Last week, I popped over to Fag Hag sister’s for a coffee and general bitch about love, life and the burning question ‘if anal is the new blow job, what in Lord Lucan’s name is the new anal and will I need to go to casualty afterwards?’
During our chin-wag, she told me about James, one of the more typical students at the Little Lord Fauntleroy academy for young cabinet ministers that Fag Hag niece, Mimi, currently attends.
Whereas Fag Hag sister has a Guardian-reading, guilty head-in-hands approach to the sometimes necessary evils of private education, little James comes from the more ‘industry standard’ sort of family you’ll find there: think townhouse in St. John’s Wood, think Louboutin boots on the school run, think abused Albanian cleaner on £5 an hour plotting revenge and calling the mum ‘beech’ behind her back.
Apparently, whilst visiting Fag Hag sister’s beautifully decorated four-bedroom Muswell Hill family home the other day, 6-year-old James pointed out, ‘Oh, dear! Your house is really rather small, isn’t it?’ To which I would have replied, ‘Yeah, a bit like your cock, junior.’ Which is probably precisely why I don’t have children.