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Imagine eating half a million burgers a year

Three things I learned from dealing with the British upper class

Aftonbladet’s editorial page Independently social democratic.

Mr. Jim Carter.  Carson in a scene from Downton Abbey
Mr. Jim Carter. Carson in a scene from Downton Abbey

They can say a lot about the upper class, but they are good at telling stories. It was Oxford I ate French at a French restaurant, which was served with white beans in tomato sauce, with two new acquaintances my own age.

Looking back, I do not understand why the couple called me.

When I think back to the strange food, it feels like a mistake, not by me, by the world and the class community, a fat crack in the system. I knocked on the door for the first time in real high school. It felt forbidden.

The woman told incredible stories. A tall woman came around to her crazy mother, who insisted on that girl’s friend London To hand over a costume, thus causing him to miss the flight to New York (blaming the character’s boundary I don’t do the story justice now).

Of course, I asked what happened next, how did he get to America? He got a new ticket and his dad owned the airline.

In that sense, it is. Events that shocked a normal person and blocked bank cards turned into funny events.

The girl worked in a reception company. To use the company’s services, you need to be a member, at a cost of only half a million kroner a year. They arranged anything for their members. Wanting someone to be free for their girlfriend, they fixed a love barrier from the giant Brooklyn Bridge.

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If another on a Greek island had met a good goat, they would have settled the first-class goat transport England.

Sick stories, high school kids were accompanied by their parents as they moved out of the house. One man got lost in the jungle on the other side of the earth, his leg was broken, and his last percentage was called the Conscious Company by a mobile battery. They arranged helicopters to search for him. Another did not know how to cook and called the company to order tonnage burgers every day.

As I was chewing on the spilled eggs that morning, I realized three things.

First How much fun and relaxation you can have by being really rich. Rarely a new spy, but during the French it became concrete.

Other How cheap it is to be rich. A relative of the occupants lost his employee discount at Hartz, his friend sold the luxury department store to the state of Qatar, and another lived without rent for 20 years in an acquaintance’s apartment in central London.

Third How clever the Swedish upper class is. I have never heard of Sweden ordering half a million burgers a year.

But I may be hanging in the wrong circles.


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