Nice posh people almost extinct


08-09-11

BRITAIN’S last remaining posh person who doesn’t show off or know celebrities and lets local kids play in her maze, was close to death last night.


Lady Bradford would like you to have her hat

While the cast of Made In Chelsea staggered out of Brandy Chops nightclub at 3am with some bastard relation of George Osborne’s who markets diamond-flavoured vodka and an ex-girlfriend of Prince Harry’s whose father runs a holiday camp where oligarchs pay to destroy rare flowers with flamethrowers, Lady Emma Bradford prepared to expire with quiet dignity.


Possibly Britain’s last ever likeable posh person, Lady Bradford lives in one room of a vast, ancient house full of priceless broken things, drives a battered 1983 Yugo hatchback held together with strips of old knicker elastic and is quite probably a lesbian.


Neighbour Tom Logan said: “She’s a kind, eccentric lady without pretensions.


“I watered her lawn when she went into hospital for her varicose veins and she repaid me with a 20ft watercolour of her grandfather ‘Pongo’ Bradford riding a greyhound on a beach.”


Local teacher Nikki Hollis said: “When we went to Bradford Hall collecting for the school gym she gave us a shop-bought ginger cake with an October 1994 Best Before date, and £68,012 in copper coins.


“I believe she once had a square-jawed female maidservant and ‘companion’ known simply as ‘Margie’. After she died Lady Emma continued to live alone but it’s rumoured that she had Margie stuffed.


“Which is both unbelievably creepy and fucking brilliant.”


As news of the impending death emerged, the National Trust faced renewed pressure to preserve nice posh people.


A spokesman said: “Sadly we just have to accept that the days of Jeeves and Wooster, as well as being fictional, are gone and that posh people are now all dicks.


“As a charitable organisation we simply don’t have the resources to keep them away from television cameras, faded rappers and ‘heartless grade’ cocaine.


“Although we have considered bolstering resources by establishing a gift shop and cafe at the entrance to Tara Palmer-Tomkinson’s vagina.”

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