Judging anyone else’s place on the class spectrum is now considered appalling snobbishness. In fact, it always was, but that didn’t stop most of Britain doing so, punching up and down the social scale as the fancy took them. But what do common people look like now?

While judging ‘class’ might be passé now, what is still eternally acceptable is judging other peoples’ taste. A tale as old as time, from cave dwellers snorting at the ostentatious stick-buffalo drawings of their neighbours (“Cute. We prefer to do something subtle with pigment”) to the self-styled arbiter of modern taste, interior designer and old Etonian Nicky Haslam, 84, who regularly produces his list of what’s ‘common’, helpfully printed on a tea-towel and available to purchase.

…I too am a secret snob, and like nothing better than judging my fellow humans

But while ‘common’ used to mean ‘unacceptably working class’, it now means both ‘too popular’ and ‘too basic’ – ie, in poor taste. On Haslam’s list this year is ‘the northern lights’ – presumably wanting to see them, rather than actually being a refracting particle – Aperol (can’t disagree, any drink that looks radioactive and is served in a fishbowl reminds me too strongly for comfort of Coco Savannah, Stockport, 1991), strawberries, lobster (so arriviste!), Grayson Perry (too ubiquitous), and the phrase ‘hundred and ten per cent.’ I entirely agree with the last one. Partly because it’s always pronounced ‘hunjantenpsen, babe’, partly because it’s not an actual mathematical concept, but mostly because I too am a secret snob, and like nothing better than judging my fellow humans.

I read Nancy Mitford’s U and Non-U when I was a teenager…

…in which the Edwardian-born aristocrat listed words that were acceptably upper-class, (‘U’) and those which were decidedly not so.

U was ‘bike, or bicycle’ whereas saying ‘cycle’ would mark you out as a social misfit. U was ‘jam’, non-U was ‘preserve’. And toasting was always ‘your good health’, never ‘cheers.’

She pointed out that while the upper classes, like the working classes, use the bluntest name for things, the middle tend to euphemise and skirt around anything possibly ‘unpleasant’.

Hence, Prince Philip would always bark the aristocratic ‘How d’you do?’ rather than the grovelling ‘pleased to meet you,’ because he might shortly discover that he wasn’t pleased.

Basically, if your furniture is 900 years old, inherited, and covered in old whisky stains, you’re acceptably posh

Nouveau riche taste, too, has always been the great horror of the U set. Basically, if your furniture is 900 years old, inherited, and covered in old whisky stains, you’re acceptably posh. If you bought it new from Harrods, you’re trying far too hard.

Equally, teacup dogs or pampered cats are deeply common. The upper classes have gun-dogs, who bed down in the boot room. And they keep nameless cats only for catching mice around the stables.

In the ‘70s, (a very non-U decade), Jilly Cooper, who has now ascended from upper middle class to ‘kitchen supper friends with the king and queen’, wrote Class, a book which purported to examine the class structure of Britain at the time, but was fundamentally an entertaining compendium of her own prejudices and anecdotes.

“Black Labradors are much grander than yellow,” she writes, confidently. And “it is very vulgar (for them) to have anything other than brown leather collars.” It’s also worth noting that according to Cooper, the fewer words written in your Christmas card, the posher you are.

In 2019, society bible Tatler updated the U-list and added ‘dietary requirements’, ‘mouthwash’, ‘being friends with your parents,’ and ‘elaborate gin and tonics.’ We’re back to rattling fishbowls again, with sprigs of thyme and juniper, and it’s all a bit Girls’ Night Out. Which is, obviously, an extremely common event to attend.

The upper classes do not explain anything, as matters are simply understood between them, from war to wellingtons

It’s all absolute nonsense, of course – but that didn’t stop me, inspired by Haslam’s triumphant pride in his impeccable judgment, making my own list and posting it on social media. I would say ‘tongue in cheek’, but I suspect that’s a very common expression, implying as it does that something needs explaining. The upper classes do not explain anything, as matters are simply understood between them, from war to wellingtons (both wearing of and acceptable brands) and nobody else’s opinion counts.

I based my ‘what’s common’ choices on things that really annoy me on social media (everyone, everything, all the time). Including the bleak basic-ness of advertising, and things that have irritated me this year for their sanctimonious, live-laugh-love lack of irony.

I included flavoured coffee, which obviously encompasses all the ‘pumpkin spice’ and ‘gingerbread latte’ oomska sold in the name of hot drinks, piled with ‘squirty cream’ (even the phrase…) and minuscule marshmallows. Basically, if you need to post your drink on Instagram in the hope that people will reply ‘get in ma belly’ and ‘love it!!!’ you’re a bit common.

I also mentioned scented candles that smell of more than two things, or claim to smell of a concept (Malibu Night, etc). I am not a great fan, partly because my house once burned down. And partly because they mostly smell like Lynx Africa pot pourri and cost £60. I see no problem with a house smelling of house. (Never say ‘home’, it’s non-U).

Also included – to vast online consternation – was buying Haribo and Pringles ‘for the car journey.’ And M&S cocktail cans ‘for the train.’ Can nobody manage to travel three miles without eating and drinking like the Ghost of Christmas Past? My Grandma was very strict on ‘eating in the street.’ I’ll accept it when it’s an actual mealtime – but this is the 15.11 to Marple, it’s not the rolling buffet at Caesar’s Palace.

Christmas should last a week, maximum. Anything else is very, very common

I also decreed tiny, decorative bed pillows common – piles of sequinned beanbags, what are they for? Also having the TV on when you’re not in the room (because while silence is golden for me, for some, a house isn’t complete without a daytime quiz theme tune jangling in the distance), and asking if you’re ‘ready for Christmas.’ I loathe this question and it’s only ever asked by basic hunnies who did all their shopping in the January sales at Dunelm and had it wrapped by July because they’re ‘excited for the festive season,’ and start playing Wonderful Christmastime on November 1st. Christmas should last a week, maximum. Anything else is very, very common.

I know I’m a snob. Coming from a lower middle class bit of Manchester, I’m far from rich. I live in a two-bed cottage, I’m friends with my parents, and my cat sleeps on the bed, so what do I know?

Feel free to judge me right back. Hunjantenpsen, babe.

WHAT’S COMMON NOW, ACCORDING TO FLIC

• Flavoured coffee
• Being ‘excited for’ things
• Tiny cross-bred portmanteau dogs (‘Pomchi’ ‘Doodlehuahua’)
• Cushions with anything written on them
• Toys that make an electronic noise
• Going for ‘a big walk’ with friends and children and making a fuss about it with thermoses and waterproofs
• Tea-towels featuring a map of somewhere you’ve been
• Scented candles that smell of more than two things, or claim to smell of a concept (Malibu Night, etc)
• Pasta tongs
• Plastic sippy cups
• Tiny, decorative bed pillows
• Books about little seashore/Christmas/Springtime cafes/shops/holiday houses
• Buying Haribo and Pringles for the journey
• Loafers with white socks
• Sparkly ‘strappy shoes’
• Shortie pyjamas with anything written on them
• Large photographic prints of flowers on block canvas, especially if they form a triptych
• Saying your feet ache
• Asking if you’re ready for Christmas
• Drinking M&S cocktail cans on the train
• Calling pudding ‘dessert’
• Having a tennis ball on a string to stop you bumping the garage wall
• Having X-box controllers on display
• Having the TV on when you’re not in the room

Flic Everett

Flic Everett is a Mancunian writer who now lives in a cottage in the beautiful West Highlands with her patient husband and two deranged cocker spaniels. She still misses Manchester, and returns like a homing pigeon every month to see family and friends. She spends a lot of time writing on trains.

The post Are you common? A class guide appeared first on Silver Magazine.

An extraordinary new trend seems to be emerging, where people are not invited to the wedding, but encouraged to give a gift to the delightful couple anyway. Yep, the wedding ‘uninvitation’ is apparently a real thing.

Weddings should bring out the best in us. They are supposed to be occasions of joy (see Stacey Solomon and Joe Swash being adorable), or perhaps hope (see Boris Johnson, and/or Jennifer Lopez prioritising optimism over experience).

…anyone who has ever been involved in a wedding knows they are often a breeding ground for bad behaviour

But anyone who has ever been involved in a wedding at any level knows they are often a breeding ground for bad behaviour. Slammed doors, tantrums over everything from ribbons to religion, and appalling manners abound.

I’m not even going to apologise for sounding like my mother when I throw my hands in the air and ask anyone who’ll listen. “Whatever happened to good manners?”, especially now I know about the existence of the ‘wedding uninivation’.

The what now?

Ingle and Rhode, a jewellery company, seems to think it is providing a community service. By offering a free-to-download wedding uninvitation.

Just no. If someone is not invited to your wedding, you don’t get to suggest that a present might be nice

This appalling little document features twee purple flowers last seen in the wild on a tampon box in 1986. It takes nine (NINE!) cringeworthy paragraphs to inform the unfortunate recipient that they are not invited to the wedding. But if you’d like to buy the couple a gift, you’re more than welcome to do so.

No. Just no. If someone is not invited to your wedding, you don’t get to suggest that a present might be nice. Epecially as the “sorry, babes, you’re not invited” bombshell is dropped after five paragraphs of expectation-management-free blather about how hard it is to plan a wedding in these difficult times.

Oh, but it gets better

As a consolation prize, the uninvitation invites you to follow the wedding on social media. At least that’s a free activity that can be done while sitting on the sofa in one’s underpants scoffing Doritos from the bag, I guess. But the whole thing is just so… presumptuous.

I can imagine a ridiculously self-important influencer couple sending uninvitations. There would be some sort of hideous, grifting deal with advertisers and collaborators as they told the world about their inane union in a series of Instagram posts from a Dubai hotel balcony. As if we’re all dying to attend their tacky wedding in the first place or something.

It doesn’t matter if the social media pictures indicate dresses by Dior, Champagne fountains on every table, or a gold-encrusted cake the height of an Olympic pole-vaulter. You’re a human budget cut.

OK, so a bit upsetting, really, but…

Obviously, your heart can sink a little if you’re not invited to a wedding. Particularly where you thought you were a guestlist shoo-in. And, from the point of view of the happy couple – who can only be a bride and groom, according to Ingle and Rhode – culling the guestlist is one of the least fun wedding planning tasks.

But can we all please be a little more adult and stiff-upper-lip about this?

Everyone knows times are tough. Nobody should expect their currently engaged friends to throw a royal wedding and invite everyone they know. If you want to start an awkward why-weren’t-we-invited conversation, that’s on you. Honestly, for your own self-esteem, just assume it was a budget issue and get on with your life.

And if you’re half of the happy couple, you don’t owe anyone a nine-paragraph explanation as to why they’re not invited. Any more than you should suggest the uninvited might like to fork out for a present! Hell, while I’ve got your attention, I’m here to tell you that I find wedding lists, even for the INvited, a bit rude.

What happened to giving from the heart?

Are people so lacking in imagination these days that they can’t think of a single wedding present idea?

What is the deal with asking people for a washing machine? How are these betrothed weirdos washing their clothes before the wedding? Will they be getting married in unwashed socks? And so what if they get four toasters?

That sort of coincidence only ever happens in movies. People in the real world are terrified to buy toasters as wedding gifts after seeing a movie where someone received four toasters.

Engaged couples of the world! It’s time to go back to basics when it comes to gifts. Ditch the wedding lists and leave the presents to fate.

And, please, for the love of all that is holy. Do not even consider suggesting ideal presents to the people you’ve culled. Be grateful if they even like your Facebook wedding album, and never mention it again.

Georgia Lewis

In a career that has spanned Australia, the Middle East and the UK, Georgia has written about all sorts of things, including sex, cars, food, oil and gas, insurance, fashion, travel, workplace safety, health, religious affairs, glass and glazing… When she’s not writing words for fun and profit, she can usually be found with a glass of something French and red in her hand.

The post Not invited to the wedding, but asked to give a gift anyway?! appeared first on Silver Magazine.