I was at a music festival in the Cotswolds last weekend and was persuaded to buy a VIP ticket, which allowed us to mix with the most noxious bunch of hooray Henries you ever saw, including David Cameron. They did not seem to have any connection to the real world.
I've always liked Edward Lear's poem, The Akond of Swat, where he speculates on the private life of an obscure Indian potentate.
"...at night if he suddenly screams and wakes
do they bring him only a few small cakes
or a LOT
for the Akond of Swat?"
I have completed a similar exercise.
THE OXFORDSHIRE SMUG
In your Barbour coat do you garden all day
and go out gathering nuts in May
in a TRUG?
the Oxfordshire Smug.
Do you have a thing for the great Outdoors
and go out walking your Labradors
or the PUG?
the Oxfordshire Smug.
In the gastropub when you go to dine
Do you yell in the bar as you quaff your wine
or the SNUG?
the Oxfordshire Smug.
At parties in your Orangery
do you liberally let the Bolly flow free
or the KRUG?
the Oxfordshire Smug.
In Regatta week do you swig champagne
or use fifty pound notes to snort cocaine
as a DRUG?
the Oxfordshire Smug.
At Christmas time do you give your cleaner
a gift of your wife’s cast-off pashmina
or SHRUG?
the Oxfordshire Smug.
Do you cruise the lanes in your four by four
speeding because you’re above the law
you THUG?
the Oxfordshire Smug.
On Sundays, after you’ve sung your hymns
do you sit outside with a glass of Pimm’s
or a JUG?
the Oxfordshire Smug.
At festivals, scoffing your Harrods deli
do you strut your stuff in a Hunter wellie
or UGG?
the Oxfordshire Smug.
Do you name your children Piers and Jocasta
so their modelling jobs will take off faster?
you MUG!
the Oxfordshire Smug.
Do you loll on the chintz with your horsey arse
and secretly sneer at the working class?
you SLUG!
the Oxfordshire Smug.
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