I’ve always been irritated by the fact that I am not an aristocrat.
It’s not as though I want to be the Duke of Westminster: but I would be gratified with a minor Anglo/Irish estate; a small bijou Palladium mini mansion in County Mayo with space for my cat carrier would more than suffice.
As a natural gent, I’m sure that I could carry off the noblesse oblige thing with aplomb. I wouldn’t insist on any droit de signeur, but if the stable girls were willing, who would I be to demur?
This thought occurred to me while sitting in the car wash, being gently massaged with foamy suds to a backdrop of Bartok. It only cost £4.95, my penny pinching ways denying me the pleasures of a luxury alloy wheel scrub at a mere £7.95.
There’s no point in aspiring to Baron Von Munchausen status at any rate, my Walter Mittyisms have pole vaulted me into the realms of sheer whimsy.
What I really need is a butler, and some minions to attend to the detritus that drops around my person like dandruff. A couple of Latvians would do, or perhaps a Hungarian with an under appreciated expertise in goulash making and an adept hand with the Hoover.
I feel that I have a hitherto unappreciated gift for patronising the working classes. I would take considerable pleasure in introducing them to the delights of filet mignon and Birdseye boil in the bag chicken curry.
Oh well, back to the fuckin’ drawing board.
I hate work.
It’s not as though I want to be the Duke of Westminster: but I would be gratified with a minor Anglo/Irish estate; a small bijou Palladium mini mansion in County Mayo with space for my cat carrier would more than suffice.
As a natural gent, I’m sure that I could carry off the noblesse oblige thing with aplomb. I wouldn’t insist on any droit de signeur, but if the stable girls were willing, who would I be to demur?
This thought occurred to me while sitting in the car wash, being gently massaged with foamy suds to a backdrop of Bartok. It only cost £4.95, my penny pinching ways denying me the pleasures of a luxury alloy wheel scrub at a mere £7.95.
There’s no point in aspiring to Baron Von Munchausen status at any rate, my Walter Mittyisms have pole vaulted me into the realms of sheer whimsy.
What I really need is a butler, and some minions to attend to the detritus that drops around my person like dandruff. A couple of Latvians would do, or perhaps a Hungarian with an under appreciated expertise in goulash making and an adept hand with the Hoover.
I feel that I have a hitherto unappreciated gift for patronising the working classes. I would take considerable pleasure in introducing them to the delights of filet mignon and Birdseye boil in the bag chicken curry.
Oh well, back to the fuckin’ drawing board.
I hate work.
11 comments:
Dry your eyes and have a feg!
Lucky bastard.
At least you can afford to smoke!
Heh. I can relate. I was definitely raised upper-middle class with upper class aspirations. My parents sent me to a ritzy private school where I was soundly ignored by the patricians. My spoon isn't so much plastic as stainless steel.
Having to work sucks eggs, it does. I'd rather be a member of the idle rich, too.
Seriously, you have the air of an aristocrat. Why don't you make up a title for yourself and get a staff. Five persons to start with a lovely bungelow on an island somewhere. You could definately pull it off. :-)
spelling is way off tonight. too much quilting today, sans the pina coladas.
Garfy, you are a blogging dynamo. :-)
I'm hating work these days too. I don't really want a butler or any other strangers running around in my house though. I don't know how the rich people stand it.
waa, waa, waa. a good cry always makes me feel better.
Every week it's the same the fecking lottery twat doesn't pick any numbers remotely like the ones I have down..it's people like that who are keeping us from the lifestyle we should be living.
I haven't got the class to carry off being an ariso but I'd love to be waited on hand and foot, and I wouldn't mind a trust fund because I'm sure I'd make better use of it than the braying knobheads who actually have them.
As it stands, I'm mongrelised half east European, so it looks as if I'm cooking your goulash and changing your bedpan. Bollocks.
I just want to be rich. I know the limitations of my upbringing and I accept that I'd never be able to pull it off as being posh.
JUST GIVE ME SOME MONEY!!!! I HATE WORK SO MUCH THAT I WANT TO DIE!!!!!
I'm with tina and kyah...gimme the money,honey, and you can have the servants.
still, i'm fine with my job, which today meant watching my grandson suck melted margarine out of toast, so there ya go.
hey what gives? you told me you WERE The duke of whateveritwas.
on that note though, I sooooooooo need a maid.
I could use a cleaning faerie!
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