You've got to love treating the pets of the thick rich...they are brilliantly entertaining.
They come in in their camel trousers and bright red socks erring and ummming like Price Charles and stand around looking faintly agitated in a superior fashion until a reception explains how you use a chair 'Oh, sit down? what, here? Oh, marvellous'
Then when you present their options, they flop any small difficulty they might find straight back into your lap. 'you can see her on Thursday? Is there one of those each week? Could you not see her on Sunday after chapel?'
Best of all, when you mention the horrific prospect of them actually spending money, they bleat like a gaffed carp 'oh but that's rather pricey ain't it? How about if I scrape the mould of last week's loaf and smear it on his gums, won't that treat this bally infection?'
I told the very rich owner of an elbow arthritic labrador to avoid him running up and down stairs. He said, 'Oh, but he loves jumping off the battlements'. I loved that...