'You know, I like Bollinger'. Overhearing class consciousness. It turned out to mine.
How some excessively clean tourists reminded me that while we may be equal under the tyranny of consumption, class-based distinction is sometimes just plain weird.
After my community choir on a hot Wednesday night (singing was barefoot) we had a tiny bit of trouble determining whose Birkenstocks belonged to whom.
If I was to tentatively* characterise our Blue Mountains vibe I’d offer the following choices, individually or in combination:
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