Читать книгу Grumpy Old Men: New Year, Same Old Crap - David Quantick - Страница 14

Rubbish. It’s one thing to see Lord Bugglesbath standing there, 90 years old in his stockinged feet and burbling on about rights of eschovy and mantraison in the voice of a broken budgerigar, because that’s heritage. Lord Bugglesbath and his mates are kept in the House of Lords for their own protection, in case they go for a walk down a busy street and get run over by the twenty-first century.

But your modern peers are no good whatsoever. They sit there, in suits from M&S, wishing they hadn’t been kicked off the board of their companies, wondering how much an ermine robe costs, and every so often going, ‘I’m a lord. How the hell did that happen?’

Not to be encouraged. Oh, and that thing where if you’re called Dennis Surname and they ask you to be a life peer and tell you to pick a title? Don’t call yourself Lord Surname! Use your imagination! You could be called anything you want to be! Lord Axes! Lord Mince Warriors! Lord Lord! Anything. You dull lord, you.