The class war – its a dirty business.
Poppy is visiting. Poppy is so posh she even thinks the queen is common. (Too many pastels and a dubious heritage).
Mwarrh Mwarrh. I meet her at the door. Poppy is unsettled by my middle class claim.
‘Darling’ she says ‘you can’t be middle class, you have a dirty house.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You know what they say! The uppers and the lowers are united by three things, irresponsible breeding, dogs and dirty houses. And you, my dear, most definitely have the latter.’
I move strategically to hide the sink.
‘So am I lower or upper?’
‘Well you round your vowels and you’re married to immigrant so I guess you can choose.’
I politely get rid of Poppy and call mum for clarity.
‘Oh dear. A dirty house! What will people say? It’s always blamed on the mother.’
So that settles it I guess, after all no middle class girl is badly brought up. I’m a member of the dirty lower upper class. Ok? Yah?
Tessa Dunlop
