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Dan Prick tugs our coat and tells us: "I'm enormously middle class, and was once dragged along to a bingo club by a former girlfriend and her mum. It's incredible the fury you can whip up in a room of old biddies winning a fuckton of money and telling them 'This is a load of old shit, really'". Like Pulp's Common People, have you ever tried to act down, or act up?

(, Thu 20 Mar 2014, 15:29)
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I've got two sheds.
It's WELL class.
(, Mon 24 Mar 2014, 9:22, 17 replies)
On a lazy Sunday morning,
I was lounging around in bed, listening to Donna Summer's classic Love To Love You Baby through my brand new set of headphones (excellent quality audio, put the old ear buds to shame). As young, virulent men are wont to do, I was lazily tugging on Mr Happy, when the moment took me and I shut my eyes and went for it. Utter bliss, as Donna and I came together, this was swiftly shattered as I opened my eyes and saw an envelope on the night stand. Inside was a note from mother, letting me know that she'd witnessed me pissing in the butler's mouth.
(, Mon 24 Mar 2014, 8:34, 1 reply)
I live in an RV park
and not once have I blown anything up making cheap meth, and I don't wander about screaming at the voices in my head or go a-wandering about in my fucking PJ's all day. I did make some moonshine once, but even counting that, I'm feel like a 24 k super-king among squalid nasty peasants.

Not quite sure why, as I live here too ... ? Double standard cuntery init :D
(, Sun 23 Mar 2014, 22:13, 14 replies)
I live in Scunthorpe.
Sometimes I find myself looking down on people, then I remember they are people and I feel guilty.
(, Sun 23 Mar 2014, 21:41, 10 replies)
shifting accents
Being brought up in the Black Country by a mum who was the product of an Irish and Mackem union (but a prolific linguist so schooled in most European tongues), and a dad of Irish lineage but raised by a Londoner family you would expect that my resultant accent would be a bit fucked up.

Yes it was true, I would go to schools and mingle With the local kids and therefore come home and express the desire "Ooor roight, woss on the tellay ternoight?" But I was not remonstrated and told "Oi begorrah you wankarrr, y' canna tark leek that to be sure wahey the the lads up the apples and pears" but because my mum wanted to improve herself and get on in life above her roots (postman and a dinner lady) she insisted on correcting my diction with Received Pronunciation as popularly disseminated by the Home Service radio announcers.

So now with my vaguely accentless diction it seems that no matter where I live (Warwickshire, Birmingham, Cheshire, Cornwall, London) or where ever I visit, people think I'm middle class immediately on hearing my voice. But I'm not.

5 minutes on site at manufacturing in Solihull and talking with the workforce who regard all engineers as wankers from the ivory tower who have never worked a hard day in their life, it's instinctively back to "Oor roight oor kid". All of a sudden we're all old muckers.
(, Sun 23 Mar 2014, 21:34, 3 replies)
Our next door neighbours have a Staffy and three kids, and a large trampoline in their back garden.
We have none of these things, therefore we're clearly better than them in every way.
(, Sun 23 Mar 2014, 15:41, 9 replies)

Putting my pound into the trolley at Morrisons when two women (who obviously had loyalty cards with McDonalds) had a three year oldish girl between them hand in hand , an idyllic scene until one of the lardees says to the girl "Say , `Auntie Jean is a fucking slag` , go on , say it" , followed by the poor child having a go at the Auntie Jean based abuse . I tutted until I felt dizzy .
(, Sun 23 Mar 2014, 12:40, 8 replies)
It's so middle class round here that all the racists vote UKIP.

(, Sun 23 Mar 2014, 10:50, 3 replies)
Travel Tips
If any of you are considering travelling to Australia to find out what happened to the "lost" side of the family, or to simply discover if precipitation is actually a transient phenomenon, you may need to heed the following;

Now, as you all know, Australia is entirely Convict class. We all speak with the same tight-lipped nasal monotone intonation, regardless of geographical and cultural (ha!) upbringing...well, except for South Australians, who are always at great pains to remind the rest of country that their particular state was NOT founded by convicts, and therefore they are a bit posh, (Snowtown murders notwithstanding).

However, the one thing that marks someone as being a little bit more, well, convict than most, are moccasins.

Moccasins are the antipodean equivalent of slippers. Not the deer skin Native American style, but the artificial woollen fabric style. Fucking vile.

Yes, moccasins, not thongs (or flip flops) as you may have thought. Indeed, thongs transcend class, as you can buy rather expensive thongs. Only in Australia are you judged by how much you paid for your thongs.

Wearing Woolies basic unisex thongs? Povo Cunt. Wearing Havaiana's? Posh cunt.

Anyway, moccasins are favoured by people who always seem to clad in either homeless-person-piss-scented track suits (shell suits), or the larger ladies who perpetually wear pyjamas, regardless of the hour/social setting, covered by an ill-fitting garish artificial fibre dressing gown, drawstring tightly knotted just above the gunt.

So, at most formal occasions (may be referred to as "meetin' posh cunts"), when everyone seems to be communicating via the nasal passage, without parting the (facial) lips, and it's difficult to judge which strata of Convict you are dealing with, it's always worth a quick glance down, to check if one's conversation partners is wearing moccasins.

If so, back away slowly, lest you end up in a barrel.

(, Sat 22 Mar 2014, 14:01, 7 replies)
Some cockernees moved into a genuine Tudor house on the edge of the village here.
So they've knocked it down by degrees and replaced it with a mock-Tudor house.
(, Sat 22 Mar 2014, 10:53, 7 replies)
I normally get out of the bath to shit.

(, Sat 22 Mar 2014, 9:47, 18 replies)
I once saw Alexei Sayle in the northbound car park of Keele Services on the M6.
He used to do jokes about the class system in the 80s.
(, Sat 22 Mar 2014, 2:06, 2 replies)
Something about Prydonians
and Arcalians and Patrexes, and Shobogans, I shouldn't wonder.

Cos I am a Lord of Time, you know.

So imagine I have written 3000 words about that, you little imps.

(Sorry fans, got house guests: King Yrcanos, Count Grendel of Gracht, the Graff Vynda-K, the Draconian Emperor, Broton (War Lord of the Zygons) and a squadron of pissed-up Sontarans, so as you can imagine it's fucking chaos round here)
(, Fri 21 Mar 2014, 22:22, Reply)
Aged 16, sitting with my first real (and quite posh) girlfriend during break time at school.
She: What's that on your jeans?
Me (bending and sniffing): Cow poo.
She: *shock, horror, gasp*
Me: What?

I dunno, growing up on the farm, it's just another substance that tends to be around the place a lot. Having it on your jeans didn't seem any more shocking to me than had I replied "water", "oil" or "blood". No big deal as far as I could see.
(, Fri 21 Mar 2014, 22:16, 6 replies)
There's a shop next door to my house with a car park round the back.
The entrance road is a couple of feet higher than my garden and there's no wall along the side. Accident waiting to happen.

The other night it did happen: a couple of guys had run out of petrol and were pushing their car along the road past my house. The traffic behind them was getting impatient so they backed it onto the shop's drive. They misjudged it and the two offside wheels slipped over the edge. The car was now precariously balanced - left hand wheels on the road, right hand wheels hanging in space. The whole thing was threatening to roll over sideways into my garden.

I went out, thinking, "There's nothing we can do, we'll have to call out a crane or something. At least I can offer them a cup of tea while they wait - it's a cold night."

It was quickly apparent that they wouldn't be calling any assistance at all. From the way they dressed, spoke, etc. it was clear they were in quite a lower income bracket to me. Probably from the somewhat dodgy estate just up the road. I hate the word chav (it's prejudiced discrimination in my opinion), but I imagine some would be willing to apply it to these two. They were a couple of great guys as it turned out though. Book/cover and all that.

They'd topped up the tank (the petrol station was only another 100 yards up the road), but in their efforts to drive on two wheels had run the battery flat. They had a car jack (sans handle), which clearly wasn't enough to get the car back into place, so I went to see what I could find in the shed.

Inventory: Two car jacks, four bricks, one massive breeze block, two lengths of two-by-four, three old pine book shelves, one steel wheelchair ramp. Edge of road is tatty tarmac on crumbly brick; two-foot drop to muddy grass beneath.

It was like a flipping physics puzzle game! We built precarious towers with jacks on top. We chiseled crumbled brick to make a solid flat surface. We shoved and heaved. We scraped suspension across tarmac. We let down tyres and removed wheels. We panicked ("Let the jack down! Let the jack down! It's sliding - I can't hold it!")

After two hours of hard thought and hard labour we eventually got it back onto the road. We cheered, shook hands. I jump-started their engine and they were good to go.

"Do you drink, mate? Can I buy you anything to say thanks?"

"Ah well, I don't mind a drop of whisky..."

"Nice bottle of Bells then?"

I opened my mouth to say, "well, I'm more a single malt man really" but realised just in time that would have been churlish. "Yeah, that would be great," I smiled instead.

Now I feel awful. This probably wasn't cheap for him but it's wasted on me. But then, it would have been ungracious to refuse a token of gratitude, so I couldn't have done otherwise. I just don't know what to do with this stuff. I've opened it (just to check it's as bad as I remember: it is) so I can't even off-load it as a tombola donation.

Crap. When did I become such a snob?
(, Fri 21 Mar 2014, 22:08, 15 replies)
" what does 'fork' mean"
" well darling, its something you eat your dinner with"
" no, no that fork, I meant as in: 'fork off'"
(, Fri 21 Mar 2014, 21:28, 3 replies)
Bloke next door's pool is only a 'freshwater' one.

(, Fri 21 Mar 2014, 20:19, 3 replies)
Trying to acquaint myself with the Nubile Amazon
When I was a student in Tucson, AZ, I took up ballroom dancing instruction with a gifted young dancer who took pity on my penniless condition and offered me lower rates. In a few months, she and her partner decamped to Phoenix, where the Serious Money in Arizona is located, so I'd drive up when I could, and fell in with strange crowd, including a famous hotel heiress (an older version of Paris Hilton) and a motley collection of rich people.

Among this crowd was a couple who, when the wife got enthusiastic about ballroom dancing, actually had a dedicated dancing studio built onto their plush, rambling ranch-style house. Money was not a serious problem for these folks.

They had an eighteen-year-old daughter, an earnest and nubile bronzed Amazon of a beauty. She was taking dancing lessons too, but she lacked enthusiasm for the project. Dancing was her mom's thing. Instead, she wanted to go overseas and help poor people in Africa. Wanting to foster as much conversation as feasible, I'd talk to her about Africa. Her mother thought this was silly. "Remember, dear," she'd admonish her daughter, "there are lots of spiders in Africa." Indeed, there are! So, when her mom left, we talked a lot about the spiders of Africa.

I found it difficult to know how to act around these people. I didn't understand them very well. One time, I playfully struck my dance instructor on her shoulder. Everyone was mortified. "Don't ever do that, even playfully," they warned. "The dogs will interpret that as a hostile move, and attack!" Indeed, the four German Shepherds looked like the frightening best of Nazi genetic engineering. I like dogs, but I couldn't read these dogs any better than the people.

One blazing hot afternoon, I took a break and went out into the back yard where the enormous swimming pool was located. Slowly, I realized one of the German Shepherds was in the yard too, on the other side of the pool. I was apprehensive. Did the dog understand me to be a friend, or an enemy? I couldn't tell from the dog's grim demeanor. Soon, the dog was chasing me around the pool. I ran around the pool in rising panic. For a time, I could keep the pool between me and the dog, but I couldn't make a break for an exit without risking capture. Were we playing, or was I running for my life? I couldn't tell. The dog eventually caught up (and fortunately had interpreted all this as play).

Damn, I miss those people. I wonder what they are doing now?
(, Fri 21 Mar 2014, 19:06, 5 replies)
The working class
can kiss my arse
I've got the foreman's job at last.
(, Fri 21 Mar 2014, 17:16, 2 replies)
I don't think 'class' means what you think it means ...
You fucking thicko.
(, Fri 21 Mar 2014, 16:46, 5 replies)
Something something Charles Xavier lol

(, Fri 21 Mar 2014, 16:15, Reply)
I feel superior to anyone who:
exists or does not exist.
(, Fri 21 Mar 2014, 16:13, 8 replies)
I'm in a class all of my own

(, Fri 21 Mar 2014, 15:59, 16 replies)
Sometimes when pensioners look at me with dismay
I hear the Coronation St advertising break music in my head. You know, the clarinet harmony?
(, Fri 21 Mar 2014, 15:06, 2 replies)
I live in a republic, and a surprising number of people believe that our lack of aristocracy and monarchy means we don't have a class system.

(, Fri 21 Mar 2014, 14:37, 2 replies)
A rather wealthy and up-market acquaintance
...once commented on my T-shirt. It had "Levis" across it. She offered the opinion that she could never wear "branded" clothing.

I had great fun pointing out the logos on her Armani, Chanel, Rolex etc etc etc.

She couldn't see that it was the same thing at all.
(, Fri 21 Mar 2014, 12:22, 18 replies)
on occasions I've been invited to the houses of some exceedingly wealthy people
some of the them have private helicopters, to give you some idea. But staying true to my suburban middle class roots, my first thought is "Great, free drinks!" and I'm usually in their pool having my first cocktail before my wife reminds me that we haven't even said hello yet
(, Fri 21 Mar 2014, 11:46, Reply)
My sister in law has one of these, of which she's very fond - it's totez ironic though so it's all ok lol
(, Fri 21 Mar 2014, 11:40, 6 replies)

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