An upper class twit

Simon Newsome had a self confessed allergy to books and newspapers. Despite this, in his own mind he still very much believed that he was by far the smartest person in any room that he entered even though all the evidence pointed to the contrary. It might surprise you to learn that Simon isn't American although he bore many characteristics of being one and no doubt had he been borne of the tribe of the so called land of the free he'd no doubt have found himself a position in Donald Trump's cabinet for he was that unique level of stupid. Simon was however very much every inch an Englishman, and fell under the polite category of an upper class twit though many might drop the w or replace the i for an a, or simply use a stronger term in its place altogether. Public school educated naturally, though educated in what was anyone's guess as we've already established. The type of man whose bottom half of his casual wardrobe largely came in colours of mustard or a faded red. Top half consistenting of salmon pink, fine blue and white checks or rugby shirts that looked like he may have inherited them from a dead relative some twenty years before he was even born. His square jawline, pointy nose and wavey hair paid suggestion to some inbreeding somewhere back in his family tree although as far as we know he only had five toes on each foot which were always encased under the type of striped socks which are only sold in pairs for a price that would feed your average family of four for half the week. On top of those a pair of loafers the soles of which you imagine would only last if worn on the finest carpets England's stately homes had to offer and yet, once more, still cost a small bloody fortune. 

By some minor miracle he was engaged to Penelope, two years how junior and probably fifty years his senior in terms of intellect. Known as Pen to her parents, Penny to her friends and colleagues, Ms Ashcroft to her clients, for she was a qualified solicitor, and finally for reasons no one was ever quite sure of, including herself, Pug to her husband to be. Only Simon's parents insisted on calling her by her full name, his mother Judith adding a darling after and his father Richard, a dear. Both absolutely worshipped the ground she walked on like the daughter they'd wished they'd had instead of their half wit son. If both Simon and Penelope were of an age under 16 they'd have happily put him up for adoption and adopted her instead and both dreaded the day that she wised up and walked out of their lives for good. 

Her accent Cheltenham ladies, her vocabulary more extensive than Shakespeare's, in court you imagine she won half the time not because of her legal brilliance but simply because she sounded like she knew what she was talking about in legalese that only the highest judges in the land truly understood the meaning of. She has a roaring side trade in filthy jokes picked up by the criminal underclasses she chose to represent instead of those in her own social class all of whom had more money than sense and acted like they were above the law simply on account of their perceived social status. Over one particular dinner amongst friends she'd been asked whether she chose to represent the criminal underclasses just in case she needed to bump Simon off some day to which she'd invoked client, attorney privilege and said nothing but raised one knowing eyebrow and brought the house down with roaring laughter and much clinking of cutlery against wine glasses. Even Simon laughed finding it highly amusing clearly too stupid to know that there may well have been a large element of truth to her silence and that one day his life might he in genuine danger. Still if she was charged and ended up in high court she could defend herself expertly and call upon Judith and Richard as character witnesses in her defence.