The art of inverted snobbery

The house is done and I find myself back on the Internet.

Our money is spent and we now preside like royalty over our newly plastered, illuminated, hardwood floored home that we've adorned with pristine art work.


Which is nice, if that's what turns you on.

Around the corner from us, on the other side of our modest cul-de-sac, you'll find four households locked in an eternal arms race of home improvement. Night time is perfect for observing them. Not that I'm one to stare you understand, it's just that for now, I return home from work in the dark and have the (mis)fortune of driving past them.

They never close their curtains you see. Doing so would spoil their perfectly pleated drops. Closing them would also mean nobody would see how beautifully affulent, stylish and well illuminated they are. What with their top lit cabinets and dining tables never to be eaten upon. If you we're to drive past yourself, you probably wouldn't see the occupants. They're usually busy elsewhere whilst their 90 inch LCD TVs broadcast Sky TV into the enemy's house opposite.

So it goes each night that I drive past.

I guess the collective noun for such an unfortunate group of households is an 'envy'. An envy of homes in the same way a group of teenagers who loiter on street corners could be collectively known of as a 'cunt'.

Anyways - my house is nice, my wife is happy and the curtains are drawn.