Shropshire Woman

Jackie Jarvis writes

I have been accused, and on more than one occasion, of being posh.

As this irksome label has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with a highly privileged upbringing, I can only put it down to the fact that my plummy southern accent gives the impression that I was born with the proverbial silver spoon in my mouth.

So, when I read of a poll commissioned by Opinion Research, which gives 10 indicators as to one’s level of ‘poshness’ through a series of seemingly random questions, I decided to put myself to the ultimate test. So here goes.

Do I go to the opera or ballet? No, those ear-piercing sopranos screeching in high-pitched tones about God only knows what are definitely not music to my ears; and men in tights do absolutely nothing for me.

Do I have a cleaner? I used to employ a lady ‘that does’ but as I fair wore myself to a frazzle tidying and dusting the night before her arrival I eventually got wise to the fact that the house was far cleaner before she arrived than when she left.

Do I wear clothing brands like Hackett and Barbour? Of course I do. I live in the sticks and my now extremely tatty wax jacket is legitimately worn in bona fide country pursuits; unlike those ridiculous townies who insist on parading around urban areas in their pristine outdoor gear just for show.

Do I have an interest in horses or sailing? Yes, I have owned a few old nags in my time but the mere thought of a life on the ocean waves triggers uncontrollable bouts of nausea. This is the woman who got seasick before the ferry had even left port!

Do I spend over £10 on a bottle of wine? Not on your nelly. The copious amounts I consume would require the negotiation of a second mortgage! So it’s the bargain buckets for me every time. Pimms, however, is my preferred tipple of choice, which puts me in the same league as the uppercrust Henley set, I am told.

Do I tell people what school I went to? I don’t think anyone would be impressed by the fact that I attended St Stupid’s Secondary Modern. This is one chapter of my life that is now a closed book.

Do I shop at Waitrose? Before moving up to the ‘frozen north’ I did patronise this well-known chain, but only because it was the nearest one to my home. I can’t for the life of me think why it would be the top choice for one’s weekly shop, though.

Do I say supper instead of dinner? No. They are two different meals, aren’t they?

Do I greet people with a kiss on both cheeks? I’m quite fussy about who comes into contact with my lips but, if I like the cut of your jib, you will definitely get two big smackeroos from me

Do I have an Aga? No, my cook doesn’t like them!

Do I drink Earl Grey or specialist teas? Yes. I am partial to a drop of Oriental nectar, but only if it’s on special offer.

Do I know what Prosecco is and eat hummus? Prosecco is that England football manager chappy, isn’t he? As for that stodgy gloop, favoured by worthy vegetarian types, no thank you. Now, if you reply to just three of these questions in the positive you are a posh person.

So, it’s official! I hold my hands up and begrudgingly admit I am not as common as muck after all!