When I first
wrote The Class Ceiling a couple of
years ago – the story of a cleaner who inherits enough money to send her kids
to private school but none to live the accompanying lifestyle – one agent said
to me, ‘Why are you writing about class? No-one’s interested in class any
more.’ Well. It appears that I was ahead of my time (or far enough behind to be
fashionable again). Can I just whisper JK Rowling, The Casual Vacancy?
And even the
jolly old Times had a lovely test to
get us arguing over the breakfast table – The New Middle-Class Top 50 – How
Many Can You Tick? Seven out of ten of us apparently think we fall into that category. Husband – in my mind, not nearly as posh as me - reckons he can
trump my (rather paltry) 18 out of 50. Personally, I am disappointed to find
that I am less than half middle class. How can that be? From the rather random
list supposedly defining those sandwiched between working and upper, I was able
to tick making my own chutney. What a ringing endorsement of refinement! Nigella’s
cranberry. Though it does make me feel very Mother Earth and pretty smug.
Another tick in
my little box for ‘I have dinner parties in the kitchen’. I don’t think that’s
to do with being middle class though, more a fear of missing out. Can’t stand
the shouts of laughter in the dining room while I’m nose to nose with the
cheese plate in the kitchen, trying to work out whether the dog has just sniffed
it or actually got a lick in.
I absolutely
love to snoop on Zoopla, another perceived sign of burgeoning bourgeoisie.
Who’d have thought that the people quibbling over an extra fifty pence so the
teaching assistant can have some flowers at Christmas made a hundred per cent
profit when they sold their last house? And recycling. Don’t get me started.
Never let it be said that a redundant grain of quinoa escapes my little green
food bin. And somehow I don’t feel half as bad about chugging down vats of wine
as long as those bottles are going to create nice new road surfaces.
So far, so
good. But husband informs me that he is more middle class than me with a score
of 19. Impossible. I see he has ticked ‘man hugs’ – the new handshake among
urbane types. I’m discounting that. This is the man who puts his hand up to
visiting guests - ‘I don’t do kisses’ - when they try to greet him with (very
middle class) cheek kissing. I’m also ignoring his foraging claims - as in,
it’s become all terribly chattering classes to go seasonal and hoover up sloes
and mushrooms on autumn walks. When the kids and I are blowing cobwebs off
blackberries and making a slaughterhouse out of our hands, the husband is
muttering about bumblebee wee and maggots. The only thing I’ve ever known him
forage for is cheese in the fridge…we always know it’s him because he never
cuts it with a knife, just breaks off a great jaggedy lump. Which leads me
neatly back to the cutting the nose off the Brie, the anti-Christ of the middle
classes. Only in our house it’s more a chunk off the Cheddar.
So I think that
takes his score back down to seventeen. Which means he’s married up, not down,
though I am still trying to train myself not to say ‘settee’ or ‘lounge’
(cuttingly described by one of my posh friends as what people say when they are
trying to be posh…). So, I guess that leads on to the question – does any of it
matter a jot? I’m going to think about that one, but in the meantime, please do
tell me if you have any class insights, I’m dying to know. Or is being too
nosey a bit common?
Great blog, Kerry. You're a class act!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Carol...the subject definitely got everyone arguing about it over dinner last night!
ReplyDeleteAs always a great post. Would love for you to share The Times link so we can have a laugh in our household :)
ReplyDeleteI don't think class matters however I have to say that I struggle with the people for whom it does matter as I find they either have a chip on their shoulder or look down on people far too often. Does that make sense?
Thanks for writing
www.pressiesbypebbles.com
I really wanted to share The Times link but unfortunately you have to be a Times online subscriber for it to work. I don't care about class, I care about manners. But I did have great fun observing class and the things people get bent out of shape about (up and down the scale) for my new book, The Class Ceiling.
ReplyDelete