Previously Fat Mac claims to be proletariat. Yet he reads the Guardian and he can’t work a smart phone, hasn’t had a pie supper in ten years, doesn’t drink lager, plans foreign holidays to more exotic places than Magaluf or Torremolinos, goes to the Botanic Gardens and watches Freeview on one of those petite television sets bought from John Lewis. That’s all pure dead closet bourgeois.
I don’t claim to be anything, but my telly in the kitchen is bigger than my bookcase.
On my first black & white 405 lines telly, you couldn’t see the ball. On my first colour telly, you could just about see the ball. On my new telly, you can see which way the ball is spinning. Progress!