You can't buy class. You can have all the money in the world but class is something you're just born with. Or you learn. Or is pointed out to you. But you CAN'T buy it.
I went for a couple of drinks around West Hampstead on Wednesday with my friend Bennett Arron. Now, admittedly West Hampstead is nothing compared to say Hampstead but it thinks it is. Bars are more expensive there. People eat and drink "Al Fresco", or for those without class "In The Rain". They have sushi instead of kebabs. It's a wannabe high class part of London but it will never get there. Because the people there are fucking trash just like the rest of us. Mutton dressed as Nigella.
The first bar we went to was The Lion. Good name, The Lion. It suggests it's a real pub. A proper pub. a man's pub. But no. Inside it's like a wine bar with dining area and wine patio. Nice, really. A wine patio sounds great. Except for two things. One, everyone in the tiny garden was smoking so it smelled like Amy Winehouse's jumper (ZING!). Two, a fucking stupid cunt decided that it was absolutely fine to change her baby's shitty nappy ON A TABLE IN FRONT OF EVERYONE. As if it wasn't bad enough that the thoughtless prick had decided to take her baby to a really smoky area so that she could add more smoke to it and blow it directly on to her own child, she was just feet away from a nappy changing area. Are all parents these days just completely shit? Do we need to take these fuck-nuts away from their babies and put them into care. I mean put the parents into care not the babies. The babies will learn to look after themselves and are definitely better off being far away from their parents who hate this whole baby-hobby thing. I HAVE A BABY AND I CAN DO WHAT I LIKE WHEN I LIKE, the ridiculous mother told us all by showing us the brilliant shit her baby can make on a table that someone else will be sitting at soon. The great part was, as we left, we saw the baby kick the fucking cous-cous eating bitch's wine over. I like that baby.
We moved on to the next bar. Can't remember the name of it but it's the one after The Lion if you're heading back to the tube. It seemed ever fancier than The Lion. Lots of outdoor seating for the chain smoking elite and fancy food that is the culinary world's equivalent to Paris Hilton. You know, looks good but tastes awful. And is full of Chef-Cum (ZING!). I ordered two beers but they were flat and horrible (Hello again, Paris. ZING!) so I asked for a different type of beer. They were more than happy to deal with my request. Why wouldn't they? This is a classy West Hampstead establishment after all. They changed my Peroni for Staropramen with an apology and a smile. Very nice of them.
Then they gave my two rejected drinks to another customer.
I'm never going there again. And West Hampstead is Kilburn so it can get over itself, the pretentious cunts.
Yesterday I came out of my Outnumbered closet. Outnumbered is a very nice, middle-class, cosy sit-com and I should hate it but I don't. It's very clever and it's done that there thing that TV comedy never does. Good writing, strong characters and great acting. So there you have it. I like Outnumbered. In fact, I love Outnumbered. If you haven't seen it I urge you to as soon as you can. Of course, if I like Outnumbered then I must absolutely HATE something new-ish to balance everything out. The universe would fall into the sea if I only liked something and forgot to HATE something. Don't worry, I do really HATE something. It's called Coming Of Age. It's the worst thing on TV at the moment and I'm including news footage of the clashes in Bangkok in this. Just in case you haven't seen it, here it is in a nutshell:
SLAG: Now that you've fucked my arsehole off me, do you fancy a cup of tea?
IDIOT BOY: Well, I'd rather drink tea than suck my Dad's spunk out of my dead Nana's quim.
Repeat ad nauseum.
It's like a really childish version of Rent-A-Ghost. I know it's for teenagers but I had The Young Ones. That's all I'm saying. Anyway, here's a clip: http://bit.ly/9FIGuK