea of the waves of hate I was sending his way.

Have a nice day.

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Author:

World famous writer labouring in obscurity. My other blog is a Porsche.