HouseI had just moved to Surrey from South London and was trying to hang on to my socialist credentials in the land of the filthy rich. My cycle to work, a very hilly and demanding nine miles, took my past some fabulously wealthy properties which I sneered at as I battled through the elements on my mountain bike, claiming the ethical superiority of two wheels over all the Porsches and Land Rovers. One day a large dog shot out of a front garden, barged in to me and knocked me off my bike, then disappeared back into the huge and expensive home it had emerged from. I banged on the door which was answered by a well to do woman in a dressing gown and bling. I gave her the full tirade, you rich people should keep your dogs under control, if you’re not letting your animals savage me you’re knocking me over I your expensive cars, blah blah blah … After a couple of minutes I ran out of steam and she just looked at me. “I’m terribly sorry” she said. “We don’t actually own a dog. I think it’s a stray”. She was so polite in that infuriatingly calm way that wealthy people have. So unlike the dog I was forced to walk away with my tail between my legs. Moral of the story? Be very careful of your ground when letting loose in furious indignation ….

 

 


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