Know Anyone Posh?
I am on the B3ta newsletter, which I won't even link to because I'm absolutely not sure it's even worth it. I loved it back when I was a Flash developer, but mostly it's utterly pointless crap about people trying to make spaghetti in breadmakers, sculpt things in phallic shapes, and other whatnot claptrap.
I think I've posted some of their Photoshop challenges, like the recent pimp my pet thing. Er, OK.
Anyway. Occasionally, though, it yields some fun brain nuggets, most often in the "Question of the Week" department...
This week's question: Are you posh? Some of the answers are GREAT, like this one:
I also descend from the Clan McLaren of Balquhidder. We're the ones that killed Rob Roy MacGregor, the famous Scottish Bastard. He's buried in our graveyard in Balquhidder.
I've often been labelled "posh" because I talk properly, drink wine and adore jazz.This is complete bollocks, though - I'm from Chesterfield. That being the case, the poshest thing about me is that my mum once met Tony Benn, the famous socialist, lapsed aristocrat, and MP for said hometown.An ex-girlfriend once said to me that I was "pretentious without being pretentious". I took this to mean that, although it might appear that such pursuits as listening to jazz and drinking wine are carried out merely to give a veneer of sophistication, in my case, I actually have a genuine passion for such things.
I once met a girl whom my fellow housemates and I were interviewing to see whether she'd be OK to live with. By Christ, she was posh. She was a Lancashire lass but had a cut glass, RP accent. After a few jars, we got on to talking about philosophy (not as Student Grant-esque as it sounds - we were approaching the finals of our psychology degree) and I asked her what she was reading at the moment.
"Kant", she replied.
"Fucking hell, there's no need to be rude", I quipped, with a dashing smile and a raise of the eyebrows. There was a brief pause, after which she burst into a fit of snorty giggles and said, "Oh, you're so naughty!"
Living in West London (not the posh bits like Fulham/chelsea etc) i often meet said posh tossers when out on the sauce, I dont mind the girlys caus they get a thrill from chatting to us paupers but the Blokes (all sailing shoes and jumpers over the sholders) need a good kicking. Also was invited round to Martin Amis's house for takeaway curry and champagne....tre odd.But i have to admit that when im visiting some of my family in the US, who live on the Florida/Georga boarder, my accent turns from Londoner to Hugh Grant as the local trailer trash girlies go bandy for it.
Ha! And, since it's British, it's in English, too, which I enjoy, occasionally. I don't have to sit through reams and reams of "their for there" and "your for you're", either. And as for being posh, one guy said it best this way: "If you have an original 'van meer' you are posh. if you have an original poster from 'the shining you' are not. ;) "