I awake and look around me. Yes, it's my bedroom, my bed, and my man snoring next to me. Thank fuck, we're home.
We've just been to another planet for the weekend. A squeezy plane took us from normality, where bins are emptied, loos are clean and have paper in them, those nice police officers ensure everyone's car is checked for, well, you know. Those nice orange-clad people who staff the check-in desks ask inane questions; and yet more nice people (in stiffer uniforms) operate the boarder control, taking the opportunity to laugh at holes in your socks, and you having to hold up your belt-less trousers, and then have a free feel-up of you.
We've just been to a place where everything is filthy, flashy and fast.
But, this isn't the worst of it, dear reader. O, no!
We've just been darn sarf - to middle Hingerland. More yet, to a Family Wedding, groan you may, or titter you yet. And, even more, zoomer-ish, to a family wedding, in England with the fucking footballers wives!
Everyone has to drive a sleek, black car - bmw, merc etc. The wives have to be got up like make-up was slapped on with a catapult; with tallons wot mustn't be broke! screech!
There was a screech! if they lost their spectacles, or god forbid, their 'phone, which is constantly on the go wiv texts from 'me mate, yeah?' and rattled with designer dangly things.
Everything is in a panic. Now, I know weddings are stressful, expensive and the scene-setting for not letting the side down. Representing the family's wealth and status.
But, this is their Normal Lives, where every designer label (don't ask me, I haven't a clue) has to be Seen to be seen. Everyone Has to Have a Diamond. Even if they are only 8 years old, for gawd's sake, as a rite of passage into the World of Bling. I can feel myself getting all screechy! as I remember all this.
The designer holiday has to be taken. Even before the needs of the children can be met. 'A?' was the reply to a carefully worded query as to Why the Fuck has the holiday to be taken before, blah, blah, etc.
Heads seem to be filled with the latest must-haves of Things, Places etc. and we simply didn't fit in.
I must now be an official country-ophile. Much as I tried, through gritted teeth, I simply could not get them.
2 comments:
A?
May I just say, this is footballers-wivesery, which is quite different from darn sarfery, and in-tarnery. We aint' all like that.
Thank the lord for that, dandelion!!
I know. It is just this family.
We were born working class, and have all aspired to middle class. I now work with the upper class (and believe me, that's yet another story!)
This family - well I do think they just aspire to football-wivesery.
And, it is this that I just cannot head me 'ead rand, mate.
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