The wrong dog

HouseI had just moved to Surrey from South London and was trying to hang on to my socialist credentials in the land of the filthy rich. My cycle to work, a very hilly and demanding nine miles, took my past some fabulously wealthy properties which I sneered at as I battled through the elements on my mountain bike, claiming the ethical superiority of two wheels over all the Porsches and Land Rovers. One day a large dog shot out of a front garden, barged in to me and knocked me off my bike, then disappeared back into the huge and expensive home it had emerged from. I banged on the door which was answered by a well to do woman in a dressing gown and bling. I gave her the full tirade, you rich people should keep your dogs under control, if you’re not letting your animals savage me you’re knocking me over I your expensive cars, blah blah blah … After a couple of minutes I ran out of steam and she just looked at me. “I’m terribly sorry” she said. “We don’t actually own a dog. I think it’s a stray”. She was so polite in that infuriatingly calm way that wealthy people have. So unlike the dog I was forced to walk away with my tail between my legs. Moral of the story? Be very careful of your ground when letting loose in furious indignation ….




Posted on

February 17, 2014