This week CONNIE almost expired with joy spending day after glorious day with her new cohort of extremely high-net-worth chums …
Connie has had the most marvellous mid-term break imaginable, as a guest in a thrillingly exclusive chalet in Verbier, practically rubbing shoulders with royalty and socialising exclusively with the extreme high-net-worth international set. Her newly minted connections are dizzying and she is feverishly working out how to best milk the myriad of opportunities within her sticky grasp in the certain knowledge they will advance her unrelenting ingress to the dining car of the gravy train. Strictly in the interests of her darling Fionn and Molly, of course.
She met her hosts, Lizzy and Stéfan, her newbie besties, innocently enough through her delicious personal trainer, Patrick, mercifully a great keeper of confidences and shady secrets. Even still, she is not at all certain that her careful curation of self, nebulously implying her rural background to be of the vaguely Anglo Irish Ascendency variety rather than her ancestral damp 1970s bungalow somewhere awful in the midlands, fools them one bit. However, being Brexigees they’re definitely not up to speed on the minute intricacies of who’s related to who in SoCoDu, and are foolishly relying on Connie for guidance!
Connie almost expired with joy spending day after glorious day in their refined and distinguished company, however, she fears that Ruairi the Ruinator may have somewhat tarnished her glow with his mulish appearance, for he insisted on aping one of the suaver guests, Lord Baz. This dashing fellow lounged around in Lora Piano cashmere tracksuit bottoms, and with his splendid physique they looked rather fetching. Mocking her, the Ruinator unceasingly wore his baggy grey trackies; putting her in mind of the words of the inimitable and lamented Karl Lagerfeld, “Sweat pants are a sign of defeat”, and she bitterly resents that no one will ever now mistake the Ruinator for a Lord, or even a Sir, for without careful tailoring, he channels Robber Baronet at best. Extremely annoying, as she is now actually rather desperate to acquire a title, Lady Constance has such a nice ring to it. Actually, she is a tad embarrassed to admit that after several too many Bollies she might have hinted quite heavily that she is in fact “Lady Constance”.
On departure, earlier today, the chalet party was whisked through the VIP section of Geneva airport and Connie was practically giving a regal wave to the public, paying particular attention to the Aer Lingus queue while praying that one of her frenemies would notice her. Well sometimes even Connie can wish for things too hard, for as she was thrice kissing Lizzy and Stéfan, a loud midlands voice hollered across the VIP barrier, “is it yerself Concepta”.
Pure Connie mortification.
Read previous instalments of A View From The Jeep …
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