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.
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