Joined: Jan. 2006
|Quote (k.e @ Aug. 19 2007,05:01)|
|Quote (Arden Chatfield @ Aug. 18 2007,22:40)|
|I'm just amused by the spectacle of an Englishman calling another Englishman 'disgusting' for a change... :p|
Yes and they haven't even been introduced, wear the same school tie ?or were in the same service.
I expect one of them to go off to the library and shoot oneself after such an outrageous [i]faux pas[/s] saying something like "I am just going outside and may be some time.".
It's the British thing to do after all, what.
Oh well, now if you want to get into the class issue:
Since neither of us (AFAIK) served in the Guards, I'm sure the service affiliation can be ignored. I don't think (although I am happy to be corrected) that Ian attended a Headmasters Conference Public school, Oxford or Cambridge or even just a Russell Group University. I doubt he is even clubbable. I however have done the lot, so therefore I, and one so hates to brag but one has to on occasion, am of a superior class. I have the ties, handshakes and badges to prove it, as if my snooty air of self satisfaction didn't already accomplish this footling task.
What this means, you servile little collection of colonials and proles, is that when I say "fuck" I do it with a certain insouciant espieglerie that endears one to my rather effete superiority. In addition, when there is any form of war on, I get to sit hundreds of miles away wearing a smoking jacket and a moustache net whilst sipping mint julips and occasionally buggering my catamite or adjutant, whomsoever is most at hand. I am, by law, entitled to herd sheep across the bridges of my choosing, wear spats, petition dear old Auntie Liz for a swan supper, and shoot foreigners and Welshmen at whim. I can also smoke opium, wear taupe, have my own native bearer or bag wallah as the situation demands. According to the dictates of my class I have foisted legions of bastards upon my servants and scullery maids in a variety of nations and am a haemophiliac.
I embody the very epitome of this noble isle, this Albion. The bulldog spirit, the desire for minor breeds of facism and the innate knowledge of superiority. And to use the wise words of Kipling I do indeed thank God for I have won the great lottery of life by being born an Englishman.