22 Jun 2005
by Paul Davies
Deadbrain
Spray-on mud: three words, one hyphen, one rather pathetic indictment of Chelsea-chic.
I speak, of course, of the latest must-have accessory in the funny little world of Kensington's Clueless Rich: a can of authentic diluted Shropshire mud. Yours for just under eight quid, spray-on mud can transform a pointless city-dwelling 4x4 into a pointless and dirty city-dwelling 4x4 in a matter of minutes.
The confused darlings of inner-city London lead troubled lives, never quite sure what is going on, and in constant fear of, well, not knowing what's going on. You can see how problems arise.
Living through a series of lies is often the easiest way to deal with this conundrum. Spray-on mud is, therefore, a godsend. Pretend you've been off having a fabulous time hunting and fishing with the Duke of somewhere muddy, without the inconveniences of chipped paintwork, those ghastly rural folk and their ignorance of all-things Tatler and without having to miss Doctor Who.
People you don't know will be massively impressed, and you won't feel quite so stupid about owning an off-road vehicle that never has to deal with anything more treacherous than the speed-bumps on the way to over-priced pilates classes.
It's all very cool. And no one tries harder to be cool than the caviar classes. Because whereas roughness is simply common, 'a bit of rough' is an indispensable part of being wealthy.
Much like poor people think money is wasted on the toffs, the rich believe that shoddy tat is wasted on the plebs. Thankfully, rich people exist to show poor people how things are done. Take Paris Hilton, for example. Why wear a £1 German Army Surplus top, when you can send it to a top designer, have them make it look even cheaper, and pay three grand for it? Some people just have no idea of fashion.
Or why spend an entire day and most of your overdraft on a ticket to Glastonbury to spend three days wasting time having fun while living out of a bag no bigger than a football, when you can buy a ticket off a tout for £500 and spend the weekend guarding your suitcase, trying not to get too dirty and making vain attempts to blag your way backstage? The uneducated fools.
And so with the spray-on mud. You simply don't know the value of dirt until you have a live-in maid.
