How Boringly Middle Class Are You?
Dear, dear Iain thinks he is an Oik for failing this test, he likes to imagine it makes him all roughty toughty Sarfend style. I think it just means he is still a horny handed son of the soil.
Of course we don't go to the bloody opera/ballet, full of ghastly people in penguin suits they bought themselves.
Cleaner? They may be someone from the village who "comes in" - of course you wouldn't call this paragon "a cleaner". Hackett and Barbour - don't make me laugh, like turning up at a shoot with an over and under.
Horses? Sort of in that they tend to be around when meeting chums at the point to point or out slaughtering something.
No idea how much a bottle of wine costs, wine comes in cases.
Of course one wouldn't tell people which school one went to, people just know.
Shop? Someone buys stuff at a grocer but I'm not completely sure who or where.
Supper instead of dinner? What a stupid question, they are completely different meals, a good evening has both.
Kiss cheeks, sounds like what Peachy Fluff used to do at school - see above.
Aga - is that one of those Spanish shotguns? The kitchen has a range of indeterminate age and name.
Poncy bloody tea, do you want a thrashing? It just has to be hot, dark and sweet, talking of which;
Prosecco, I seem to remember losing my wallet and getting the clap from one of these when a few of us went ashore in some Italian port.
Hummus, ask the gardener.