Embourgeoisement

Before I get into this and inadvertently upset anyone, I should say that I was brought up in a very working class home. My mum was a cleaner, my dad was a drunk, we had no car and we lived in a council house. I don’t think I ate anything that hadn’t come out of a tin until I was 16. My mother never missed an episode of Coronation Street and my father had The Sun delivered to our house. He also took the Sunday Sport.

So if I come across as a little snobbish, then I’m sorry, but I like to think I have the right.

I’d also like to point out that of course I do know it’s possible to be working class and still enjoy – for example – reading newspapers without pictures of glamour models in them, or watching films without car chases and explosions and actresses who are little more than glorified glamour models taking off their clothes. I’m also aware that people with more money and more opportunities in life can be equally crass and classless and moronic. They just tend to do it in slightly more expensive clothes. Plus their grammar is generally better.

Anyway, having said all that, I’m probably not going to offend anyone. I just wanted to say a few words about my new neighbours.

When I went off to Scotland last week, the house to the left of me was empty. When I came back yesterday evening, it was occupied. So Morag and I popped by to say hello.

The door was answered by a burly man with unsightly Audreys on his right arm. When we explained that we lived next door and that we’d just come by to say hi, the burly man shouted up the stairs. ‘NORA!’ he shouted. ‘Neighbours wanna say ‘ello.’

Already I’ve probably given a slightly unfair representation of the burly man, because he was pleasant enough, all smiles and eye contact. But the fact is… he was just so coarse.

Anyway, before I get carried away, I should point out that Burly doesn’t actually live there. Burly is a mate of Nora’s, helping out with the redecoration. So that’s good.

Unfortunately, Nora – no, I shouldn’t. I mean, what’s wrong with me? I am an unconscionable snob. And I feel terrible about it. Hence all the pre-empting earlier. And the attempts to justify it. I know it’s wrong though. I know I’ve become a sickening snob. I just – is it do wrong to want to live next door to people who like the finer things in life? Or at least people who aspire to the finer things in life.

Nora seemed perfectly fine. She just seemed a little uneducated, that’s all. A little… simple. She barely said a word though, so I’m basing this on her appearance and her simpleton’s gummy grin. Oh, and on the fact that she could barely string a sentence together.

We’ll see though. Fingers crossed Nora and her two children will prove wonderful neighbours. They haven’t actually moved in yet. They’re having the entire house redecorated by Burly and his mates beforehand, which is why today – my first day working at home – was not only freezing cold, but also liberally peppered with the sounds of wallpaper scraping and burly working class men using the word ‘innit’ rather a lot.

The neighbours to the right are much more my cup of tea by the way, two university-educated young ladies, both named Heather. I’ve only met them very briefly thus far, but you can tell that they’re good eggs. I even saw Ocado delivering some shopping to them just before Christmas.

You know, what I hope is that I have my prejudices utterly smashed to pieces in the coming weeks and months because I’m not comfortable with them.

Tonight, I intend to watch the darts on telly as penance.



Also tonight, Morag is moving in!

Wish her luck.