Went in a cafe of the wrong class today. [sad face]

[TiggyD]

There were 2 cafes near each other. I picked the wrong one. I'm lower middle class and the cafe was for middle middle class to about lower upper class. I should have guessed by the little accent they put over the 'e' in the name.

I went in and up to the counter and asked for a sausage roll and a hot chocolate and they didn't give it to me. I was told to go sit at a table. My sausage roll came served on a plate with salad which, and you might not believe this, somebody had drizzled on! I'm guessing it was basil oil or some such frippery, although the cafe with an accent was next to a boating lake the same colour.

I should have gone to the other one where I'm sure I could have just taken the sausage roll in a bag or on a paper plate without being drizzled at.

It's hard being English.

Pea shoots , damn autocorrect.

IME, a sausage roll from the National Trust means that I don't have to feed my children again that day. We are just home and everyone is STAAARVING. Except me. I am just sad. Sad and disappointed.

I'm lower class masquerading as middle middle class. I like drizzling but prefer it in the privacy of my own home and would be appalled at drizzling in the vicinity of pastry. That's not on.

Hot tubs are the new pampas grass apparently shock

Don't say that!!! My NDN told me they've gotten a new hot tub, and they're having a party at the weekend. Quickly followed by an invite to the party.

Tiggy my love, I hope you don't have the same solution as my lower middle class mother. We were staying in a lovely hotel and instead of ordering the freshly brewed cappuccino or espresso, she requested a pot of hot water at breakfast. And then whipped out her jar of Gold Blend whilst the waitress wasn't looking.

Having progressed to lower middle middle class status, I was horrified.

I tried to have sex in a hot tub once. Relax your grip for a second and the currents suddenly swirl you to the other side of the tub to your partner, necessitating much frantic paddling to get back to what you've started. They have a sexy image that they can't live up to.

That's why they are for swinging Tigs. You make do with what you end up with after you've let go.

I hate pea shoots being on everything - they tickle the back of my throat and engage my gag reflex, which is really not how I want to spend a café lunch. I would call the 'artisan' style cafés which give you the lowdown on Piggy's ancestors, favourite foods and place of birth 'poncetastic' rather than 'posh', though. The smartest people I know only eat joints of meat incinerated in the Aga then drowned in gravy or some spinach roulade thing they learned how to make in Cordon Bleu classes at finishing school. Revolting, but at least not served on a slate with a menu description that takes an unhealthy interest in the life circumstances of the providing animal. And peashoots.

I was in an Edinburgh chipshop this summer queueing behind some American tourists who had ordered a deep-fried Mars bar. After much shrieking and 'YOU try it!', I saw it abandoned untouched on top of a litter bin on Grassmarket when I emerged. Admittedly it looked kind of like a battered turd.

some journo knob thinks that possession of a hot tub is an indicator of class

Bollox is it!

That's sharing a bath, that is.

I was over the moon when I didn't have to share my sisters' bath water. It meant had enough money for my parents to have a bathroom put in, and not have to heat it in panfuls so we could fill a bath in front of the fire.

There is a lower middle and a middle middle? What?
Do they have their own parking?

Tiggy - I don't think you are meant to attempt full sexual congress in a hot tub.

I'm sure the guide book indicates that innuendo, eyebrow raising, submarine fondling and/or suggestive banter to a maximum of heavy petting is recommended. Anything beyond this and you may run the risk of invalidating your guarantee. No service engineer is going to turn out at two in the morning to unclog your filters, that's for sure.

This is why I stick with Greggs. You know where you are with Greggs.

Your first mistake, Tiggy, was not ensuring the cafe had a menu with pictures of the food it was serving. Laminated obvs. Or am I confused, is that middle lower?

OP I put it to you that you are upper working rather than lower middle. Lower middle is all aspiration, you would deny ever having seen a sausage roll....Upper middle would also prefer the sausage roll you describe as ideal, because it would be a more "authentic experience". Middle middle would want the artisan sausage because it is "lovely" while lower middle would secretly want the normal sausage but feel they ought to have the artisan jobby instead. Upper classes eat whatever they like, but frown on too much decorative trimmage.

Could bloody murder a sausage roll now. Shaking fists at you all and shall have to hide the thread.

Could also make some myself and have done before but Not The Same. In land of sausages but German sausages do not lend themselves to sausage rolls.

Maud

Scotland is where all of the world's great cuisines meet and end up fried in batter .

Might I recommend the delicacy known as a "macaroni pie"?

Superb!

With a name like tiggy you should be in a jolly cooper novel

I've been traumatised since being served fish and child on a lump of slate. In a pub. It didn't have a juke box, but other than that there was no warning that it was lost up it's own are.

I hate it when you ask for a coke and then the waiter looks affronted and tells you about how they don't have coke, they have Boakfast Cola squeezed out of a Peruvian peasant's armpit hair, or manufactured in an artisan carbonated drinks co-operative in Berlin.

This has happened to me twice in different places now, once in an organic cafe that sold everything with pureed beetroot and once in a slightly up-itself village.

I wouldn't mind so much if they just said "We have xxxx cola, is that ok?" but no, they always have to make a big thing about not having actual Coca Cola.

Look at that, my phone is to upper middle to write arse

I stick to Greggs.

And I take a flask.

Oh bugger. I'm middle class. But how do I figure out where within middle class I fall? What happens if I get it wrong? This is a whole new level of social anxiety nightmare. I hadn't realised there were so many pitfalls.

I said thank you bye and no response

You lost his respect when you said "Thank you".

It indicated that you had noticed his existence. The clientele he is after are the sort who only notice the absence of minions when no-one responds to their finger-clicking.

Oh Kennington, I shall always think of her as Jolly Cooper now, thank you, how lovely and fitting

"We don't do cups of tea here, sir, only pots, this is a cafe. If you want a cup of tea, go to the caf, with the other riff-raff."

(Wish you were here)

Why the merry fuck has the U.K. gone artisan everything? And why have all kinds of products got cutesy tongue in cheek messages on them? It's like the labels are trying to strike up a conversation.

I WONT HAVE IT

Is it because all the label-writer jobs are being filled by people with a degree in English and an over-inflated sense of their own creativity?

Stop it, uk. It's embarrassing.