Found on my credit card bill:
“Somerset House Trust”, of course!
If an antipodean eats avocados on toast in the afternoon, is that arvo toast?
One of the linguistic tics that has remained with me, as someone from a basically working-class background is the addition of a self-deprecating adjective like “poncey” or “yuppie” to anything vaguely middle class. Despite having lived a basically middle-class lifestyle since going off to university as a teenager, I still feel the need to describe anything containing quinoa as “my poncey salad” and similar remarks.
I think this started at university. A colleague started referring to filter coffee as “bourgeois coffee” and the name has stuck, at least in the back of my mind, ever since. Similarly, another light-hearted fellow student’s description of the mineral-water-with-lemon that I used to get sometimes from the local shop as “your yuppie water” remains to this day. There is still, in the back of my mind, the idea that Real Men drink instant coffee and tap water, and that fripperies like cafetieres are odd inconsistencies.
I think this a reliable tell for people who have moved from a broadly working-class background to a middle-class one.
Had an appointment at the dentist at three o’clock this afternoon. Met a Chinese bloke on the way out, who said he was just coming out of his appointment forty years and half an hour ago.
My mother used to knit faster when she was getting to the end of the ball of wool, in the belief that if she went quick enough she would reach the end of the current row before the ball ran out. I have an isomorphic delusion when it comes to typing—if I want to get a certain sentence on the current line without wrapping, I will type quicker, hoping to reach the end of the line before the computer decides to put a line break in.
Have you seen the new Waitrose ad? “New Cranberry and Goji Berry Granola—so cranberry-y it even turns the milk light fuchsia.”
I’ve no idea how people actually buy windows. I went into a DIY shop t’other day, and when they said “can I help you?” I said “certainly, I’m here to do some window shopping” and then they just left me alone.
Whenever I’m booking a train and I come to the “aisle seat or window seat” selection, my brain inconveniently provides Vera Lynn singing “aisle seat again, don’t know where, don’t know when…” as a musical background to this choice.
“They Came from Greece and had a Thirst for Porridge”: An Examination of the First-generation Hellenic Immigrant Experience in Scotland.
I met Tim Vine’s sister, Cyndi, the other day. She seems very jealous of her brother. All the time she kept singing her new song, “Girls just want to have pun”.