Middle class weirdos.

'Would you like a bag, or can I pop it in the one you've got, madam?'

'Uhhm... yes'

'Yes to which, madam?'

Let me introduce you to my new favourite customer. She's been off her chops on drugs the last three times she's been in the shop, has bullied and confused children because she's named them Toto (male) and Rex (female) and wears dirty clothes daily. However, far from being the village pariah, she's Westgate's new favourite person. Any ideas why? She's got that X Factor, that ge ne sais quoi which is so sought after in little villages across Britain, and probably the world. She's a local celebrity, because she's middle class. Drug problem? Who cares, with that posh Home Counties accent? Messed up kids? No matter, they're in private school. Dirty clothes? They're from Boden you say, it barely even matters that she's been wearing them the past ten days.

Observe the worrying fascination with those who buy their cushion covers from Laura Ashley and teach their children Mandarin 'for fun'. If a working class - or, heaven forbid, underclass - parent gave her children stupid names, was out of her tree on recreationals from morning until night and gave the entire family dirty clothes to wear, the children would be taken away faster than you can say 'chav'. But not this woman. She's eccentric, not a clear fucking mentaller. She's probably remeniscing about running club nights when she was at Goldsmith's when she takes her kids to school already gurning. Too busy writing poetry and making her own placemats out of reclaimed seashells to wash her clothes. Her kids' names are individual. (No they're not. They're dogs' names. I wouldn't call my child Whiskas, she shouldn't call hers Rex. Easy.)

It is a well-known fact that the upper classes have systematically passed STIs between them with their bed-hopping ways for years, with every Mitsy and Bunny and Jonty having passed the clap around their closest friends at least once after a manor house wedding. And we only need to look at the amount of MPs who have been accused of domestic violence (that's 29, btw) to realise that largely, if a person has money or gives the impression of having money, they can get away with anything. So here's a message to you, enablers of bed behaviour due to the wealth of the badly behaved: sort it out. If a bloke on the minimum wage beat his wife or gave someone chlamydia, you'd go nuts. People complain about stupid 'chavvy' baby names all the time, as well as mums who smoke pot. Take a long hard look at the person who buys their groceries at Fortnum's, who linens her bed at The White Company, and then ask what her baby's name is and what she smokes of an evening. Being a bad person is not just for the underclass.

An education.

So... my course has started. Not only am I now very busy, I am fucking terrified... wondering whether I've been too long out of education to get back into the swing, especially now I'm having to basically teach myself and structure my own work. I'm really enjoying it so far though, it's filled me with a lot of hope about what I might be able to do in the future. I've really got to make some big decisions in the next few months, time to stop coasting and start living.