MIDDLE class – two words, which, when used as an accusation, can send a dart of disloyalty straight to the heart of anyone not brought up with the trappings of a private education, twice-yearly skiing holidays and, as Tony Parsons once put it, saying "lavatory" instead of "toilet".
Never have I ever considered myself to be anything other than working class, and proud of it. But according to some of the readers of this very newspaper's website, it seems I've moved up a greasy rung on the ladder of social climbing.
By suggesti
ng some young offenders should be given a chance by going on outdoor adventure courses, I have become a "tree-hugging yoghurt knitter" who lives in a "middle-class ghetto".
Apart from making me laugh, such comments also make me wonder why social class would be raised as an indicator of where you stand regarding youth crime and how children should be punished.
After all, isn't it the middle classes of Middle England who are always most obsessed with ensuring harsh punishment is inflicted on some of the poorest youngsters in society?
Class is something I rarely think much about although there is, without doubt, an "underclass" in society – those who live below the poverty line, in society's real housing ghettos, who survive and have done for two generations or more on state benefits – and who apparently have no desire to change their lives.
These people are not working class. I know that because, despite what some readers may believe, I am – even if I've got no desire to wear a flat cap and go to the miners' club every weekend for the bingo.
Growing up in one of the more deprived parts of Edinburgh certainly doesn't mark you out as well-heeled, and when your parents – who worked full-time because they couldn't afford not to – also grew up in some of the city's less salubrious areas, it hardly sounds like your typical middle-class Edinburgh family.
Perhaps though, the roots of my social change are their fault. They had aspirations for their children – something I always believed was just part and parcel of being a good parent. But maybe it's that very thing which has destroyed my working-class credibility.
Yes, being able to attend one of Edinburgh's better comprehensives and being encouraged to go to university – even if I never quite managed it – all in an attempt to try to ensure I achieved more in life than they did, was obviously the wrong thing to do.
To raise me as the kind of person who'd rather see the good than the bad in people – at least initially – well just what were they thinking? The cynics.
But maybe it wasn't that. Could it be this job that I love, from which I earn a reasonably good salary, that has changed my social standing? Well not according to my car insurer, who puts journalism down as a "skilled trade" rather than a "profession".
Even drinking, for so long the curse of the working classes, is now apparently a middle-class issue – and there, you've got me, as it seems it's mothers who are keeping vineyards busy in these intemperate times, slugging back the vino once the kids are in bed.
So what is being middle class in 2008? Is it still sending your child to private school; employing a cleaner; living your life maxed out on credit cards; believing in social justice and that people should be given chances and a leg-up in life when they can't seem to do it on their own?
I don't believe that any of those things make you a member of a particular class in the meritocracy we live in nowadays.
Of course, there will always be people who are rich – but there are many more hard-working families who scrimp and scrape to pay for schooling because they've lost faith in the education system. There are who will pay someone else to clean for them so they can spend their little leisure time with their families; and who are being hardest hit by the current economic climate.
Are they middle class? I doubt that they'd think so. They're just working class people trying to make life better for themselves and their families.
But then if being middle class means having ambition and aspirations, for yourself and others – especially your children – and trying to be as good as you can be, then so be it.
I am proud of my roots. Coming from a working-class family fired me on in life and I know I could never regard myself as middle class.
And let's face it, ultimately it doesn't matter what class you are if, in your heart, you know you're not willing to settle for the place that society assigned you when you were born, but want to find one for yourself.
Breath of fresh airTRAVELLING by train every day has been a revelation in more ways than one. But this week it also proved to be rather refreshing.
Just out of Edinburgh Park station the other evening, a train flew past us in the opposite direction. That can sometimes be enough to make you jump, but this time, such was the force of the passing train that a whole window was blown out – thankfully out and on to the tracks and not in on top of the young woman sitting closest to it.
Not a shard of glass was left which, while a bit disturbing, did make the carriage a lot more pleasant to travel in. A bit of fresh air can work wonders for overheated commuters.
The full article contains 947 words and appears in Edinburgh Evening News newspaper.
