From an early age my mother tried to indoctrinate me with the idea that society is stratified by class. For simplicity she adopted the old “U” and “non-U” distinction. But generally resorted just to saying something or someone was “plebby” or “common”. For a long while I believe that I was somehow superior to “common people” just because I had a public school education, had professional parents and spoke reasonably well.

Of course I was out of touch and once I became more self-aware I noticed these prejudices and decided that it was fallacious to judge people on their social background and instead I should judge people on the content of their soul. I tried to mingle with the working classes but found it difficult to be accepted as I was dismissed as being a posh twat.

I realised then that the only way to fulfill my dream of acceptance amongst the hoi polloi was to become a chameleon and immerse myself into their lifestyle and learn to blend in.

I started off with that most working class of pursuits: manual labour. No-one would employ me as I did not have any work experience. I was shattered but did not give up. My indulgent parents ordered some bricks for me to play with. So I hung around in the garden in the scorching summer sun with no top and a baggy pair of jeans and built a wall. Naturally I punctuated it with endless cups of sugary tea and strung the work out so it took me a whole summer to build the wall.

As the summer passed by I developed a tan and some passable muscles which I showed off at every opportunity. With new found confidence I started to whistle and make lewd remarks at passing girls.

The next stage was to go to a pub. A proper pub. I sat down and ordered a beer. I was careful not to order a foreign import. Instead I ordered several Worthingtons which sounded very English, salt of the earth and all that. I knocked several back to the admiration of the other drinkers. “Tough day at work, mate” one of them commented. I said “Yeah, they think we are slaves or something. Nearly broke my back lifting all those bricks”. They sympathised. Encouraged I went on “They think they are better than us just because they are richer. But we got something they will never take away from us: pride and self respect”. They nodded in appreciation then said “Hey, you see those birds over there, a bit alright aren’t they?” I rose to the occasion and said “Yeah a nice bit of T and A. That bird there looks well up for it! Wouldn’t mind her as me missus”. I go over to her and say “Alright luv. You are well fit”. She replies “F**k off”. I go over to my new friends and say “she’s a lesbian”. They nod understandingly.

Worth noting are some subtle verbal techniques designed to gain rapport:

Firstly the all purpose use of the word “mate”. Instant rapport.

Secondly in this case class divisions work in your favour. Make it clear it is them against us and you are in!

Thirdly objectify women. As most working class people are lucky enough not to be brainwashed at university by feminist movements you can plead ignorance and continue to leer and use "nice tits luv" as a generic compliment.

Addendum:

Do not be scared to discuss feelings. Only last week a builder asked my mother if he could get off work early as he had an appointment with his therapist. My mother later commented “Whatever happened to the days when the working classes simply drowned their sorrows with beer? No wonder they overcharge.”