"Posh" is definitely a word that has drifted so far from its original meaning that we need to chuck it out and start again. How often do you hear someone- a nice, normal, good person- look at something admiringly and say "Ooh, that's a bit posh". Or reject something wistfully while saying "It sounds lovely but probably too posh for the likes of me". Or offer you something- a meal, maybe, or a coat when it's raining- and shake their heads apologetically while saying "Sorry I've not got anything more posh for you". Your Nan's done it, you know she has. Here's the problem- this implies that to be posh is a desirable thing that we should all be aspiring to and the more we know about posh people, the more we have to realise that's frankly absurd. Posh isn't a dark chocolate Hobnob- it's getting appallingly drunk while watching horses run around in circles and then falling in the gutter on your way home. It's openly not giving a toss about people with disabilities. It's (allegedly) sticking parts of your anatomy into dead pigs in order to be allowed to dine with people who've allegedly done the same thing. You're better than that. Your Nan is better than that.
Brydie is an Australian writer and performer living in London and she complains exactly the same amount about the weather as every other Australian living in London. Yes, that is her natural lip colour, no, she will not be taking any further questions at this time.
