David Blackburn

First class chaps

First class chaps
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Bravo Sir Nicholas Winterton! It’s pernicious that no one will pay for me to travel First Class. As two separate scions of the same upper crust, it is mine and Sir Nicholas’ birthright. The country is going to the dogs with all this plebeian impertinence. It’s like turning up at the airport and being asked if you’ve packed your own bags, which forces you to admit that the dastardly Social Chapter means you can no longer afford a batman to do it for you.

Myself, I commute to and from Sussex on the milk train and the sleeper, rubbing shoulders with hoi polloi – no children thank God, but a bolus of grubby lawyers and clammy insurance brokers nonetheless. They have a very different outlook on life, and all told commuting with the professional classes is a horrific experience, like having to dine at the Athenaeum.

However, having the blood of a companion of the Conqueror running through your veins, like what I do, means one thrives in adversity, so I get a little work done. Without casting aspersions on his impeccable breeding, Sir Nicholas would not have the same success in Standard Class. He would be beset by inquisitive constituents who had paid the rent he was claiming on accommodation that he actually owned. Not circs conducive to taxing the grey matter I fear.

Who are all these noisy people? What do they want? Of course he must travel First Class – he is an MP.

Regrettably, in these straightened times, he will have resort to the common practice of paying for himself. Nick, it happens to the best of us.