Oh my god, I'm trailor trash!

I’ve just finished reading the book Watching the English, The hidden rules of English behaviour by Kate Fox. As a Kiwi married to an Englishman, living in England, with two English sons (they are actually half-Kiwi, but in denial at the moment, but more on that some other time), it looked like compulsory reading material.

Let’s just say, it was a bit of an eye opener. We don’t have a real upper class in New Zealand, despite what some people living in Christchurch might think. But most of us secretly believe that when we come over to England we will be embraced by English people of all classes - including the upper classes - because we are so quirky and charming and there are only four million of us.

Little did I know that lots of little words I use every day give me away (and most of the Kiwi population) as a working class trollop aspiring to be middle class. 'Toilet' or 'bathroom'? Lower class. If you’re posh you say ‘loo’. 'Couch'? The height of ill breeding! What you’d be saying if your Dad went to Eton is ‘sofa’. ‘Lounge’? Eek, it’s ‘The Front Room’, don’t you know. And don’t even think about calling napkins ‘serviettes’ - that’s an arriviste affectation adopted by those of us who think it’s sophisticated to use words of French derivation. Ce n’est-pas vrai, apparently.

So there you have it. I am trailor trash. The only small comfort that I could take from the book was that only working class people clean their cars every weekend, and truly upper class people’s furniture tends to be a mix of mis-matched hand-me-downs with tears in the upholstery. I can tick those boxes with aplomb!