The Peasant and the Silver Spoon Ladies.

Shortly before I encountered the jealous black horse mentioned in the previous post, I encountered the young woman who is to be the recipient of the big new house being built in Mill Lane. She’s either married, or about to be married, to the son of a local businessman, and she and her husband (or betrothed) are currently domiciled in a temporary structure so well appointed that many people would give their right arms to live permanently in it.

But she was uncommonly affable so I chose to overlook her outrageous fortune and slipped easily into affable response. The phrase ‘capitalist floosie’ did briefly enter my head, but my natural good grace held firm and I avoided stooping to such an impolite level by giving verbal expression to it. I did, however, refer to her present accommodation as a ‘posh caravan’ just to avoid being a complete traitor to my subordinate class.

And then I passed a mother and daughter who live in an even bigger new house – courtesy of yet another local businessman who is their husband/father – around the corner from me. They were out riding their immaculate 16.2 hunters and said ‘good morning.’ I sometimes think I don’t belong here. 

(And I might just add that, in spite of the foregoing, I don't actually give a damn about being of a subordinate class. Ostentation has no power; it merely irritates occasionally. And I do know it shouldn't.)