Vindication

OK, so the Claphamite turned up last night wearing... wait for it... I don't think there's a drumroll long enough... Hush Puppy loafers, khaki chinos, a white shirt, a navy blue, round neck, very-chunky-knit Ralph Lauren jumper with a red polo player, and NOVELTY CUFFLINKS. In Clapham.

You couldn't make it up. Except you obviously could because it is so unutterably predictable.

Since I wrote the blog entry about Clapham and Putney, my mother has called me 'ignorant' and 'immature' and said that it is wrong to judge people based on where they live, and that I will grow out of these opinions. The conversation ended with me being unable to speak due to the conflict between my immediate desire to launch a counter-attack so brutal that it would all end in tears and my certainty that that wouldn't be a Very Nice Thing to do to the woman who made me into the charming young lady you imagine before you today.

Suffice to say, I think she is wrong. Just to add fat to the flames, now I'm judging people on where they live AND what they wear. And for absolute clarity, I'd like the record to show that I WILL NEVER GROW OUT OF THESE OPINIONS. It is wrong to judge people on where they live or what they wear, which is why I went on the freaking date in the first place, and why I didn't run away as soon as he walked up to me. But, on this occasion, I could not have been more right. He was precisely what I expected. And we're not going to get married.

People love Clapham and Putney because they're safe and predictable. There are lots of other people there who think Just Like Them. They wear their Ralph Lauren to be part of a club, a club whose motto is 'I am safe, predictable, casjual, I like yachts and I'm pretty wealthy'. One day, I too may want to live somewhere safe and predictable. I don't have a problem with that. That's actually bollocks: I dread that day with every nucleus in my body. But the fact remains that it might happen in future. The key words there are the final two. My real beef is with anyone who chooses to buy property somewhere safe and predictable when they are in their mid-20s. And it is my right to have serious beef with that. It's not ignorant or immature to have beef with someone who shuts down from all life has to offer when they are still childless and free from almost every possible responsibility. As beef goes, that is some deeply patronising beef, sure. But it's NOT ignorant beef. Argh. I'm angry. I was very ANgry with my mother. [Deliberate misquote from a film, mum, don't worry your pretty lil' head further].

And breathe.