On Being OG

Only a British boarding school could speak so seriously with a name like "Giggleswick." I must have a namesake somewhere within Chuckleshire, near Guffawcaster Lane, who would scowl at me down his pince-nez from the inadvertently dick-shaped terraced pergola of his million-pound Gothic Revival home, simply incensed at my frivolous smirk and poor street-manners. But old money is old money, and a truly original gangster would have just that, or enough anyway to solicit a fake-signed request written by someone who can't be bothered to send his own emails.

Oh I do so look forward to spending the summer in Cacklesbury-off-Sniggerville.