There’s nothing I like more when in the confines of a small ship than a superior bastard. I love ’em. They’re so practiced at looking down their noses at us plebs.
Now fair enough. The UK has a proud tradition of raising toffee nosed, upper class twits and I’m all in favour of tradition. After all, where would the Empire be without such people?
So here we are in a formal dining environment where gentlemen are required to wear jackets and that most useless piece of clothing every invented – the tie. I mean to say, life is difficult enough without putting a noose around your own neck and then tightening it, isn’t it?
The Rodean Girl is, of course, anxious to let us know just how superior being educated at her school makes her, don’t’cha know? Trouble is I’m rather unimpressed because I was public school educated as well. No, really. I was.
“I liked Rodean girls” I informed her. “At my place they were known as the next best lay to a convent girl.”
Oh heck! She just choked on her vichychoisse. “And where might I ask” she replies indignantly “were you educated?”
Bad question. I’m wearing the old boys tie. I present it to her upper class nose. “And what is that meant to represent?” she asks.
“Kings College” I reply matter of factly. “Surely you recognise it?”
“Oxford or Cambridge?” she retorts,
Oh dear! So much for a Rodean education…
( Dioclese is taking a break from the election shite in Malta…)