Darling, it’s just awful. As I was saying to Clarissa and Farquhar just the other day, we may have to forgo our second skiing holiday this year because of that horrid Sturgeon woman and her Net Tex. Or worse, we could end up having to go to some inferior resort in Austria instead of our usual jaunt down the piste in Gstaad. These separatists just don’t understand that they’re taxing aspiration and hard work.
Well yes, I know that Alasdair and I inherited almost all of our money from his father’s family, but he had to work bloody hard to keep on the old goat’s good side. All that smiling when his father pottered about on the golf course darling so that he’d recommend Alasdair for a job at the benk with one of his school chums from Gordonstoun. And then he insisted on living well past 85 and we had to visit him every Christmas instead of going to a lovely bijou resort in the Maldives like normal people. I know the meaning of sacrifice I can tell you. Because of this Net Tex we’re having to struggle by on a mere £6000 a week. I hate nationalism and now we’re paying the price for it. Alasdair and I fly the Union fleg from the flegpole in our garden in Perthshire to show just how much we hate nationalism. We’re patriots not nationalists, not like those nasty individuals with their saltires. Being British means we’re immune to nationalism, unlike lesser nations.
The Scottish government, well perish council really, says that this new tex is to provide public services. I don’t see why I should have to pay for it. I’ve not used a library for years. You can get all the Jilly Cooper novels you need on Kindle these days. And I don’t appreciate that some of our hard-inherited money is taken away from us in order to subsidise bus services. I wouldn’t be seen dead on a bus. These people could get a car if they wanted. They’re just not striving hard enough, and laying on bus services just encourages them. If they had to walk 20 miles in the snow to get to the job centre that would jolly well provide them with an incentive to get a job.
The working classes have got it bloody easy. Let them eat Gregg’s. They don’t have to source all their baked goods from Gwyneth Paltrow’s blog suggestions. Have you any idea how much it costs to buy a half dozen organic gluten free artisenal baps made from flour that’s been hand milled under a full moon by an 80 year old virginal Bulgarian peasant woman? I bet that Nicola Sturgeon doesn’t. Has no idea how real people live, that woman. And that’s the problem right there.
They certainly don’t appreciate just how difficult it is for me. I have lunches to go to, nail appointments to keep. This look isn’t easy to maintain. But one must have standards darling. Otherwise you’re no better than a socialist. Or worse, a Glaswegian. I’ve seen some of those SNPee politicians, and I’m pretty sure that none of them have ever been within a mile of a deep cleansing lotion that’s been confected in a spiritual balance with one’s chi. They don’t have a spiritual bone in their bodies. And darling, that’s what makes us better than they are.
I’m already making plens. I’ve cancelled the extra French tuition for Torquil and have found this lovely little woman who’s going to teach him conversational Geordie instead, so that he’ll be ready when we’re forced out of rural Perthshire and have to live in Newcastle. He’s already managing to say “Wey aye pet” and “Em aff doon the toon.” No, I don’t know what that means either. It does sound a bit too much like Scottish sleng if you ask me. But I’m sure we’ll fit right in. At least they’re proud to be British there, unlike those separatists. Or rupturists, as I prefer to call them.
At least there we will be able to afford to keep buying two dozen bottles of half decent Chablis every time we throw a dinner party. I mean, really. I expect those Nets imagine that we’d be satisfied with some cheap plonk from Sainsbury’s. Or worse, Oddbins. One of those wines with a screwtop. If those Nets had their way we’d all be swigging retsina out of the bottle in some cheap resort in Greece. I’m sure those people think a sommelier is a type of duvet. And not even one with a real down feather stuffing either.
It’s got so bad that we’re having to consider getting rid of the spare pony for little Annabelle. We’d be a one pony household. Can you imagine the shame? I haven’t been so mortified since we spent a weekend at Fiona and Rory’s pied a terre in Tuscany and discovered that it had some Italian brand wood burner and not a proper Aga. I could never show my face on the school run again. I mean I know that I don’t anyway, because our lovely little Polish au pair does it for me. But it’s the principle of the thing. Those Nets just don’t understand that. They have no empathy or interest in trying to appreciate someone else’s point of view, those vile and horrible people. I can’t recall what the Polish girl’s name is. It has far too many z’s in it. So I just call her Pola. We have such a laugh together. She’s terribly worried about Brexit, but I tell her not to fret. We can always find some girl from East Anglia instead.
Those horrible little virtual signallers on social media are always going on about how bad it is for people who get their every need catered for out of state handouts, but where’s the outrage for people like us, that’s what I want to know. I can’t go to a foodbank. Foodbanks don’t stock truffle arancini and waygu beef fillet. Where are the protests and publicity for those of us who have to do without a second skiing holiday? Well yes, I know that they’re all over the pages of Money Week, the Daily Mail, the Express, the Sun, the Scotsman, the Press and Journal, the Herald, the Times, the Telegraph, and the broadcast media. But apart from that, where are the protests and publicity? We’re being silenced by those vile cybernats and their social media memes. We’re the real victims here. We’re the silent majority.
The Wee Ginger Dug has got a new domain name, thanks to Indy Poster Boy, Colin Dunn @Zarkwan. http://www.indyposterboy.scot/ You can now access this blog simply by typing www.weegingerdug.scot into the address bar of your browser, the old address continues to function, the new one redirects to the blog. The advantage of the new address is that it’s a lot easier to remember if you want to include a link to the blog in leaflets, posters, or simply to tell a friend about it. Many thanks to Colin.
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