This is in response to Toby Young’s Spectatorblog
Not a day passes that I am not overjoyed to have broken free from the overbearing self absorbed prick, who treated me as a skivvy for years.
I was an academic in Russia, teaching geology but my life fell apart somewhat with the collapse of communism and I was forced to eek out a living being at the beck and call of a snivelling little man.
He was so arrogant towards me that, even though his name was Toby, I chose to call him Terry as my own little in joke for the 13 years I had to work for him.
Back in Russia, my dog had a litter. I gave the dogs away but no one would take the runt of the pack and so I kept it. It was a weedy little thing but I felt sorry for it. I called it Terry and Toby reminded me of this poor mutt so I renamed him Terry.
Although I hated working for him and couldn’t understand how a fully grown man could be so inept as to need ‘help’ every day, it was obvious that this chinless wonder would disappear under a pile of his own dirty tissues and copies of Wallpaper without me.
I thought I’d never be free but then one day, by some miracle, ‘Terry’ found someone who would put up with him.
At first Toby wouldn’t let me go, even when I behaved badly, but eventually, when they had a pup of their own, he was strong enough to stand on his two feet.
I was free!
(He even paid me six months wages, which was about £25.)
I have heard that Terry employed a number of other skivvies over the years but they have all managed to escape his clutches. One apparently managed to escape while he was away one of his his jollies (he liked to lord it over poor black kids whenever he had time).
Apparently she did his washing before going and I’ve heard he was annoyed about having no washing powder left.
Anyway, she had a lucky escape.