Trot Dreams

I’m on the train home and I remembered, with a shiver, that I had a vivid dream last night or perhaps early this morning.

In it, I was arguing with a Tory about the economic basis of profit. I kept trying to pin her down but she kept switching explanations from ‘the dividend of entrepreneurship’ (her actual phrase) to magic to a reward from God.

She was gloriously attractive, in a kind of classic, horsey-Tory-dame manner. Condescending, whiter than bleached snow and displaying the pugnacious, entitled ferocity with which all her class are inculcated at their expensive schools and iceberg universities.

I grew increasingly frustrated as I kept repeating that the extra value of profit was the stolen wages of the working class. She laughed at this, whilst deeming it acceptable to offer no better explanation. Again, that drop comes courtesy of the height of her class.

This all probably means the sunshine is giving me a testosterone spike and I need to masturbate more, if, indeed, that is humanly possible.

Damn her eyes.