Not posh, but...
Some of us have poshness thrust upon us.

My grandfather started out as a bag & bottle collector. Horse and cart, the whole Steptoe thing, around the streets of Melbourne.

Eventually the nature of the trade changed somewhat: a truck replaced the horse, and removing things to (and from) the large industrial tip site became a major part of the business.

So it was that my grandfather came to be lopping trees and removing excess branches from the home of Sir Robert Menzies, erstwhile Prime Minister. Your humble narrator, all of 8 or 9 years age, was on term holiday from school. Yes, a private school. Of all my family, I was the first to speak "with a plum".

My grubby roots manifest, I was happy to be carrier of tools and general getter-in-the-way as grandad and his offsiders worked, and was thus occupied when Sir Robert met me.

He gave me ten shillings (in early 1960s terms, this was a huge sum) and said I was "a little gentleman".

It just goes to show, the poor old bugger was no better a judge of character than when he earned the nickname "Pig-Iron Bob".

This will explain the nickname.
(Aspergernaut, Sun 18 Sep 2005, 7:30, Reply)