Sunday, 12 May 2013
Wise words from housing-watcher and London-lover @robbieds: "Emerging [neighbourhoods] means they've pretty much emerged already though." (@RobertaWedge)
The trappings of gentrification – expensive coffee and bike shops, junk sold at a premium as “vintage” and, soon after, bitterly resented chain outlets… The crowds these areas attract also look pretty samey, and… can also seem just as aspirational and judgemental of others as the primmest suburbanites… with each community maintaining separate cafés, pubs and even grocery stores. I didn’t see much inter-class mixing among my neighbors either, publicly or privately. (Feargus O’Sullivan) (But why does he assume suburbanites are aspirational, judgemental and prim?)
I was wrong about Stoke Newington – it hasn’t become Fulham (though London Fields may have become Notting Hill). Instead it is full of young men with short beards and their vintage-clad girlfriends. At weekends, they all like to go out to breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner and then to a club, so there are lots of cafés, pubs and clubs that cater to their tastes. At the moment they may outnumber the couples with large houses and children. They have taken over a lot of Dalston and Stoke Newington High Street. Every week another under-used pub gets a clean-up and a paint job and becomes a packed gastropub. The 30s tearooms are still a bit ironic - but Ladurie macaroons are plain luxury. We middle-class Upwards are ashamed of luxury so we disguise it as something else. We pretend we prefer the shabby and run-down because it’s all we can afford. And the last thing we want is for people to say “But they’re just you with more money.”
And God forbid anybody should suggest we are these young people, 30 years on.
Working-class Sharon Definitely and her partner Darren want to move to Australia where you can get your own house for far less and have lovely weather and a pool and be near a beach. They have transferable skills: Sharon works in a care home and Darren is a builder. Of course the kids will miss their friends, and they’ll miss their friends, and leaving their elderly parents will be a wrench… maybe they’ll stay put and just get a caravan somewhere.
Upwards don’t move to Australia or New Zealand despite the stunning scenery. No culture, no theatah, no decent telly, no art galleries – no Radio 4! No Archers! Except they could listen on iplayer… But basically, no People Like Us. Everyone can afford a more luxurious lifestyle in the former colonies – just like in the olden days.
When Upwards think “I deserve better than this poky flat!” they move to France.
Many more have bought lovely properties in rural France and then found themselves isolated, both physically and culturally, especially in winter when much of rural France effectively closes down. (Daily Telegraph July 2012)
It's the dream of every Samantha Upward to live in the country and support herself by writing and illustrating children's books. If Sam writes a novel, the central character will be a woman who does just this. No need to commute, or wear a repressive uniform (smart office clothes), no need to conform, no need to suppress your individuality, no need to Work For The Man… Some Upwards live their whole adult lives in London or another big city while thinking they really ought to be in the country. The empty countryside they think they want to move to is of course “tranquil” and “idyllic” and a “rural idyll”.
It's important to realise that while many people with jobs in cities feel like they absolutely must have a house with a big yard, it still is a choice. (Economist blog Nov 7 11)
Saturday, 20 April 2013
[I live in Lyme Regis] where from May to September I conspicuously avoid the stew of tourists... This slither of north Cornwall – by road, a 22-mile stretch from Polzeath west to Watergate Bay on the outskirts of Newquay – gets more popular (and more moneyed) each year. There is certainly a smart hotel to almost every fishing village… Michelin stars also twinkle… (Sophy Roberts, FT Feb 10 2012)
“Best of all, it seems that we are the only Brits for miles.” (The Times Jan 2012 on a tiny Thai island)
You know how Londoners view Blackpool – well, that’s how we look at Fleetwood. (Quoted in Tom Parker-Bowles, Full English)
@Broadway_Mkt: Dear @virginatlantic please stop advertising our market at airports, we do not want more tourists.
San Cristobal’s Crayola-coloured low-slung houses remain, even if many double as art spaces or ad-hoc cinemas. This felt like the real Mexico. (Charlotte Williamson, Sunday Telegraph April 2012)
The trippery-frippery riverside promenade of fish and chip cafés, amusement arcades and gift shops could make you turn round and take the next train home. (The Times on Matlock Bath, March 2012)
Sylvia Smith, who died recently, was a temporary secretary who wrote three books about her life. Here's are two Amazon reviews of My Holidays:
This is the first Sylvia Smith I've read but I'll now go back and read her first. I found the book very appealing in an odd way. This lifelong secretary recounts all her truly boring vacations (she even makes 9/11 dull) and, well, it grows on you. One needn't read much between the lines to see that travelling with Sylvia on any of her vacations wouldn't be a joy – even as a young girl she was collecting grievances and finding fault with her companions – but reading about them is strangely entertaining. And this all seems to be part of the point. She captures the banality of many people's lives in her dreary experiences with caravans, B&Bs, campsites and sharing twin-bedded resort rooms, and why it ends up being so amusing is hard to explain. But somehow all those boring dates, those miffed friends, the not-much-talked-about series of meaningless jobs and periods of unemployment, the daily phone calls to her mum, give us a great sense of what it means to be alone, not flush with cash, with few friends, but still wanting to have, as she would put it, "an enjoyable time," and that's what the book adds up to.
Sylvia's holidays may seem boring and banal to some reviewers, but they're a thrill a minute compared to the treks round museums and the strict avoidance of beaches or nightclubs that I endured as a middle-class youth. So that's what you're meant to do: go with a girlfriend, so you can be picked up by a man who'll "bring a friend for your friend". See "sights" during the day, or scenery, or the beach, or shop windows. At night, seek the "nightlife". The best offer we got was to join in folk-dancing with some Christian teenagers - and we turned it down!
Middle-class Upwards never plan their holiday around a Breton bagpipe festival, or that tomato throwing festival in Tours. There's a list here, including baby jumping, orange fights and goose decapitation (they use a plastic bird these days).
Upwards go to music festivals like Wilderness and Bestival where there’s camping and lots for the kids to do and even a bit of culture and they’re surrounded by people like them (and, as somebody said, floppy-haired children called Mungo). They also go to Charleston and Hay for literary festivals. Working-class Definitelies go to Disneyland Paris.
The posh old couple (or group of old ladies) I am always meeting in public places (stations, restaurants) like to crossly send one of their number off to do something – get the knives and forks, bag a table, check the train time. You can’t move in a group, or stand around doing nothing. So they are always losing each other and arguing about the agreed rendezvous. (Thank goodness for mobile phones.)
Upwards look down on families who bring lilos on holiday with them. They’re very down on blow-up beach toys generally. Their children must learn to swim like they did – with no fun, no blow-up aids, no games and a freezing cold pool. They claim to prefer swimming in very cold water. Beaches and pools are too democratic, so they’ve taken to “wild swimming” in ponds, lakes and rivers. (“What we called ‘swimming’ when I was a lad.” Ian Jack)
Lower middle-class Teales and Definitelies “book” a holiday, and go in a package tour group where you’re “booked through” all the way so you never have to talk to non-English speakers.
unspoiled: no tourists (common people). Unlike us, tourists come in hordes. Also watch out for “coach parties”. We are travellers or visitors. And we're on an adventure, chaps!
Bill Bryson’s Notes from a Small Island is full of references to “trippers” and “crowds” and “tourists” and “day-trippers”. They’re the worst kind – they come on excursion trains or off cruise ships and don’t stay in local pensioni or eat in ristoranti experiencing the Life of the People.
If you Google for “ignored by tourists” you get lots of hits boosting out-of-the-way parts of France which are probably desperate for visitors.
Real Holidays: tailormade holidays, not a group tour (even though it's a tour for a group. But you provide the group).
More holiday hell here. And here, here, here and here. And here.
Sunday, 20 January 2013
Which is stronger? The Tory voter's desire to do as he pleases in his back garden, or his desire none of his neighbours do anything he dislikes in their back garden? The latter? Close, isn't it? And that's why the Tories won't derive benefit from planning reform. (Novelist @WillWiles)
And now let us observe the well-furnished breakfast-parlour at Plumstead Episcopi, and the comfortable air of all the belongings of the rectory. Comfortable they certainly were, but neither gorgeous nor even grand; indeed, considering the money that had been spent there, the eye and taste might have been better served; there was an air of heaviness about the rooms which might have been avoided without any sacrifice of propriety; colours might have been better chosen and lights more perfectly diffused; but perhaps in doing so the thorough clerical aspect of the whole might have been somewhat marred; at any rate, it was not without ample consideration that those thick, dark, costly carpets were put down; those embossed, but sombre papers hung up; those heavy curtains draped so as to half exclude the light of the sun: nor were these old-fashioned chairs, bought at a price far exceeding that now given for more modern goods, without a purpose. The breakfast-service on the table was equally costly and equally plain; the apparent object had been to spend money without obtaining brilliancy or splendour. The urn was of thick and solid silver, as were also the tea-pot, coffee-pot, cream-ewer, and sugar-bowl; the cups were old, dim dragon china, worth about a pound a piece, but very despicable in the eyes of the uninitiated. The silver forks were so heavy as to be disagreeable to the hand, and the bread-basket was of a weight really formidable to any but robust persons. (Anthony Trollope, The Warden, 1855)
He appears in Downton Abbey, one of a wave of TV dramas centred on class, and in the Radio Times this week the actor Rob James-Collier was asked whether working-class talent was being squeezed out of the profession. James-Collier was born in Stockport, and defines himself as working class, and his answer was direct. As with so many other jobs at the moment, he said, you have to work for no money when starting out, and "how on earth are you going to finance that" if you don't come from a wealthy background? His comments tapped into a question that has arisen repeatedly this year. Can anyone but the exceptionally well-heeled, wealthy, connected upper classes now make it in the arts? (Kira Cochrane, 7 March 2012)
“There are plenty of gritty dramas and soaps for working class actors out there” says a commenter (and actor), proving that “gritty” is a euphemism for working class.
The Marchioness of Worcester revealed that she did not want to send their children to boarding schools, which she said were elitist and failed to teach children about the real world. However, she said that she was expected to do so by her husband’s family… “I did not want it but it was demanded in this family,” she said. The great-granddaughter of the Earl of Dudley said that her experience of boarding school had been negative and that she was expelled a number of times. “For me, when I came out of boarding school I was totally ignorant of the world,” she said. “This is the only country in the world where normal children are sent to boarding school…” The Marchioness said that she did not want boarding schools to be banned but instead wanted more money for national schools. “We are enslaved to earning enough money to send people to the boarding school club. It would be great to be freed from that so that everyone’s children had a good education,” she said. “It makes a division in society.” (Telegraph, Jan 2013)
”Co-option" is the term that people like Naomi Klein use to differentiate her own consumption patterns from the vulgar masses. (amazon review)
Midcult is Masscult masquerading as art: slick and predictable but varnished with ersatz seriousness. For Dwight Macdonald (Masscult and Midcult, 1960), Midcult was Our Town, The Old Man and the Sea, South Pacific, Life magazine, the Book-of-the-Month Club: all of them marked by a high-minded sentimentality that congratulated the audience for its fine feelings… Midcult, still peddling uplift in the guise of big ideas, is Tree of Life, Steven Spielberg, Jonathan Safran Foer, Middlesex, Freedom—the things that win the Oscars and the Pulitzer Prizes, just like in Macdonald’s day. (William Deresiewicz, The American Scholar, Nov 2012)
I know that service stations get a bad press. But I love them. They evoke memories of childhood trips to the beach; they are mini-treats on long, boring journeys, where you can eat at Burger King without feeling guilty. At service stations, you exist in a bubble, divorced from the rest of the world. I always think that if an atom bomb went off, I would be safe at Leigh Delamere, browsing useless travel accessories. Here lurks all human life – divorced parents handing over children, Alan Partridges in permanent limbo, the posh, the poor and everything in between. The service station is the great British leveller. Bryony Gordon, DT July 10
I love that "flat screen television" is still the definition of living in luxury in 2012 #bbcqt (@RopesToInfinity)
Parvenu merchants and financiers routinely purchased country estates in order to display their material splendor, advance their claims to gentility - the ownership of a landed estate being the foundation of genteel status - and establish the foundation for their descendants' entry into upper-class circles. (The Jews of Britain by Todd M. Endelman)
The Brits don’t like anything to look new. Furniture must have rips in the upholstery, exposed stuffing, paintings hung crooked, crockery unmatched and properly chipped. The feeling being, I suppose, one is above caring; however self-consciously tattered it appears. (Frank Langella, Dropped Names)
At school in the 70s it was vital, for the purpose of not getting your face bashed in behind the bike sheds, that your parents had a) a good car b) a house in the proper part of town and c) jobs from the approved list. (Tom Cutler, Guardian, Oct 20 2012)
The rules of discussing class in Britain are, pleasingly, very like those of cricket. Once you know them, they seem incredibly obvious and intuitive and barely worth mentioning; if you don't know them, they are pointlessly, sadistically complicated, their exclusivity almost an exercise in snobbery in its own right. Nowhere is this more evident and yet more tacit than in relationships: people marry into their own class. It's called "assortative mating". You know this by looking around, yet there's such profound squeamishness about it that research tends to cluster around class proxies. The question goes: "Do you and your spouse share the same educational attainment?" (Translation: are you the same class?) Or: "Did you go to the same university?" (Translation: are you really, really the same class?) This trend is immune to social progress elsewhere. (Guardian, Oct 20 2012)
[Julian Fellowes' wife Emma] once gave an interview in which she described the 'tell-tale signs' by which you could spot a parvenu. 'I hope I would never judge somebody because they folded their napkin after dinner,' she said piously. 'But I'd never pretend I didn't notice. Isn't that awful?' Well, yes it is rather. Ditto her confession that, 'Sometimes, I'm ashamed to say, I'll go upstairs after we've had a dinner party and I'll say to Julian, "Did you see Cybilla tipping her soup towards her?"' (Guardian, 2004)
They were young, clearly middle-class, mostly in employment I would guess... They were part of a forgotten social group – young people who aren't particularly challenging or at all cynical (they loved the little jokes the band told). If I had to guess, they included trainee solicitors, a few office managers, people starting out in PR, maybe the odd teacher and researcher. They were extremely courteous, and there probably wasn't a racist nerve cell in the whole hall; many of the groups there were mixed-race, chiefly white and Asian. Nobody ever really notices these people. They never riot, and they don't snarl at the world, which has done quite well by them. They like to watch Miranda on TV, and hold their office Christmas parties at Café Rouge. They own little cars which have nicknames. (Simon Hoggart on the audience for the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain, Sept 30 2012)
Classy Quotes 11
Classy Quotes Part Ten
Classy Quotes Part Nine
Part Eight here.
More here, here, here, here and here. And here. And here.
Saturday, 19 January 2013
A friend reports that a posher acquaintance is bullying him to buy curtains at Curtain Exchange because at Homebase you can’t avoid contact with common people. At Curtain Exchange you get curtains pre-owned by People Like Us.
Middle-class Upwards used to buy a cheap Victorian or Georgian “shell” and live in it while they did it up. This took years, so their look was bare plaster, colourful ethnic textiles, bare boards and a lot of dust. Can we now say what hell this was, and how we hate chipping layers of paint off ceiling roses, and how wonderful it is to buy a house you can move straight into? And employ tradesmen to do the work?
Upwards could never never have a sofa with controls (to raise a footrest, rotate a section, turn on the telly…) Or an extractor fan that rose from a kitchen island at the touch of a button. They really didn’t like dimmer switches – what happened to them? Upward sofas are never comfortable enough or big enough. They like to tell you that in the olden days people sat on hard, upright chairs.
People with Farrow and Ball painted doors don’t have doorbells, notes architect Charles Holland. (Hungarian immigrant George Mikes observed that the British won’t paint a name or a number on their houses.)
In the 70s, Upwards bought a Victorian rocking horse, had it restored, and placed it in the front window of their living room so passers-by could see how tasteful they were. They don’t have net curtains, so their front room is an advert for themselves.
The middle classes buy real old cottages and rework the interior to make it more “cottagey”.
Old carriage lamps outside your front door used to be a class marker for the middle middle Weybridges, but they seem to have gone out anyway. (They went with painted carriage or wagon wheels in your garden, or propped against your front wall, and those stone mushrooms barns used to stand on.)
When the middle classes (and upper) say “dining table” they mean one that will seat 12 – or 20 if you add extra leaves. No wonder you need a separate “dining room” to put it in. Middle-class Sam Upward is a bit puzzled when lower middle-class Jen Teale says she’s going to put a “dining table” by the window in her kitchen – she means a small, light table with four chairs. Upwards never eat at a table pushed against a wall (though they might at a pinch put one in a bay window).
The Nouveau-Richards don't care:
Hedge fund trophy home. Besides the usual basket-ball court and wine cellar, it has an observatory, a carousel, a 150-seat theatre, a petting zoo, a trading floor, and a fully equipped laboratory. Doonesbury
Nouveau-Richards have a media room with leather sofas and the flat-screen telly rather high up and far away on a wall. Not cosy.
Elin Nordegren, the former Mrs Tiger Woods, has demolished her termite-ridden, 90-year-old mansion and is building a replica in its place with:
2 large living rooms
huge formal dining room
pool cabana with huge living room
detached guest house with 3 bedrooms
3 guest bungalows
vast master wing with walk-in closet
basement that runs the entire length of the house
More décor here.And more here.
The middle classes have to sneer at anybody making money from property, and bewail shopping “madness”, “frenzy” etc.
Middle-class Samantha Upward is appalled by the way everybody seems to have so much money these days, and the luxury industry that has sprung up. People talk about their third or fourth houses; they send their children on competitive gap years; they have three holidays a year; their children are learning Arabic or Japanese. None of Sam's relatives can exploit this new moneyed class by becoming a lady's maid, butler or housekeeper.
In the olden days, the Antiques Roadshow would only tell people the insurance value of their object (You’d need to insure it for…). They never mentioned auction rooms or the possibility that someone might sell their antique. (They still say “But you’ll never sell it, will you!”)
Middle-class people don’t just buy things, they “finally give in and” buy them “in the end”. (Sometimes they “succumb”.) We gave in and bought a: tanning bed, gas-powered mower, laptop, fake Xmas tree, upvc shed, external hard drive, brand new car, minivan, book on tape, hydraulic press, leather suite, hamster, Twitter account, black Labrador for the kids, squirrel baffle (for the bird feeder), cell phone for our oldest daughter, cat, cab home, mini trampoline, new car (Twingo), Wii, chocolate egg filled with chocolates, small greenhouse, thumb guard, double skillet, new puppy, Gamecube, iPad, Blackberry Curve, Moleskine notebook, printer, mummy bus, some Whittard’s instant iced tea. (Thankyou, Google.)
It’s every middle-class person’s dream to write a novel. But it seems such a hopeless business plan – so much work for such a tiny return. But the novel is a passport to the lecture circuit, the creative writing class, the column in a broadsheet, the book reviews, the status, the gigs at Hay on Wye.
If you cost your labour, is it worth it? Yes - not in money, but for the cachet, status, profile, visibility and a more interesting life with superior friends. (And you can always write money-spinning genre novels using a pseudonym.)
Lower middle-class Jen Teale would cost it out before she started, and make sure she wrote something that people wanted to read (teen vampire novels, not literature).
Weybridges think it’s terribly important to teach your children the value of money.
Thanks to credit cards, our children don’t know the value of money! We must introduce our children to money as soon as possible. This is difficult because we use plastic instead of coins and notes these days. So we must give our children coins and tell them the values and play “shop”. (The Times 2009, paraphrase)
Upwards, on the other hand, while investing money, emotion and hopes in their children, fail to explain this to them. (It would mean talking about money, which they don’t do. It would also mean calling a spade a spade.) The children, being children, don’t wonder where the money’s coming from, or what their parents will expect in return (a place at university, a suitable boy or girlfriend, a respectable job). Upward parents need a story they can tell their friends, and Upward children don’t have much choice.
Friday, 11 January 2013
It's really hard giving up drink for a month, isn't it? It is if you are a low-level alcoholic, like so many middle-class people. Are there any upsides? Well, it gives journalists an excuse to write about alcohol and their heroic intake even more than usual. "I really miss my drunk alter ego", says the Daily Telegraph's blogging "Dryathlete".
So here's a guide to drinking less while pretending not to.
Don't declare that you are detoxing.
Don't talk about booze.
Don't joke about booze.
Don't laugh at jokes about booze.
If you have any friends left... yes, that's the tricky part, isn't it?
Fortunately wikiHow has the answers.
Have you been, or will you be, in a situation where social drinking is expected? If you don't feel comfortable simply telling your peers that you do not drink, the following ideas may help you get through the situation.
Take a can of beer to the loo, pour it down the sink and fill up with water. (That would taste revolting.)
Have a drink in your hand but drink it slowly and occasionally go to the loo to tip some out.
Get someone else to "try" your drink.
Act drunker as the evening progresses.
Drink ginger ale ("beer") from a pint glass.
Drink a wine glass full of of tonic with a slice of lemon. Or a "rum and coke" (mocktails).
Go to the bar to get your own (soft) drink.
If someone asks what you want say you haven't decided.
Say you're on medication.
Dump the shot on the bar floor, or into a plant pot when your "friends" are looking the other way. Placing your hand around an empty shot glass will make it appear full - then "drink" the air.
Here's more from wikiHow on How to Turn Down a Drink.
Decline gracefully, giving a polite excuse. (It doesn't really matter what it is: psychological studies have shown that people expect an explanation, but will accept almost anything.)
Order a "virgin" version of a regular cocktail.
Drink low-alcohol beer.
Create a diversion: chat, take photos, dance, eat snacks.
Take a drink and hold it: you don't have to drink it.
And finally... be assertive:
Don't attend future parties like this. If you have a hard time being firm, or this host has a hard time taking "no" for an answer, just don't go next time. When friends ask why you aren't attending, tell the truth. Say, "Well, last time I went, it seemed all anyone cared about was seeing me drink. I don't care to party that way (with alcohol or drugs) any more. Until I feel sure that my "no" will be accepted and I won't be badgered all night, I'm not going to go." That should take care of the problem, because your friends will pass what you said on to the host, and in the future, care will be taken not to offend you in this way again.
More You Are What You Eat (and Drink)
Sunday, 6 January 2013
In the UK, the classes don’t mix much – which is probably why they are so suspicious of each other (benefit scroungers! toffs!). The top layers live in bubbles and only mingle with people from the right “background”. Who said that these days the classes only mix on the race course? Is this why everyone loves Downton Abbey and Upstairs Downstairs – because you have all the classes in the same soap opera? (Apparently DA shows aristos and staff being fearfully matey with each other – which would never have happened. Employers treated servants as non-people.)
Middle-class Upwards and Weybridges like to say “illegitimi non carborundum!” (Don’t let the bastards grind you down). They think other people are grinding them down, not the other way round.
They are obsessed with queuing – they really don’t see why they should spend a nanosecond in any queue of any kind. Their blood pressure rises on the tube (people are going through the ticket barrier before meeee!!!!), on trains, and especially in supermarkets where they time the people in front – who can never find their money fast enough and then pay in small change!!! Other customers may even misuse the shopping divider. (They still can't quite believe they are shopping in the same place as other people to whom they have not been introduced. And there are so many of them. And they bring their uncontrollable children. Some childless Upwards think that children should be banned.)
The top layers of society loathe intrusive security at airports. To be patted down – touched! – by common people! And treated just like everybody else! It’s an outrage! Don’t they realise who we are? "Don’t you feel guilty passing through customs even though you’ve got nothing to declare?"
Do you respond when someone lets you cross the road? All you need to do is nod, smile or wave - but to a stranger???
Top people often don’t reply when shop staff chat to them. They don’t think of it as being rude. These are common people they don’t know – why should they speak to them? They like to say: “I hate being sold things.” The shop staff have probably been told to smile and chat (and also hover to see nobody nicks anything).
They like to say: “We can't live in fear.” They are very afraid of fear. We should just shut up about paedophiles because all this talk is making people too afraid. That’s why they flapped over Harriet Harman wearing a stab vest in Peckham, and when Jacqui Smith said she didn’t like walking alone late at night. We mustn’t say that our streets aren’t safe because it would make people afraid. “Being mugged in Spain yet again hit my wallet hard. But the real cost is in losing trust in people.” (The Guardian, May 5 08)
And people shouldn’t show weakness, or emotion in public. Yachtswoman Ellen McArthur is not a national heroine because she whinged all the time in public. And she’s had too much attention and besides she’s common. John Prescott talking about his bulimia is “self-pity disguised as honesty”. And he’s definitely common. And they despise Nick Clegg for saying sorry. He’s an “apologiser” now. (September, 2012)
They hate vacuous celebrities. They are afraid their children will be unduly influenced. These celebrities are celebrated for common achievements like pop music and football, or else they’re just “famous for being famous”. They want their children to see Olympic athletes as role models instead. Or is that just everybody else’s children?
But they adore rather plain middle-aged male actors like Ken Stott, Jim Broadbent and Ian Holm. (Such a mahvellous actor – and he could be me!) They don’t idolise really pretty people, and never go mad over actresses.
Thanks to Twitter and the always wonderful Middle-Class Handbook.