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The Book

Out now at Amazon | Waterstones

Middle Class Handbook on Twitter
Chattering Class

Prince Harry

Even republicans approve, surely?

Microwaving tea

Recommended by scientists, apparently. Disgusting

No televised election debates

Disappointing; we were rather looking forward to May vs The Sturge


Olivia Coleman = nailed-on Future National Treasure

Spring Bank holidays

Too close together! Very bad!


“I queued for THREE BLOODY HOURS at B&Q for a new recycling bin! The entire town’s in CHAOS”


To be listened to whole on a long journey for maximum effect

Using a proper paper map

Strangely satisfying

The “Flash” Flash ad

It’s back! Possibly the best ever singing dog in an advert ever

Crap tacos

Reheated, with too much chilli: middle-class kebabs, basically

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The Periodic Table of the Middle Class
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    Entries in MCH (108)


    New Olympic sport #435: supermarket slalom  

    It’s almost impossible to do a quick dash around the supermarket, so cluttered have they become with special offers and extras. It takes several minutes just to get started. You have to weave through racks and stands of clothes, DVDs, jewellery, crockery, cards, electrical goods, before you see any food for sale. And even then, it’s not real food; it’s chocolate muffins, cookies, doughnuts or stacks of trashy chocolates. There’s more and more of this gubbins every week, you think, slightly disgusted – but you might as well pick up a box of Roses, as they’re right there…

    Is it just you or are there more and more things on special offer each week? It’s all bright yellow offer signs and things piled at the end of aisles. It’s a job just to stay focused on what you came in for. And those end-of-aisle promotions are disorienting indeed: you think you’ve arrived in the bacon bit, but it turns out this is just a temporary display of double-packs and you’re actually somewhere in the middle of herbs and spices. Supermarket sweep? Supermarket slalom, more like.


    Chattering Class: Don't quit your jibba jabba

    Yule logs

    Ripe for Hestonisation at Waitrose this year (so declares @middleagedsod)

    The word 'epic'

    Over used. Do stop

    Weetabix launching easy-to-open paper wrappers

    But the awkward wrapper was part of its charm!


    What a pleasingly silly name for a piece of furniture

    Rachel's granola

    A seriously good brand for serious times

    KFC's nacho burger

    We are one part curious to one part revulsed (ratio identified by @darkbeige)


    Not at all middle-class

    30 years of emoticons

    Let's pause and wonder about those people who decided to use 'alternative formats' eg. =) and (-:


    Amusing. But hardly a social media 'storm'

    Bánh mì

    Tastier than ciabatta, gentler on the roof of the mouth, and critically more fashionable


    Five reasons the self-service checkout is a false convenience  

    On its shiny, robotic surface, the self-service checkout looks like the quicker, more efficient option if you’ve only got a few items in your basket. But, be careful, because there are irritations aplenty lying in wait. Here are five reasons why it’s more hassle than it’s worth.

    1. Your handbag/shoulder bag keeps falling off every time you lean down to add something to your bags. Very annoying.
    2. Putting your fruit and vegetables through the self-service feels horribly like being back at primary school. The machine asks you to look through the listings of fruit, with photographs, and click on the image that matches the real-life fruit you’ve got in front of you. “Well done, human, yes that is a lime, you may continue,” it might as well say.
    3. That moment, on a tired day, when you search through all the listings and you can’t find the picture of a courgette. You simply can’t see for looking. And a member of staff comes over and finds the image in two seconds, and presses continue, and you feel a royal idiot.
    4. There’s never enough space in the ‘bagging area’, so you place one full bag on the floor to make way for another – only for the machine to fly into a panic and eventually malfunction. There’s no need to call for help; the machine is sending maniacal audio-visual signals to everyone in eyeshot. 
    5. The verification required for umpteen bottles of booze, plus the help you need when the machine malfunctions, means you’ve had more contact with members of staff than you would have had to endure at the bloody real-life checkout.


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