Move over Rik from The Young Ones. We now have Alex Turnbull marching through the streets of Point Piper in a Che Guervara t-shirt he paid that little Vietnamese woman at the ironing service down in the Rose Bay shops to look worn by rubbing it with steel wool, then putting it through the industrial washer a few dozen times.
Daddy’s house, up on Wolseley Road, has magnificent views. Poor Alex, however, appears unable to see one very basic fact.
If indeed we are on the brink of global simultaneous class war, he’ll be — even just metaphorically — among the first up against the wall.
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