Thursday, August 10, 2006


I went punting for the first time in my life today. If this is the recreational activities of the middle classes they can keep 'em!

I can't believe I allowed myself to be tainted with this damp poling feebleness (although I don't see how I could have got out of it). Despite everything I believe about the rejection of workerism every fiber to the very core of my being shrieked at me not to go - possibly bolstered by my inability to swim.

WetI absolutely do not believe that eating sun dried tomatoes and drinking gin and tonic make you middle class - although obviously bacon sandwiches and tea with three sugars is infinitely preferable.

I really, really dislike it when people imply that anything difficult or vaguely unfamiliar is somehow anti-working class. Partly because it suggests workers are thick and partly because it tries to say we can't expand our horizons beyond where we are already.

In fact the argument actively tries to dissuade people from saying and doing what they like - it denies us the chance to be who we are and insists we conform to a class culture that doesn't even exist.

When people try to say that all workers like football or fighting outside pubs on a Friday night it clearly says that some forms of cultural activity get more attention than others - but it's also blindly obvious that workers do not ALL do these things.

I think we're most electrically, thrillingly alive when we're being stretched to meet our potential. And we're at our dullest when we dogmatically bar ourselves, other workers or people more generally from certain experiences and forms of expression because they do not conform to some cultural stereotype.

I still feel dirty about the punting though, as if some poshness has seeped into my blood stream. I guess this is my authentic reaction and I should just revel in it, but don't be surprised if the next time you see me I'm praising the wonders of Reiki or chomping on some taramosalata.

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