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(, Sun 1 Apr 2001, 1:00)
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You jest...but
Salt of the earth working men types are fine down the pub or on the football terrace...but in my house?
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 10:56, 3 replies, latest was 16 years ago)
I do not jest.

(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 10:57, Reply)
are you sure
you aren't mixing up working class with lower class?
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:00, Reply)
Both live in horrid terraces and can't afford shoes

(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:01, Reply)
I can't tell
if you're joking on this :(
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:03, Reply)
Of course I'm joking, I'm well aware that poor people now live in towers and wear Nike trainers that I paid for.

(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:05, Reply)
Not so!
I am at this very minute sat in a tiny terraced house with bare feet.
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:08, Reply)
take that NakedApe
you Tory scum you
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:10, Reply)
Well I'm glad one povvo has the decency to live upto cliches

(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:13, Reply)
Its an honour to feed your stereotypes.

(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:16, Reply)

stereotypes fantasies
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:17, Reply)
you're a student, you don't count as a genuine poor person

(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:27, Reply)
Sadly, I've always been poor.
I come from genuine working class stock.
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:31, Reply)
I'm middle class
that's why I rebel with piercings and tattoos. I'm sticking it to my upperclass parents for making sure I wasn't left wanting.
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:42, Reply)
I'm rebelling against my mother too.
and her absolute, au naturel prudishness.
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:48, Reply)
I live in a terrace
mine isn't horrid though
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:12, Reply)
That's because it's not in the North
up there all you can hear is the constant moan of brass instruments and the incessant chatter of drunken plebs.
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:15, Reply)
how dreadful
almost enough to put one off ones caviar
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:18, Reply)
...and the foetid stench of Hovis, wherever you go.

(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:21, Reply)
Is there a difference?
'serfs' covers them all.
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:13, Reply)
Best get your man to deal with them
and you can spend the day at your club
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 10:58, Reply)
that sounds just the ticket
whisky and s dear boy?
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 10:58, Reply)
Not before midday day!
Port and a plate of deviled kidneys.
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:00, Reply)
what?
*port* before midday?
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:01, Reply)
Breakfast drink of champions

(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:03, Reply)
I've never drunk port
before dinner. Why not have yourself a nice gin and tonic, or a Pimms or just a glass of champagne instead?
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:04, Reply)
Before dinner simply would not do.
I always treat myself to a fine vintage port from Selfridges every Christmas. A little gift to myself.
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:08, Reply)

t n
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:10, Reply)
I do hope you indulge in a good stilton alongside

(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:10, Reply)
Of course.

(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:12, Reply)
there is no point
me buying extra nice port, it disappears too fast
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:12, Reply)
Hold the S, old chap, there's a dear.

(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:02, Reply)
This thread needs more northern working class.
Aite, guv? what can I do fer yer?
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:05, Reply)
I beg your pardon?

(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:08, Reply)
*doffs flat cap*
*straightens scruffy waistcoat*
*grins*
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:10, Reply)
that's not Northern!
/more Oliver Twist
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:13, Reply)
It's essentially the same thing.
Everyone knows we all still ride horse and carts on dirt roads and are amazed by steam trains.
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:15, Reply)
it sounds like
a strange and wonderful place. A magic fairyland where honest farm workers tug their forelocks and smile the smile of honest labour
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:17, Reply)
In the country, this is possibly true.
Not so much in towns and cities...
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:20, Reply)
well, my shoes could do with a bit of a buff
and while you are down there....
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:09, Reply)
While I'm down here, I'll punch you in the bollocks if you try anything dodgy.
And then run away.
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:13, Reply)
typical bloody prole

(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:15, Reply)
you clearly don't know Monty very well
if you think he jests
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 10:58, Reply)
I've become rusty on his mannerisms and ways
that's what happens when he goes away for 2 weeks "on holiday" (nudge nudge, wink wink) with his ex.
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:03, Reply)
Scruffy oiks, every man jack of’em.
The blighters have ruined our previously unimpeachably high regard in the colonies, with their foreign holidays and the like.

Unforgivable.
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:04, Reply)
Sunburnt urchins, a pox on you and your kin

(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:07, Reply)
Prior to the 1950s
the only nations aware of our rough-hewn peasantry were those who’d been slaughtered by them on the field of battle.
(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:11, Reply)
as it should be

(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:13, Reply)
And bloody grateful they were too.

(, Tue 22 Jun 2010, 11:16, Reply)

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