Poshness and lateness

While in London, it occurred to me that being late, in all manner of things, is posh. It's posher to eat at nine than at six. It's the done thing not to turn up bang on time for dinner at someone's house. The Karen Matthews's of this world have their first children at 18, the middle classes somewhat...later. The posher you are, the later you get a job; and of course, if you're really posh (or really not) you don't get a job at all. And so on. Something to cling to on days when you're running excruciatingly late.

All this talk of poshness reminds me of the story of Tim Sainsbury, a Tory MP whose family founded the supermarket chain, meeting Nicholas Soames, descendant of the dukes of Marlborough, when the latter was kitted out in his hunting gear. "Going rat catching, Nick?" Sainsbury asked, surprised. Soames replied: "Fuck off, you grocer: you don't tell a gentleman how to dress on a Friday."

"You don't tell a gentleman how to dress on a Friday." Words to live by.