Posh people. The scourge of our society. You know why, as a nation, we didn’t really take to ‘Tiger’ Tim Henman? It’s because he’s POSH (and a loser, but mainly because he’s posh). It’s the same with the Royal Family. A lot of haters out there, and all because of their upbringing.
But the worst type of posh are those idiots who go to the Henley Regatta. I recently got stuck on a train with these wankers. All blue blazers and pin striped ties, with cream slacks to compliment, the men are all public schoolboy shit-bags who are probably earning a pretty penny in the city because mummy and daddy knew an exec who could get them in to the ‘corporation’. The women are all summery dresses and c*nt hats, and they’re more than happy to play the ditzy pretty girlfriend role to some critical acclaim.
They all talk really loudly, their laughs shatter eardrums, and they all look and sound like horses. The men have names like Toby and Julian; the women are likely to be called Felicity or Susannah. These people are the worst type of people. If I’d had a gun on that train I’d have gone all Michael Douglas on their arses and blown them all to smithereens. But I didn’t. And they continue to walk among us. The bastards. I hope you all drown on some sailing boat and the pollution of the Thames decomposes your torsos before your wanky family can even hold a wake. That is all.