The Posh Children

Those of you who walk to work or wherever you spend your day will know that if you always leave at the same time, you always see the same strangers on the way. And I always end up walking behind the posh children for about five minutes.
The posh children are three kids who go to Norwich School (the local private school at the Anglican cathedral), I imagine they’re about 12 and they’re always dressed up in their blue blazers.
There’s a lanky nerdy looking fair haired boy who is always labouring heavily under a ginormous sports bag. There’s a little average looking boy who bobs about in the background and never speaks but laughs at everything, and then there’s the ringleader of the posh children. The ringleader of the posh children is a girl with a rather unfortunate hair cut, so unfortunate that she looks like a boy from the back and if it wasn’t for her ankle length school skirt (also unfortunate) I shouldn’t have noticed she wasn’t. I assume she has cruel parents that have given her a number three shave round the back and sides and then finished of with a semi bowl cut to really tip the unpopularity scales.
The reason I like the posh children is that they’re like hilariously bizarre miniature adults instead of kids. Here’s samples of their conversation I overhear:
Posh girl – Yes and we must meet at lunch to really make them welcome
Lanky boy – Might I decline?
Posh girl – You might not
Average boy – ha ha
Posh girl – and then I told mummy about the cyborgs and that they were just about to cull the human race
Lanky boy – Oh that is droll!

Average boy – ha ha

Posh girl – they tested it and it wasn’t even PH8!!
Lanky boy – Did you see that slide show presentation of the reaction of chemicals on skin
Posh girl – Oh yes, ghastly!
Average boy – ha ha

The worst thing is I’m not even exaggerating slightly, I promise.

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