the private school.

I imagine this sweater as a piece of school uniform, one worn by a weaselly piece-of-shit "yar"-merchant wasting his £15,000-a-term education imperiously floating from school building to school building like the ghost of a stuck-up Edwardian prince.

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Located in some oligarch-occupied London burrow, the school would no doubt be responsible for breeding this country's scummiest career politicians, investment bankers, international cricketers, broadsheet journalists, and paedophilic media executives. 

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Does anyone else find opulence frightfully unattractive? Even something as simple as a well fitted suit repulses me. When I'm dead, I don't want you to dress up for any celebrations you insist on having. Instead, come in the shittiest, comfiest clothes you can find. In fact, only dress in clothes you find in charity shops. Then bury me or burn me or throw me in a bin, attempt to sum up our relationship with a poorly written speech, and fuck off back home to your meaningless existence.