An event witnessed by my colleague yesterday made me for the first time ever wish I had a chauffeur. Let me explain.
Where we work there are some ridiculously posh types. Yesterday, a Rolls pulls up in the car park. A posh old chap and his trophy wife (younger by a good 20 years, blonde, immaculately groomed from spending every waking hour in the salon) are helped out of the car by their smart chaffeur all dapper in his suit and cap.
(Now you have to imagine the voice of someone posh like Stephen Fry)
""We’ll be back in an hour H" barked the man and marched off.
H?! That is SUCH a cool name. This is why I want a chauffeur, just so’s I can snap out the name "H" at every opportunity!
It’s a good enough reason isn’t it?
Where we work there are some ridiculously posh types. Yesterday, a Rolls pulls up in the car park. A posh old chap and his trophy wife (younger by a good 20 years, blonde, immaculately groomed from spending every waking hour in the salon) are helped out of the car by their smart chaffeur all dapper in his suit and cap.
(Now you have to imagine the voice of someone posh like Stephen Fry)
""We’ll be back in an hour H" barked the man and marched off.
H?! That is SUCH a cool name. This is why I want a chauffeur, just so’s I can snap out the name "H" at every opportunity!
It’s a good enough reason isn’t it?
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