Scene: Around the oiled Swedish antique pine breakfast table at Dartmouth Park, North London, over the morning Muesli ...
"Ed - Go and take that bloody flag down! That's the fifth call I've had this morning from the neighbours!"
"Justine, please ... I've just told all our MPs that they must all have England flags flying on their houses by the weekend - how can I opt out?"
"I don't care - this is bloody Dartmouth Park; it's bad enough that the two mill price tag round here had just brought all the neighbours within the bloody Mansion tax band; I mean, I can't show my face at the Montessori nursery without eyebrows being raised, and someone actually tutted at me in the Croissant queue yesterday, and now you want to devalue the neighbourhood with ... that ....tacky ....rag!"
"Well, if it takes the value under two mill just by flying a flag, they shouldn't complain, should they?"
"Ed! Go and take it down! Now!"
"Justine, you know you're always saying how the Prius isn't big enough for us anymore? How would you feel about something larger? With room for a Biedermeier commode in the back? In white?"