Michael Holden's Deleted Scenes - The Untouchables

I’m not one for class judgements – I’ve had enough ancestral good fortune in the grand scheme of things to know better – but there are those out there that do themselves no favours at all. Admittedly, I had entered their lair; a well-appointed riverside pub where two bottles of cider cost £9.75. And for that price, the dialogue is a world away from Wetherspoons, even if the endgame is the same. Man: [evenly tanned, wearing the benign frown you often see on those people – as though lightly constipated on the morning of a hunt] “I tell you who was there – and we had a fantastic table. You know David Haye?” Woman: [frail and credulous] “No.” Man: “The Hayemaker! David Haye? A boxer. And Pippa Middleton. Who you will have heard of, I’m guessing…” Woman: “Well – ‘duh.’ Of course.” There followed some banal discussion of some charity dinner or other, so I switched off. When I tuned back into them, I was surprised to hear that the conversation had turned to the other end of the social spectrum. Woman: “Been looking into it a bit before we go and you know the Caste system, the what-do-you-call-its at the very bottom…” Man: “Untouchables.” Woman: “Yes! And there’s another word, Dalits maybe? Anyway, it’s horrible, but one of the things they used to do was carry all the, you know, the shit away from everyone’s houses. Man: “No plumbing.” Woman: “But it makes sense! They carry all the disease. So you can’t touch them. Which is why they got the name.” Man: “I mean, that’s the lottery of life. Horrible for them – but it all makes sense.” I turned to my companion, who’s out of work at the moment, and asked if he thought he could carry the shit of the wealthy about. “Dude,” he said. “We already are.” Illustration by Johnny Ryan

Previously: Michael Holden's Deleted Scenes - Don't Cry for Me, Eye Procedure