Catherine’s blog – day sixteen

Monday August 15th

I have occasionally been accused of being a snob, not the nicest of accusations, I must admit, but I think that often people mistake reserve or diffidence for some sort of elevated snootiness.  I am, as almost everyone seems to be nowadays, middle class.  I was born into the middle classes, unlike many who now seem to have acquired their middleclass-ness, much as one might acquire the habit of wearing sensible shoes; it just seems to fit better that way.  And this classlessness, or middleclass-ness, is by far preferable to the awful class restrictions I grew up with; the aristocracy, the county set, the professional and the lower managerial middle classes, the white collar and the blue collar workers, and the unashamedly working classes, and all gradations in-between.  Now; apart from a few who consider themselves upper class at the top, and those that do not want to be known as, but undoubtedly are, ‘chavs’, at the bottom, the majority of us are middle class.  We are just  as comfortable buying ciabatta as white sliced, we holiday all over the place without looking down on those who stay in Britain, we buy ready meals from M. & S, we are quite at home in any ethnic restaurant and we watch less and less television, and spend more and more time on the internet.  I like the anonymity this brings, the sense of unquestioning where you came from or who your parents were, that we all enjoy.  So call me a snob at your peril.  Discerning, slightly reserved, outwardly comfortable in myself- yes, but in no way do I consider myself superior, far from it – if you only knew how inferior I feel to almost everyone else.  That is why I try to hide it with my old-fashioned looks, and my sometimes pre-occupied air.  So despite my own declaration you should not always judge a book by its cover.  But I sincerely hope you do mine, and decide to buy it.