Behind our table there’s a boar head on the wall. In the room where we were served our drinks there was a magnificent stag mounted above the fireplace. There’s high ceilings, open fires, and at the back of the drinks menu, a list of the cigars on offer. The staircases and corridors are adorned with portraits of people who I assume were aristocrats. In the restaurant there’s framed collections of taxidermy butterflies.
I’m with some friends, sat in a restaurant which is nestled in the midst of a three thousand acre estate. It’s all very country and classy. And we’re not the only ones here.
Next to us is a couple. A young man in a white shirt, dark jeans and glasses. His partner is a young woman in a black dress which is somewhere between casual and smart. They look comfortable. In fact, they are comfortable. He’s got plimsolls on and she’s rocking some Air Force Ones.
Across the room is a large circular table with six people around it. They’re of the older generations. And they’re dressed up. There’s sparkling dresses, sharply ironed shirts, and everyone is sitting up straight. It’s looks like they’ve done this dance before because they know the staff and the staff know them. It seems like this is their world.
In the corner is a small circular table. There’s nothing left on this table except a bottle of wine, two glasses and a candle. The wife and husband sitting there are sipping their wine and having a serious discussion. I can tell it’s serious because of the look on the women’s face as she talks and the intensity of the man’s gaze as he listens.
As I sit in this spacious, lushly decorated room with four friends who I haven’t seen for too long, I begin to wonder. How many people here are like me, putting on airs and pretending to be something they’re not?