We all like to think we are different but we are all the same. Religion, nationality, colour – it actually makes no difference. You can pretend to be from the city back home but none of it matters.

Once a paindu (villager) always a paindu I say.

I, for one, have no issue with that. I would rather be a paindu than a Modern.

When life was simpler ‘The Moderns’ were classed as those where the couple held hands in town. Or the family that had both a leather settee in the front room AND a bidet.

Or the ones where the parents could speak English and the dad smoked a pipe with a tweed jacket on Sundays.

Modern meant going to someone’s house and finding a tap that dispensed both cold and hot water. How we marveled at these things.

Regardless of their civilised habits we kind of respected them. Yes, we would scoff at their strange ways but we were all part of the same crew and when push came to shove we knew Modern would have your back.

Not now though. The new Moderns want to spend their way into your heart with flash motors and Armani suits.

A new breed who have reared their ugly heads in recent years – they are what we call ‘The Super Moderns.’ These filthy folk have come into a bit of money and now want us to earn our respect. It doesn’t work like that with Asians. We, my dear friends, can be extremely picky.

The problem we have is that the new class of Moderns don’t realise they are still generally farmers who were given a visa and got some money. And no matter how hard they try they will still be paindus.

Modern day Moderns can be spotted a mile off trying their best to make out they are in fact quite liberated but at the same time they can’t get rid of the baggage. Money it seems can buy you many things but it can’t buy you class.

It is all about…self-glorification – and when it comes to choice, interior house design, everything has to be garish and in your face.

Super Moderns are obsessed with getting likes for stuff they ain’t done or boasting about how wonderfully ‘Modern’ they are because their thick son goes to a private school.

The worst part of Super Modern is how they feel they have a right to treat you like a paindu. Yes, I may act like a paindu, talk like a paindu and smell like a paindu but I’m not a t**t.