Monday, 4 April 2011
Nothing but the best.
"I've brought you a presi", announced her indoors when she came home. The gift turned out to be a black pudding from Allens of Mayfair, butchers to the nobility. "We're supposed to be smashing windows round there, not shopping", I moaned. Apparently the lady had felt an urge to wonder around a part of London normally only visited on demos. Check out a pub and a posh shop or three. Quite right too, for we deserve the best. There is a dreadful soul destroying streak of puritanism deep in the bowels of the left, and anarchists are not immune to it, that insists on us adopting a sackcloth and ashes take on life. There is nothing liberating about not recognising and wanting quality products; and nothing good about settling for the third rate products of sweated labour rather than the craftsmanship of the true artisan. I also don't think that there is anything contradictory in spidging about getting stuff out of skips and growing our own veg on the one hand, and the desire to experience the quality that is supposed to be the preserve of the rich on the other. What we need is a new kind of relationship with commodities and accumulating cheap crap produced at the expense of other peoples misery should be no part of it. We deserve the best. All of us. And the black pudding? Not bad actually.