Back in the yuppie early 90's I was suffering a suit and tie job in central London

[me - poor wannabe mixed media artist desperate to pay off credit card debt].

I remember one morning being crushed as usual on the tube
on the way to another grinding boring life wasting days office tele marketing survival work;

me squashed right up close to an immaculately groomed classicly posh handsome youngish city banker type.

He was wearing one of the most obcenely expensive designer suits I'd ever seen.

Far better tailored material even than my own vain foppish office manager.

[by comparison, my jacket was 30 quid from "Next"]

Tube banker boys suit must have been at least 500 quid from the family tailor..

I was so crushed up and far too intimately close - morning rush hour.

So close I was overpowered in discomfort,

he reeked of shit - honking bad stink of badly wiped bum.

Lunch time at the pub, I dined out well on that story..

He must have been so posh and soo cosseted by 'nanny'
that for all his money and city glamour appearance,

he couldn't have ever learned how to properly wipe and wash his own arse.