Millionaires Have No Manners.
My sister and I have made a pact.
We are at a garden party. At a large Country Estate owned by a millionaire client of my Sister the Gardener. You’ve probably eaten some of his ‘gourmet’ crisps. Fucks sake. Whatever. Big deal.
It is a charity auction also. Where braying inbreeds bid buttock-clenchingly large amounts of money on things that are not really worth it.
There is music also. I’ll get back to the fucking music in a moment.
This being a charity event, there are an unrepresentative number of spastics in attendance. Well. There are two. If it were just a garden party for the gentry there wouldn’t be any.
One asks our table for money for some unspecified coming attraction. She tried to explain it but her enunciation wasn’t all it could have been. Sister, sister’s boyfriend and sister’s best friend all pay up. I don’t, on the grounds that I have no idea what I’m paying for. Not unreasonable.
Millionaire Lady on table opposite decides she needs an extra chair. Without a word to us, she grabs one from our table, tosses my sister’s bag from it and onto the grass and takes it away.
A chap with a violin ambles casually about, making an excruciating noise. Apparently he is the brother of a famous person. Well. Not famous as such. But she is on speaking terms with Sting. He finally passes by. I am relieved. But the noise remains. Oh. He’s actually plugged into the PA. There is to be no respite.
We drink Pimms and lemonade. We are on our best behaviour. Sister and I have made a pact. We both suffer from what I suspect is a mild form of Tourettes in that whenever we find ourselves in social situations that we are not 100% comfortable with we will tend to behave in the most inappropriate manner possible and offend quite a lot of people.
So today we have made a pact. I will wear my best suit. She will actually trouble herself with make-up and nail polish. And we will Behave. We both have university educations and know how to conduct ourselves. This is an important client to my sister. This is an opportunity to acquire many more. We have made a pact.
It’s a very genteel event. I understand a Duke is present. He has a castle and everything. We shall act accordingly.
Four hours later.
I have physically prevented my sister from placing any further bids on what she drunkenly believed to be one of those sit-in-and-drive-around lawnmower things and have narrowly prevented her from purchasing a £300 bottle of wine. Which is what she was actually bidding on. And not the big shiny thing worth a lot of money that was in her head.
I have uttered the word ‘cunt’ more times than was strictly necessary. Loudly. To the palpable disgust of the people around me who would fire their servants for even imagining such words exist.
Highlights:
Me: [To band playing something appalling involving Northumbrian Pipes] You’re SHIIIIIT!
Sister’s Boyfriend: [upon hearing that someone had just bid two grand for a painting I could have done myself with a brush attached to my penis] Now that’s just taking FUCKING LIBERTIES.
Sister: [Very loud] I’ve just farted. Can you smell it?
Sister: [Again] I can’t believe you were the only one who didn’t buy whatever that mong was selling.
Me: Mong? Listen. That is no way to refer to that poor potato-head. She was doing her best. God only knows what she was on about.
Me: [Very drunk. Pimms. Do not underestimate] Is it just me or are all these people utterly unbearable? Aside from the retards they’ve wheeled in to make then look forgivable?
Sister’s Boyfriend: [Directed at Sister’s Best Friend and myself who had been arguing about, I don’t know, chewing gum or something] Why don’t you two just fuck and get it over with ‘cos you’re driving me mad.
We don’t want to be here anymore. We covet the LandRover in the carpark that is our transport for the day.
To leave by the normal route –a long very obvious walk around the grounds- would be a great big ‘I don’t care’ to the local artistic/spastic community. Which would be true.
We begin to wonder if we can get over the fence instead without the ladies present showing their knickers
Lady who is not my sister states she could not care less. As I have already seen my sister’s bottom whilst changing her nappies I am also content. Fences are vaulted. Eyes are averted.
We retire to Pub Not Very Far Away.
It is full of Normal People.
We buy drinks and sit down.
A stranger asks (ASKS) if a spare seat is reserved for someone. The reply is in the negative. They ask if they can take the chair.
I say yes.
We are at a garden party. At a large Country Estate owned by a millionaire client of my Sister the Gardener. You’ve probably eaten some of his ‘gourmet’ crisps. Fucks sake. Whatever. Big deal.
It is a charity auction also. Where braying inbreeds bid buttock-clenchingly large amounts of money on things that are not really worth it.
There is music also. I’ll get back to the fucking music in a moment.
This being a charity event, there are an unrepresentative number of spastics in attendance. Well. There are two. If it were just a garden party for the gentry there wouldn’t be any.
One asks our table for money for some unspecified coming attraction. She tried to explain it but her enunciation wasn’t all it could have been. Sister, sister’s boyfriend and sister’s best friend all pay up. I don’t, on the grounds that I have no idea what I’m paying for. Not unreasonable.
Millionaire Lady on table opposite decides she needs an extra chair. Without a word to us, she grabs one from our table, tosses my sister’s bag from it and onto the grass and takes it away.
A chap with a violin ambles casually about, making an excruciating noise. Apparently he is the brother of a famous person. Well. Not famous as such. But she is on speaking terms with Sting. He finally passes by. I am relieved. But the noise remains. Oh. He’s actually plugged into the PA. There is to be no respite.
We drink Pimms and lemonade. We are on our best behaviour. Sister and I have made a pact. We both suffer from what I suspect is a mild form of Tourettes in that whenever we find ourselves in social situations that we are not 100% comfortable with we will tend to behave in the most inappropriate manner possible and offend quite a lot of people.
So today we have made a pact. I will wear my best suit. She will actually trouble herself with make-up and nail polish. And we will Behave. We both have university educations and know how to conduct ourselves. This is an important client to my sister. This is an opportunity to acquire many more. We have made a pact.
It’s a very genteel event. I understand a Duke is present. He has a castle and everything. We shall act accordingly.
Four hours later.
I have physically prevented my sister from placing any further bids on what she drunkenly believed to be one of those sit-in-and-drive-around lawnmower things and have narrowly prevented her from purchasing a £300 bottle of wine. Which is what she was actually bidding on. And not the big shiny thing worth a lot of money that was in her head.
I have uttered the word ‘cunt’ more times than was strictly necessary. Loudly. To the palpable disgust of the people around me who would fire their servants for even imagining such words exist.
Highlights:
Me: [To band playing something appalling involving Northumbrian Pipes] You’re SHIIIIIT!
Sister’s Boyfriend: [upon hearing that someone had just bid two grand for a painting I could have done myself with a brush attached to my penis] Now that’s just taking FUCKING LIBERTIES.
Sister: [Very loud] I’ve just farted. Can you smell it?
Sister: [Again] I can’t believe you were the only one who didn’t buy whatever that mong was selling.
Me: Mong? Listen. That is no way to refer to that poor potato-head. She was doing her best. God only knows what she was on about.
Me: [Very drunk. Pimms. Do not underestimate] Is it just me or are all these people utterly unbearable? Aside from the retards they’ve wheeled in to make then look forgivable?
Sister’s Boyfriend: [Directed at Sister’s Best Friend and myself who had been arguing about, I don’t know, chewing gum or something] Why don’t you two just fuck and get it over with ‘cos you’re driving me mad.
We don’t want to be here anymore. We covet the LandRover in the carpark that is our transport for the day.
To leave by the normal route –a long very obvious walk around the grounds- would be a great big ‘I don’t care’ to the local artistic/spastic community. Which would be true.
We begin to wonder if we can get over the fence instead without the ladies present showing their knickers
Lady who is not my sister states she could not care less. As I have already seen my sister’s bottom whilst changing her nappies I am also content. Fences are vaulted. Eyes are averted.
We retire to Pub Not Very Far Away.
It is full of Normal People.
We buy drinks and sit down.
A stranger asks (ASKS) if a spare seat is reserved for someone. The reply is in the negative. They ask if they can take the chair.
I say yes.
posted by Tired Dad at
8:19 pm
35 Comments:
These toffs always go on about commoners and etiquette and all that, when really, they don't have a sodding clue how to interact with other people. I discovered this when I began working for a certain international gourmet coffee house. They're all arseholes, the lot of them.
I like that phrase i hear occasionally ... "is someone sitting in this chair?" just in case there maybe an invisible bottom in residence. Which would not be a bad thing, sometimes.
A big shiny thing? soooo tempting
Brilliant, I am ecstatic that you used the word cunt on more than one occasion and you also managed to all scale a fence.
A well rounded day out I would say.
Not only are these people rude- I've often found that they are dirty beasts who don't wash that much. Spend any time in a top class hotel and you will find this out.
Not that I'm suggesting I have or do spend time lurking round top class hotels...
I'll leave now.
Hilarious. And stunningly familiar. Glad I'm not the only one whose family suffers from the well-described version of Tourette's. My parents continue to be appalled even into our adulthood. Congrats on making the most of a dull event!
Just great. You rock TD.
And the word cunt isn't rude, I suppose, nor shouting abuse at musicians? Talk about hypocrisy.
Hope you stared the Duke in the eye when you said cunt.
You have given me a stitch. Excellent stuff.
I haven't attended a formal or semi-formal social gathering in years (apart from education/work-related ones, I can cope with being on my Best Behaviour if it might result in qualifications or money).
It might have been an opportunity to acquire more clients... but it wasn't mandatory, therefore by my system I would have run several miles.
Sometimes horrible socialising ain't worth it, no matter what you get...
Dandelion - if you think the word cunt is rude, you're a Norman, damning the "uncivilised" English anatomical term. Damn you Frenchie
Hurrah for the local pub! I am a bit handicapped myself, in that I can actually manage at these kinds of events - but I can really understand your predicament... your sister and her boyfriend sound like fun, too.
Ok then. Calm down the lot of you.
Liam: Hello again. I believe you may be quite right, although will admit this is something of a generalisation. Crisp-millionaire man boozily (at 12 noon) belched in my face whilst talking and thought nothing of it.
Me: I normally reply 'Why yes, can't you see him? How much have you had?' but didn't bother as I was just so glad to be around normal people who did not resemble horses.
I too would adore access to an invisible bottom. This is getting very dark, I shall move on.
Shiny thing. God. 'It's only £300! I'll find the money! It's virtually a tractor!'
'It's actually a bottle of wine, and NOTHING will get you THAT pissed.'
Sakura: The day could so easily have been wasted. Walking away from a high-society social event with any shred of dignity would have been a shame.Thanks.
Missy: It is true. They smell and do not know how to shave and are quite lost unless somebody is paid to brush their teeth for them. (This is TRUE. Halitosis is a common affliction of the gentry.)
Kaija: Hello and welcome. We describe it as being 'itchy'. The fake smile irratates after a while.
Rach: (Do you mind 'Rach'?) Anyway. You erm 'rock' more.
Dandy: Hello there. Goodness. If one feels use of the word 'cunt' is offensive then one is certainly reading the wrong blog. I shall also refer you to Anon's linguistic genealogy. As for shouting things at bands - that really is the point of being in a band. People can clap, boo or whatever. Much like having a blog. Thanks for the boo. It's all the same.
Dinners: I didn't actually meet the Duke - he may have been too busy worrying about one of his castles and his bad breath. Thanks.
Anon: Yeah. What you said. We were all of the same mind after the second drink.
Baroque: Hello. The Local Pub is a terrible thing if it is YOUR local. Well, mine - The Last Chance - is. But there is always something oddly comforting about other people's locals. Sister is superb without question (one evening in her 'local' she was very nearly barred for flooring a bloke who was bothering her with a single punch. Bloke ended up being barred. And bruised).
round em up, stick em in a field and BOMB THE BASTARDS!!!!!!!!
( i hope you're sort of my age ish or you might not get the reference )
"We both suffer from what I suspect is a mild form of Tourettes in that whenever we find ourselves in social situations that we are not 100% comfortable with we will tend to behave in the most inappropriate manner possible and offend quite a lot of people."
Oh, me too! Except being an American, I get surlier and more hillbillesque. I accidently said 'c*cksucker" to my child's head principal once. It didn't go over well.
In informal or familiar settings, the word cunt is not necessarily offensive, no, but in a formal setting, with strangers, given that it is widely considered the worst insult you can call a person, I'd say using it is pretty rude.
If one is using it to refer to anatomy, that's one thing, but I suspect most usage was in the metaphorical, and derogatory sense? And I have to say, that is pretty charming, no?
Also, it may not be cool to say so, but even the literal usage is in fact unpleasant/misogynist when you look up the etymology.
The point I was making was that your behaviour was just as rude as anyone else's - swearing, shouting abuse etc - so you can hardly complain. Unless you are a hypocrite.
erm, poor people suck 2
Peach: Kenny BLOODY Everett? Fuck me how low has this blog readership sunk.....oh. I got the reference. Erm. Oh. Doesn't matter. At ease.
TDubRN: Hello and welcome. You sound splendid. Unless child in question was present.
Dandelion: Wonderful. You're back. Oh good. I've not had a totally fruitless internet row in ages. I was rather missing it to be frank.
I feel as though I am being beaten about the head with a rolled-up copy of the Guardian. Minus the Business section. I do hope your hemp-derived clothing does not chafe too much.
Right. 'You can hardly complain'.
About what precisely? You've lost me on that one. Was I complaining?
'Unless you are a hypocrite'. Well. Um. Yes. Don't you get it? That was sort of the point.
Blimey. Do you often need things explaining to you?
'Charming, no?'
Christ. Is this the first time you've been here? Dear me. 'Charming' will not often be in evidence round these here parts.
'Etymology' indeed. I'm delighted that you know some complicated words, but as any 18-year-old student of very basic Saussurian linguistics will tell you, in language history is largerly irrelevant and that the signified 'meaning' of a word so quickly slides beneath the signifier of the word itself - certainly along the time axis - as to make the word - in this case the verbal sound or written symbol - meaningless.
In short. It's just a fucking word. We've all got dictionaries and have been to universities. I'm sorry you took offence because I called your foo-foo a bad word. But you don't seem too worried about 'spasmo', 'spacka' or 'mong'.
They are actually really offensive, until one remembers that they are only WORDS, and it is cathartic to use them sometimes.
Anyway. Thanks for the visits. But I suggest that, well, if you are so bothered by individual words it may be an idea to stop reading. Anything.
This is fun.
Pup: Hi. You're quite right.
After reading the somewhat long winded and analytical responses to your posts, I admit to feeling somewhat inadequate. I only come here for a laugh for fucks sake...is there something wrong with me becuase I do not feel an urge to do some on the spot psychoanalysis?
Sounds like quite a party. Quite a day.
Thank god for pubs.
DJ: You mean you're not writing a phd paper on fuck knows what? GET OUT.
London: It was superb.
Lol thanks for that...*finds favorite comfy spot and settles in for some comment watching*
I didn't know you were a millionaire! Ace!
Clarissa: I am a peasant. Sorry to disappoint. I was invited sort of by accident
Oh. Hang on. It was sarcasm wasn't it? Oh bollocks to you The Internet. I don't get your tone of voice.
oooh what fun I want to hang out with you and your fqmily, or just here in the comment box, enough to put a smile on anyones face
Blimey! What did I miss these last few days?
I was always told not to sniff dandelions as a child, as they make you wee the bed....which can be an unpleasant experience.
Just keep telling us more, TD. I love it!
Good thing too. My screach would probably make you and your peasant self squirm. x,c
Honey: We're a lot less fun than we sound.
Tea: I haven't even considered sniffing anyone thankyou.
Clarissa: I'm sure you have the voice of an angel.
No, DestructoBoy was not present. I was called in about his "terrible" language. He muttered "Damn" under his breath (he's 11) when his pencil point snapped 3 minutes before the end-of-the-day bell. One of the other children objected, saying "I'm a Christian and I am offended by that language."
I told the principal I hardly thought depriving him of recess and making him write a full page apology (in addition to my husband and I calling the girl's parents to apologize) was appropriate. Then I said, "Now if he had said 'C*cks*cking m*th*rf*ck*r, I could understand!"
They go overboard on punishment for little boys these days.
I salute you.
"I will wear my best suit."
Oh, just STOP!
Right Mike. If you are to go swanning off to the Abroad with NWM without a single invite then you shall have to suffer.
Single breasted, three buttons. Single vent. Tailored.
I'm sure she's told you: small but handsome.
Bollocks. I'm flirting with a gay. How did this happen?
You gate crashed a snobby charity do. In the opposite direction.
Kudos.
I went on holiday for a bit and seem to have missed a really good row. Shame. I too have that thing where the posher the event the worse I behave. I once told Bobby Charlton's wife, at some vile corporate golfing do, that my husband had never heard of Bobby Charlton and had no idea who he was. This was indeed true, but she didn't seem pleased.
"Cunt" and "Fuck" are the BEST swear words and should be used sparingly but with great force. "Mong" is deeply offensive and made me laugh out loud, because I'd forgotten it existed. I think the intention behind the use of such words is what's important, and you used them to make your piece funny - and they DID - and not to offend anyone.
Nomes: Welcome and thanks.
Daphne: It was by no means the best row I've had here. Glad you enjoyed, and glad you GET IT.
I love you English people!
Seriously though (and I am English, though living in the US for some time - they have their own set of problems over here), the 'toffs' you are describing are not the aristocracy. The idiots that you so hilariously demonize in your post are the misguided hangers-on, the inept and much-lampooned nouveaux riches. The way you react to them stealing your sister's chair is EXACTLY the way a cultured, well-educated 'toff', or Englishman would react. With polite, and - to them - imperceptible indignity.
My point is that you, me, your readers, and the real 'toffs' are the true guardians of English culture and civility. What outrages you outrages the toffs. You are them, and they are you. That is to say, we are one and the same - the educated Englishman. We are the spirit of England - and this is the bequeathal of the 'toffs' of the 18th and 19th century - the Pitts and the D'Israelis, the Humes and the Benthams; the (insert many famous English humanitarians here). They did a good job spreading their enlightened life view through all those universities and Polytechnics they helped create.
What you experienced and so eloquently recorded is the amusement afforded you by the uneducated aping the trappings of achievement, education and culture.
When you return to your 'common' pub, and an educated Englishman asks politely for your spare chair, you have returned to the seat of England. Reading this post, and with the benefit of hindsight, I realize that the great majority of people in England really are educated and civilized - compared to a select few a mere 150 years ago. A more pertinent question might be: what is to be done about the 'chavs'. This may be the same question the 'toffs' asked themselves about the like of you and I in the past.
Thank you for reminding me why I have not, and need not, accept the undoubtedly valuable gift of American citizenship.
P.s. I am drunk out of my f*cking MIND on excellent Scotch. Mumpsimus. Heathens.
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