The Parvenu

I’d like to Cunt the Parvenu.

I attended a drinks party at the home of a couple who recently bought the Manse in a neighbouring village. I, of course,wore a dark grey suit (old but smart),a tie and black shoes. Upon arriving I was greeted by what I took to be the butler from some Edwardian-era Agatha Christie adaptation holding the hand of an overdecorated Christmas tree. It did cross my mind that perhaps I’d overlooked the “Fancy Dress” code on the invitation,but no…it was mine host and his painted-lady wife wearing more jewellery than a fairground Gypsy. After recovering from the sight of this seizure-inducing vision of over-indulgence (in every sense of the word), I introduced myself. The “butler” proceeded to shake my hand in a manner of a Thai prostitute rushing a “Happy Ending” and then the damned female lent in and kissed me on both cheeks….I was fucking aghast…I’m not some fucking foreigner nor am I her “fitness coach”.

After disentangling myself from the attentions of the over-perfumed, over-permed and over-familiar Lady of the House, I was invited to join the other unfortunate guests in the “lounge”…. a fresh assault on my sensibilities that dwarfed the greeting assailed my senses. Something that resembled a “mash-up” between Ikea and the Hall of Mirrors at the local fairground greeted me. An eighteenth century house decorated like a French tart’s boudoir. A veritable monument to bad taste capped only by the massive television that seemed to take up most of one wall.
Luckily I knew a few of the other guests and once my power of speech had returned, I joined them to marvel at the sheer bravado of the “interior designer” who had managed to convince anyone with even a modicum of sanity to furnish their home thus.
I then spent a couple of pleasant hours with my friends watching, and sneering at, our hosts. They spent most of the time braying about their holiday home in The Algarve (or some some such place), how much they’d paid for a pony for their daughter, how they wanted to put triple-glazing in the house etc.
However, the final straw for me was when the “butler” (as we were calling him) clicked his fingers at one of the young girls waiting-on, and announced that he was about to open some £300 bottle of champagne. It was the finger-clicking that did it for me…revolting habit. I was hard-pressed not to point out to him that I’d assumed that he was the staff, but contented myself looking at the equally appalled faces of my friends.
I quickly made my excuses and left, although I must say that I was surprised that the gruesome twosome didn’t try to give me a “goody-bag” or something equally plebian on the way out. Dreadful, truly dreadful.

Get Fucked.

Nominated by Dick Fiddler

34 thoughts on “The Parvenu

  1. ‘Eddie, there’s somebody downstairs, in the drawing room!’
    ‘But we havent got a drawing room.’
    ‘I suppose you call it the snug..’
    ‘Ohhh… the lounge!’
    ‘Yes, the LOWWNGGE… there’s someone in the LOOWWNGGE!’

  2. Lottery winner, drug dealing pimp, government contractor (Seaborne) pal of Guvment, brother-in-law of Labour councillor?
    The possibilities are endless.

  3. Dog almighty.

    Decor sounds like middle-period Emmerdale /Joe Tate.

    I feel for you, Mr. Fiddler. Like me, I suspect you are a sensitive soul in these matters.

    Lounges are for airports and estate agents’ blurb.

  4. Morning Dick. Parvenu ….. marvellous word,you hardly ever see it used now, which is a shame.
    I’m surprised that you didn’t ask for a Frosty Jack ,then visit their garish bathroom and deposit a small Everest of rancid turds in the toilet bowl before taking your leave .

  5. I hope you pissed in an antique vase before you left, Dick. Or added a few more pebbles to one of those glass bowls of pointless sparkly stones.

  6. They probably said ” Who “let the riff raff in? ” when you flounced out as well. Very few appreciate you Dick, the stuck up cunts!

  7. Excellent and descriptive cunting , the old expression “ you can’t buy class” is very true these nouveau riche type cunts are irritating, people that are old money or even properly well heeled don’t need to tell their guests it’s a “ £300 bottle of champagne “ much in the same way they wouldn’t bore a guest senseless with what their car or TV cost ..
    Although this couple sound like boorish
    Clueless idiots I can laugh at their crass home decor, and their boastfulness but the finger clicking would have boiled my piss, if they are under the impression that doing that is classy? Or Acceptable? they a fucking delusional..
    Where they from Essex? 😂😂

  8. Fantastic cunting fiddler!
    Just shows that money can’t buy style or class….
    Some cunts deserve to be poor.

  9. With regards to the above picture, may I anti-cunt the word “Grandiloquent”…what a fantastic word!

    • I think you may. Ironic, I feel, the the word you chose to anti-cunt, should almost invariably followed by the word “cunt”!

  10. Wish I had friends like that. I wish I had friends…

    Only joking! ha! ha!

    Fabulous Cunting Dickie darling – sounds just like the circles my brother moves in.

    Good morning.

  11. Very few are privileged to observe the Absolute Arsehole and its mate in their own lair. I envy you, as I have never seen cunts of this quality in the flesh. And I have mingled with the upper strata of society on (rare) occasion – mostly self-deprecatory, unflamboyant and possessed of the good taste that comes with having your head repeatedly flushed in an Eton toilet for being an oik.

    You have a stereotypical parvenu there, Dick, and you must do everything possible to encourage it to self-destructive public expressions of its (criminally-acquired?) wealth. As well as giving some thought as to how it and its income can be detached from each other, both being then reassigned to your own needs.

    Meanwhile, classic cunting.

  12. Terrific job Mr F. I think I could about have stood anything you describe but when it comes to the finger click… What a cunt!

  13. Slight tangent, but my son went to a poncey school. He loved the Latin teacher, cos a kid put his hand up and asked, please sir, may I go to the lavatory? The teacher replied, no Johnny you can’t, you can go to the bloody bog like every bugger else.

  14. Rex Mottram in Brideshead comes to mind. Bringing with him Julia’s Christmas present: a diamond-encrusted tortoise. ‘How very cruel’ Cordelia says. ‘They can’t feel’ retorts Julia.
    Remindful of that Christmas my sister brought her betrothed up for the first time. All about his ‘special present’. Whispers of how ‘expensive’ it was. He didn’t open the present with the rest of us. We had to wait. Finally it was reaveled-an electronic cat. My sister gleefully-‘look it spins round and round’. My mother facetiously-‘have you given it a name?’. It’s eyes flashed, bells. Upturned amongst the wrapping paper later. The wheels on show.

    • I’ve just thought Cuntry Walker. Rex Mottram in Brideshead is Canadian. Waugh emphasis it. Maybe that is what is at the core of your anti-Canadianism? Their innate vulgarity.

  15. Fuck me, I would have been out of there and off faster than Katie Price’s underwear.

    I cannot abide snobbery and I certainly cannot abide fakery like that from ‘new money’ and suchlike. If I had been the hired help that had to suffer his finger clicking, he would find that champagne cork lodged straight up his ignorant, ‘chocolate starfish’.

    Two things I loathe: one is treating people like shit because they are ‘in service’ to you, so that gives you licence to treat them like dirt and secondly, flaunting wealth and all of the things you have acquired, like the fucking ‘home in the Algarve’. They say that REALLY monied people do not ever flaunt their wealth, don’t talk about it, because it is vulgar to do otherwise and not a big thing for them. I find that usually it is the said ‘parvenu’ who shamelessly brags about how much bling the wife has or the fact that their carpets were hand stitched by lepers in Outer Mongolia, or some other fucking bullshite.


  16. If the host had been a gentleman, the champagne (not necessarily costly, and in fact Cava) would have been decently served with a napkin round it. The host would not have solicited an opinion but waited until a guest with genuine oenological credentials had murmured in his ear “Excuse me sir, but is not that the 2015 bottling from Castell de Pujades?” To which he would quietly agree as the pair of them enjoyed the success of the fraud among the other guests. Who would have erroneously taken it for granted that the wine offered was of the highest reputation, since a gentleman had provided it.

  17. The sort of person who would click his fingers at waiting staff is the lowest of the low. No fuckin class whatsoever.
    I can visualise his missus as one of those awful middle aged women who have had a number of procedures on her boat race and will look like an elderly Joan Rivers in a few years time

  18. Well look at mr high society here £300 champagne lol not bad but I agree the butler was a cunt for telling you the price and being a snobby cunt about it I would of slapped the butler like a used thai whore and left post haste

  19. Dick I recently tried your dognose last weekend but I added a touch of simple syrup to it and a dash of nutmeg for a bit of flavor. Dogsnose was apparently one of charles dickens favorites Bout to have a 3 drink cocktail to start this dreary thursday afternoon cheers cunters and Mr fiddler

    • Drinking a earl grey cunttail right now and a old fashioned whisky with minneola orange instead of navel for a change You cunters want to help me decide on the 3rd cocktail? you have a 30min-1 hr or I choose myself by default lol

      • I don’t have any Chartreuse HBH I’ve also never had green chatrese liqueur before what cocktails it good in? I don’t have any polish moonshine either I tend to avoid ultra high proof spirits just seems like overkiill to me

      • The above combo is to be handled with care, TS.
        GC is herbal, but is NOT a bitter like Fernet Branca or Underberg. I doubt whether the Polski moonshine would cause any major probs, as it’s almost neat alcohol, therefore not much room for anything else (congeners) in the bottle ! The Polish cuts the sweetness of the Chartreuse. I’m sure the monks would approve, especially any Polish ones.

        Alternatively, if you wish for a thorough “cleansing”, Fernet Branca (peppermint flavour is also available) might replace the Chartreuse.
        Also good for removing persistent stains from pavements – chuck a pint over any Romanian beggars, and watch them howl !!

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