Sloans, Rahs, Yahs and Toffs.

the weekend, not unusually began after work on Friday. Expectations of rum, bananas and giant feasts were running high - Palmer was in town. Pulling into Edghill's flat in the evening straight from work, after spending some time coaxing the security guard to let me (scruff) and my car (old) past the enormous iron gates of the compound defending untold luxury apartments within. Smith recanted the last time we met -several years ago, when I wanted to leave London, not for Edinburgh, but for Costa Rica. To open a shrimp farm. The idea seems marginally more insane now than it did then, which conceded him the right to remind or enlighten everyone we met throughout the evening about Souza's Shrimps. Still a non-entity, and the dream now further away than Santa Claus is to the average thirty year old.

Mexican restaurant, a well deserved meal, following several hours of driving in circles following the poor directions of an ex-white-van-man Palmer. You can feel the ire in the car when I refused to use the bus lane. The job never leaves your blood. Fed, watered and now tired, we head back to Wimbledon by means of the longest route possible, which of course was another result of using bus lanes without thinking carefully. Stockwell and Brixton are not pleasant, especially after midnight. The bar at Casa Edgehill remained open until 4am, before the patrons passed out on the sofa. It felt comfortable to be a student again.

The next day was baking day. Scouring all the small fruit and veg stalls for semi rotten bananas, then buying the flour, butter and eggs needed for banana bread. Scoot down to Palace Of Edgehill, only to find out that Palmer has been evacuated, as sister of Edgehill has work and doesn't require distractions. Jump into some a car with random bloke-called-Will and head down to Tennant's flat for dinner in rah-rah-yah-Fulham. This is where things got interesting. At university, Tennant was granted the status a full-blown sloan. That considered, I was apprehensive about turning up at the flat for a dinner party because a) i have never been to a dinner party before. God only knows what goes on at these things, except conversations regarding patio extensions b) I have never seen Tennant in about 4 years c) Most importantly of all, I perceived myself to be in a social class below Tennant.

With this in mind, I was glad we were at least the only ones in the flat, with an hour or so to acclimatize to the surroundings (read: drink copious amounts of rum, become delirious and start declaring that all lawyers are blood sucking shysters who protect their profession through nepotism). Meanwhile, received a text from Pearson, declaring me to be a YAH. Which got me thinking. Again. To cut a long story short, as thoughts were only concluded on Monday afternoon following an email debate with Fong, I have two points.

1. Self - Perception, once again, is all that matters. In this instance, Tennant, Wilson et al neither had a problem with me in the past, nor have a problem with me now. I was the only one who bothered to wear a shirt for this affair (albeit creased and shortsleeved) entirely as a result of the fear stemming from the belief that I would and could not fit the clique. The myth has evaporated. There is no clique. Nobody cared, masqueraded or judged. There was no palpable reason to refrain from socializing with these people, let alone despise them. And, being mere animals - animals of the same species as me - I had stuff in common with them. There was no talk of patio extensions.

2. It appears that today, hating the class above you is socially acceptable. Class hatred, like any hatred, can in its most simplistic form be largely derived from fear or superiority complexes. Eg "I hate cats, they are lazy" "I hate dogs, I am scared of them". In this case, I would argue that most class hatred stems from fear of inacceptance. At Sky, half the CRM team consisted of a bunch of fresh grads who had just jumped out of daddy's wallet and into KPMG's. Equally spoilt in both environments, the permanent staff felt alienated from these people who led a different lifestyle to themselves, and yet worked side-by-side.

Famous Disraeli quote with regard to class divide : "two nations, between whom there is no intercourse and no sympathy; who are as ignorant of each other's habits, thoughts, and feelings, as if they were dwellers in different zones, or inhabitants of different planets."

Sunday. Removal day. Palmer left London with haste 18months ago, placing items of sentimental (read rubbish) value in a garage. The mission was to move as much stuff as possible to an enormous house (pool, tennis court, stables) somewhere up North. What I witnessed for much of the afternoon was ire and grief resultant of the vagrant lifestyle. By having no fixed abode, you are left at the mercy of People. People you are related to, People you know, People you met a couple of times and even People who you kinda know indirectly through someone else. And, if you've been on this planet for anything more than a couple of months, you will know that people are a Pain. They change their mind, act selfishly, irrationally. Across the board, they are consistent only on one point - letting you down. Palmer had to shift his stuff out of this garage, which gave me 10minutes to blast the Z3 caged inside around the block. Me feeling happy, him feeling sad, we headed of to Chorelywood. Quite easily the largest property I have ever seen, and the owners were not around. Unload junk into stables. Palmer still depressed, and now feeling coerced into throwing most of his possessions of sentiment the way of the bin.
6 months ago, as I left Edinburgh, I had a similar sentiment. The world I enjoyed so much was disappearing, and it felt bad to know I had to move on. Basingstoke wasn't quite the improvement I was hoping for, to say the least. Stuff happens, and the faster you get to nonchalant the faster your life feels good again. (read: grow up).

Still, the lessons from the story are clear - the vagrant lifestyle must end. But with the price of property in London 20x the average annual income, it may not end in my twenties. There are so many more couches to pass out on...


- posted by Daniel @ Thursday, September 16, 2004