Imagine that you become a member of our elite. You have every success you’ve ever wanted but have to spend your time surrounded by the worst people on earth. It’s like being a Chelsea fan. You start to take cocaine, partly because you now socialise exclusively with people it wouldn’t be safe to fall asleep around. You buy a yacht.
Being on a yacht is, at best, like being in a Premier Inn during an earthquake. So why is it an entrance requirement for the super-rich? Because it provides a floating crime scene. You and your jaded friends can now take your parties into international waters. You can stop off at the Channel Islands and take onboard a consignment of orphans who will afterwards be thrown into the giant beak-like mouths of the blasphemous undersea deities that you all worship.
