"Class Wars" drabbles by Neville Hunt

Exceptionnel!

Class Wars #4

Our room at The Waterside was excellent. But our evening meal was exceptionnel! Our children’s gift to celebrate our half-century was to enjoy Le Menu Exceptionnel and exceptional it was too! The menu declared some eight courses, but the chef had sneaked in a few more. First unexpected arrival was a kind of mini eel croquette and a micro mushroom tartlet. What a start! Then came a most delicious mini gazpacho and associated accoutrements. These unexpected but welcome guests set us up nicely for the other eight courses and surprise anniversary cake.

Everything was three-star stunning! Truly classy!

Heavenly

Class Wars #3

We stayed the night in Bray, Berkshire. What a pretty little village lying beside the River Thames. We watched as ducks and geese marshalled their ducklings and goslings. A bucolic heaven. The ancient cottages with their oh-so-perfect English country gardens were in bloom and the air was scented with rose and perfumes we loved without divining their sources. The ancient lytch-gate to the impressive village church must have admitted thousands for prayer and to sing hymns to the heavens.

And in this riverside paradise are two of the finest Michelin-starred restaurants. Ours has three stars. Classy!

For her own safety

Class Wars #2

Thames Valley Police have announced that a grumpy old man thought to be waging a class war in Eton, Berkshire, by failing to stop his car in its tracks in deference to privileged future Prime Ministers, had been seen earlier in the day lurking in nearby Windsor, outside its famous castle, (you know, the one where Her Madge now lives). Whilst his presence there might’ve been just coincidence (the towns being adjacent), there are rumours of a state of heightened alertness in the royal town. Her Madge, 96, has been advised to confine her jogging to within the castle walls.

Thereby hangs a tail-coat

Class Wars #1

In the news today, a young privileged toff narrowly avoided being mown down by a grumpy old man. The grumpy old man, who’d waited patiently at three-way traffic lights for ‘his turn’ in the pretty, albeit super-posh little Thames-side town of Eton, resented the sheer arrogance of the tail-coated schoolboy stepping out in front of their car, ambling nonchalantly across the road and causing the said grumpfather to miss ‘his turn’. A witness in the car with him exclaimed “Oh Neville, stop!... be careful... that boy could be our future Prime Minister!” So Neville promptly accelerated...