When did 'posh' become an insult?

Did I miss the memo saying that to be 'posh' is suddenly to be as socially unacceptable as traffic wardens and sex pests?

Actually did I miss the set of rules that define how posh behaviour and dress is no longer acceptable?

And when did calling someone posh become an insult?

Over recent weeks I've noticed a trend niggling away at so-called posh behaviour - its usually categorised as wearing pearl earrings, buying from the Boden catalogue or having the right/wrong buggy.

There's even a guide posted on a blogger forum this week with a list to tick to say if you're posh and therefore not a 'friend'.

That post isn't a one off, it is in good company, even the BBC (who most people would put at the posher end of the spectrum) have been accused of having a lexicon of abuse against those they perceive as posh.

When did posh become a bad thing?

When did we suddenly get class angst in the virtual world?

When did what we are perceived to be, rather than who we are start to count?

Ok, I admit it, by almost every single one of Sally's list, I'm posh.

Granite worktops - only because we haven't got around to ripping out the hideous kitchen this house came with.  We have an Aga, presumably that ranks us as mega posh?  Ignore the fact that it came with the house and I've fought with it for the last three years.

Smart beach used for a Boden shoot - probably, we borrowed my much smarter brother in law's house for our week of family holiday and yes, its prime Boden country.  And you know what, its nice there, really nice and we had a fabulous time.

Kids clothing - yes they wear Boden, mostly bought in the sale, always on a discount code and mixed up with the usual set of shops.  And you know what, I like Boden it does nice clothes that aren't in saccharine pink or with inappropriate slogans.  So what?

Living room - wood burning stove, flat screen TV.  Probably too much wooden floor to pass this one - that'll be because I haven't got around to replacing the rug that didn't survive my rather too fast home birth... use your imagination here.

Oh and shucks, I have a bugaboo and a Hobbs coat.  Oh and I also wear pearl earrings.  And I have a Barbour and a pair of hunter wellies.

So presumably I am now no longer a proper blogger, no longer a valid member of this community because I speak in an RP accent because yes, I am middle class and can't really do anything about it.

But you know what, if people really do care that much then fine - I've not been about hiding who I am, this is me people, you can take it or leave it.

If you're not going to send me to Coventry and ignore me and you're going to be at The MADs next pop over and introduce yourself - I'm going to be harder to spot now I've realised I can't wear my tiara and furs...

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A week until the MADs - introduce yourself!

I've just realised that this time next week we'll all be at Butlins for the MADS awards dinner!

I can't believe it has finally come around - where did the summer go?

There are lots of bloggers going along that I haven't yet met so I wondered if people fancied doing a post to introduce themselves and using the Linky below so that people can find it and hopefully then find them on the night and say hello.

You'll know me, I'm not coming until the evening and I'll be in a mad rush to get ready in time!

Sooooooooooooooooooo here 's me - please come over and introduce yourself and post a photo to give us a clue who to look out for (anon bloggers can post a picture of themselves with a paper bag over their head?)

Name: Hannah

Blog: www.muddlingalongmummy.com

Twitter: www.twitter.com/muddlingalong

What am I going to be wearing? Still not decided...  thought next Monday was a LONG way away and just realised it isn't!

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Six years of wedded bliss & never a cross word

Ahem.

Well perhaps the odd one.

Possibly.

But another year under the belt.

Not exactly the best wedding anniversary ever.

Poor Mr Muddling is still totally submerged in his project so our romantic night out was punctuated by work calls and emails before rushing home so he could get back to it by 10pm. Think we may reschedule for when this thing is over.

We possibly peaked a bit early with the whole romantic wedding anniversary thing.

Our first one was dinner, just the two of us, on a secluded bit of beach in the Maldives. Candlelight, sand under foot, the sound of waves of the shoreline. Bliss.

Just a little bit of a contrast to this weekend. Not least going to a restaurant where they asked if we’d like ice in our gin & tonic – um is there anywhere outside the Arctic Circle where you’d not have ice in your drink? Tepic tonic Madam?

And the following morning Big and I spent some time looking through our wedding album.

Conclusion was I was thin and glowing. Mr looked initially shell shocked and then blissful. And it was a rather good party.

Incredible how far we’ve come in these six years.

Move out of London and the things we’ve done to the house.

Two children in 18 months.

And incredibly we’re still together.

Onwards and upwards together!

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The anxiety is back

Strange how you don’t really miss something until it comes back.

I hadn’t realised how over the last few months I’ve been relaxed and haven’t had any of my anxious episodes.

But they seem to be back.

I spent hours last night lying in bed.  Listening to the drumming of my heart.  Feeling uncomfortable and twitchy in my skin.  Unable to completely turn off the list of things rushing through my brain.  Unable to relax enough so that I wouldn’t suddenly twitch as I started to fall asleep and wake myself back up.  Unable to get out of the greyness of lying in bed drowsing but not sleeping.

Thump thump.

Thump thump.

Thump thump.

Thump thump.

The soundtrack to a night spent lying down worrying about my new job.

Spent worrying about how Big got the really nasty burn on her thumb and how she did it without New Nanny realising – is she being hurt?  Is she not being supervised closely enough?  How could she hurt herself that badly without crying out and needing comfort?  Why wasn’t I there for her – she’s never done anything like this on my watch.

More worry about Mr and his job.  He’s definitely working too hard and I’m concerned about his blood pressure.  I’m concerned about his diet.  I’m worried he needs time off and isn’t going to get it.  I’m worried his project will succeed and what that will mean and I’m worried it will fail and the consequences that will have.

Lying there desperately trying to get myself to relax.

Trying breathing exercises.

Trying listening to my hypnosis CD.

Trying getting up.

Trying lavender spray on my pillow.

Desperately trying to not remind myself that six, no five, no four, no three, no two, no one hours are left until I have to get up and start the day.

Desperately wondering how to stop it all happening again the following night.

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Hating being on the Mummy trajectory

I appear to have not yet managed to reconcile my underlying competitive nature with the reality of the impact that having taken time out to have children has had on my career.

I know titles are largely irrelevant and there are some places where everyone, including the office cat, is a managing director, but still a title does give a bit of an indication of where you are in the universal pecking order.

Looking at it objectively, over the course of the last three years I have had quite a lot of time away from the office.  The actual amount of time I’ve been in the office and working has been, by necessity, somewhat limited when compared to my male colleagues despite my best efforts to keep involved in projects from home and to only take relatively short periods of maternity leave.  But none of that really disguises that I have gone from being child free to someone who has had two babies.  That I am now a working mother.

Logically, given all of this, it shouldn’t irk me that one of my (male) peers has got a brand shiny new title that sounds better than mine.  But it does.

Why am I not able to give myself credit that despite everything that has happened over the course of the last three years I am still on a career trajectory at all.  Yes I may be moving a little slower than my colleagues, falling behind a bit but I’ve not dropped out or been diverted into a back water.  I’m still very much in the running.

Is this whole thing highlighted by the fact I work in an almost entirely male industry and so there are no other people doing what I’m doing? That I’m the only person I can see taking this path?

I went into this knowing that I was going to need to accept that for a (pluck a random number out of the air) five year period, things would slow down.  That I would fall behind where my husband and peers were.  That the compensation would be that I’d have built a family and that I’d be able to refocus once we got out of the early years.

Thinking about it, part of the problem stems back to my last job.  Having my first baby didn’t really impact my career.  I was promoted on track with my peers, I was continuing to build a business, I was working in an environment which I had trained up to enable me to work a bit more flexibly than some of my colleagues*.  I had carved myself out a little niche that worked and that felt pretty good – I seemed to have got the balance right.  Looking back I’m neatly glossing over the redundancy worries (over 40% of my group were made redundant), the working environment and the general wretchedness associated with that job.

The job move has highlighted everything – the attitude of keep at it until Christmas and then assess has left me without a set of aims and a path to follow to achieve them.

I think what needs to happen is that I need to force myself to work out where I am now and where I want to be so I can then map out how to get there.  The aim of taking over the whole whilst maintaining a happy home life is a bit broad to be really quantifiable and for me to work out how I’m doing against.


*By flexibly I mean that I would get in earlier than everyone else and have a lovely hour of peace and quiet and getting things done before everyone else came in and then I’d leave ‘early’ at 6pm to put the girls to bed and then work at home in the evenings. 

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