After lunch I get a succession of uppity cunts calling to order mats.
Two of them in particular get uptight and impatient when I ask them to repeat the spelling of their hyphenated surnames.
‘Could you spell your surname just one more time?’ I ask Mr Upyour-Ownarse, just to wind him up, smiling to myself as the supercilious, double barreled cunt shouts it out at me again, letter by letter.
I suppose his attitude might be directly linked to the fact that he can afford to spend several hundred pounds or more on something on which to wipe his feet.
