I’ve been battling hard in recent years to retain my working class routes. But since leaving the shitty council flat in Cheltenham I’ve always lived in fairly nice places been able to joke about different types of pasta and drink wine.
Middle class has been trying to drag me kicking and screaming into its world of being able to afford different types of yoghurt and other stand up comedy cliches.
But so far I have resisted.
Until the evil Cricklewood Somerfield reared its ugly head again.
I have been enjoying of late a small pastry treat (look, I’m unemployed and have promised Jesus that I won’t eat Chocolate, give me some pleasure), it’s a hazelnut and chocolate croquette, I don’t know what a croquette is, but if I describe what I eat, hopefully it’ll be the same thing.
Like a small pastry van made of tough pastry in a solid transit form. Inside the ‘van’ (accessed not by rear doors but by biting, there aren’t any, or real doors, as far as I know the late Jim Morrison has no say in the pastry collection at Somerfield, though I believe the Australian Doors Show once suggested a croissant with anchovies in, they are rock and roll) is a sweet mix of chocolate cream stuff (which is allowed under my promise to Jesus, it’s in the bible.
Today, I was walking past (I don’t go out of my way to get a croquette, but sometimes will find myself accidentally traveling in the wrong direction until I end up at a Somerfield) so I went to buy one, there were no Chocolate and Hazelnut, just ones with raspberry jam.
Embarrassingly I actually blurted out “Where are my croquettes?” I hope no one heard.
And this is why I am now reluctantly middle class; working class people are allowed to eat them, for I have seen working class people in Somerfield, there seems to be no barriers to separate them, and a working class child does not understand the notion of a class system so will ask for a croquette as if it was a working class pastry (like a sausage roll or a pie).
What made me middle class was that I called it a croquette and not a cake.
Though I’ve been saved someone by revisiting the Somerfield (just passing) to find that they are Croquantes, not Croquettes.
I am just a working class fool with pretentions.
Phew