Well now
I'm related to Rob Roy, the famous scottish bastard.
I'm not sure if this is relevent, I haven't read the question yet.
(Tanzender Affe, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 15:26, Reply)

Posh Names
I once met a girl called Doily.

Then pissed myself laughing.

Her friend's name was Larissa.

I half expect them to turn up on some half-arsed "How to be a toff" reality TV show.
(chives, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 14:51, Reply)

Posh names
Names of some friends from boarding school:

Maximilian Atlas Merrill
Timothy Fulton William Keeler, IV

I studied law with a southerner named C.H. Barrier, III or IV (I still have no idea what the C.H. stands for). He really hated it when I told him that 80% of all southern families are part black.
( kingoffools, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 14:48, Reply)

My parents would occasionally invite friends...
...and colleagues round for dinner. One time the guests were my Dad's Director General and his wife. Her name was Stella Rimmington, and she was at the time the Head of MI5.

Also, an elderly lady invited me down to her gaff to see her give my dad a trinket. Her name was Elizabeth, and her gaff was at the bottom of The Mall. She didn't even offer us a cup of tea, tight cow.

Still, we did manage a few G&Ts at a B&B round the corner beforehand. I think it was called The Athenaeum.
( huntersbar, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 14:14, Reply)

I only do posh and dead
Members of my extended family having been dying in droves recently. We always use the same firm of undertakers (I think we get a loyalty discount).

Imagine our delight when we find out that the Bentley that's part of every courtege used to belong to the Queen Mum (hey - she's dead too). We have the only funerals where people fight to get into a particular funereal car. Woo!
( groovegenerator The man who mistook his wife for his wife, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 14:13, Reply)

All hail the grandmaster
When I was twelve or so, the actual, factual grandmaster of the Maltese Knights came to visit the home for the elderly where my father works. I was a tad disillusioned, because, under close scrutiny, a grandmaster closely resembles an old man with a silly grin, not the gleaming avatar of virtue and justice who spends his time slaying hordes of the undead and such. Still, he shook my hand. Didn't feel all that holy to me.
(Szymaniak, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 13:52, Reply)

Clinton
My mother works for curtin university (its a big uni in Perth W.A.) Human resource managment or sumthin like that. For some reason people above her didnt want to go to some meeting in Adelaide so she was invited to go.

She discovered that she was having a breakfast meeting with Clinton (this was after Bush took over as president). She said he is a nice bloke but he has a traight sumone of his stance wouldnt usually have.

While eating his breakfast. He would talk and spit food all over the table. Not just once. many times.

Coincidence? I think not!
( faultykyle, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 13:41, Reply)

I am so posh
I eat a popular brand of noodles… in a pot.
.
.
.
.
I'll show myself out.
(Minty Hit, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 13:32, Reply)

Holy Roman Empire
My dad has, in his dotage, dedicated the remainder of his life to tracking down every murderer, thief, miner, farmer, shitkicker, and bandit that form the bulk of our ancestry.

Naturally, the overwhelming majority of 'em are unremarkable plebs who eked out their existence in a wholly unremarkable fashion.

However, there is a link back to Charlemagne, the Holy Roman Emperor in there. Which has been useful solely in providing me the weakest chat up line in all history;

"Alright my dear. The blood of the Holy Roman Emperors flows through my veins y'know. Fancy a shag?"

Embarassingly for the feminist movement, this did actually work on one occasion.
(Light, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 13:30, Reply)

I'm supposedly related to Anne Boleyn
According to a family tree my posh gran got made up. I haven't inherited the sixth finger, but I do have a taste for utter womanising bastards. It's uncanny!
(DustyMonkey, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 13:23, Reply)

My mate is the poshest bloke I've ever met,
seeing as how he's descended from Earl Grey, the tea guy. He's from the distaff side of the family, like, but I'd still say that's pretty posh.
( charliedontsurf, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 13:16, Reply)

Poshness
Well, I do my best not to appear too posh, but at times really cannot help it. I deplore people who put on fake estuary / scally accents (why bother? usually so unpleasant to listen to in those trying to eumlate a "gansgta" image...duh!), but my own voice wanders at times from RP to Oxford local via South London (depending entirely on how pissed I am, and who I'm with, I'm afraid...having so many different friends in different circumstances (but mostly in London) does this to you (or at least to me)...I work occasionally in staging and sound systems and the like, usually in poorer, less well off areas of either London or generally the whole country...

As for my family - apparently one branch of my paternal gran's family was related to Nelson, of Trafalgar fame. Although, considering how popular a chap he was, I'm sure loads of desperate families claimed that. Same branch of that family (the Walpoles) were also huge landowners in Ireland (mostly in Kilkenny).

On the other side, mum's family are mostly incredibely posh - great grandfather was an artist in Paris during the roaring twenties, knew many many writers and other bohemian types (the rakish writer John Collier was a frequent visitor to his house), and his sons, daughters and their offspring have since become actors, high standing lawyers etc etc. And the send all their kids to v. posh public schools (mostly the Dragon in Oxford).

And I have a large house in the middle of nowhere (which for this part Oxfordshire is quite unusual). And I'm now studying at Cambridge, where I do in fact dine with Professors and such (although I was educated at the local comp, where I wasn't even allowed to run for head boy - was considered too subversive and dangerous - yay!).

Cor...reading all that back sounds fucking dreadful (and too much like an unfunny blog)...I think there's more a feeling of faded nobility with my family, rather than out and out poshness, which in my book is more defined by pretension and obsession with money...urm, maybe. Alright, fuck it, I'm posh ;)
( alcuin, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 13:09, Reply)

more posh things i forgot
i am directly decended from Finn, of finland. my ancestors include many scottish/viking warlords, leaders and kings on both sides of my family. i have a family warcry. i say graass not grass and other posh things... moreso when drunk :) i insult and swear when riled in a very country manor manner. was beaten regulaly for being posh (and as a kid we were skint, wore old tatty clothes and ate second hand food :)

oh, i can shoot well, pour a good whiskey and look fantastic in a tweed suit. i'm still skint tho.

reasons i'm not posh? i don't take it up the wrong un'
(unlawful odour i dunno..., Fri 16 Sep 2005, 13:05, Reply)

While I'm the son of a wiltshire farmer
I am not posh at all. Born and bred on the land, salt of the earth type etc.

Anyhow, my next door neighbours children (also a farmer) have extended family living not too far away in Malmsbury. We're talking cousins etc.

Highgrove house (prince Charles gaff) is in Tetbury, which is close to Malmsbury, and so the Two Princes spend a lot of time around this area (My brother served both of them in Pizza Hut in Swindon - Ordered a meat feast). Harry drinks in the Vine Tree in Malmsbury, where next door neighbours daughter works as a barmaid. The Vine Tree was the pub that Harry got caught smoking dope.

Anyhoo, a few christmas's ago, there was a shindig in the Vine tree, my mate and all his cousins were there, along with Harry. Everyone is getting beered up, and eventually the disco gets going and everyone is having a good time, until my mates cousin bumps into harry on the dance floor. This lad is also of the farming stock, and is huge, over 6'6 and built like an outhouse. Harry, unfazed and worse for wear, calls him a *peasent* and told him to piss off.

This lad, not being exactly small, and being surrounded by family and friends, comtemplated hitting the royal shit, on the reasoning that "I'd be in the papers tomorrow".

Sadly Harry got away scot free, but stil continues to drink snakebite black in the Vine Tree.

Also, another Harry story, He's in the Army at Sandhurst now, because he failed his Marines entry test. I know this cos my mate was on the same course as him. Ha, the ginger shit!

Apologies for length and the time wasted reading this, you'll never get it back! And the fact that your still reading, even though the story finished a long tme ago, and I've got nothing better to do than waste your time. I'll add another apology for poor grammer and punctuation. Meh!
( Moonraker isn't the droid you were looking for, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 12:59, Reply)

Poshest person I've ever met
The Queen Mother

That is all
(ricky_darkholer is blonde on the inside, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 12:51, Reply)

Posh School
I went to a posh boarding school. All those who were considered very posh were also the most warped, I constantly think what they are doing now.
One thing that only the posh people got up was to play sticky biscuit in groups in their dorms. If anyone does not know what this is then email me for an explanation, not too graphic of course. I did not join in and developed my skills of black and white photo development.
STICKY BISCUIT IS A RANK THING TO DO IF YOU ARE POSH!!!
(lizardkingqc, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 12:22, Reply)

I own Belgium.
Actually this is a complete lie. My flat mates friends family does, the Mother is some dodgy business lady that managed to buy it all (not 100% on facts.)

Anyhoo, he said that the next time he was in Belgium he would fly us over in his private jet so we can say 'Hello'. HA!

Also my best mate was flown by her then BF from North California to LA just to watch a Basketball match.

Now thats fancy.
( Argh. There be scallys in the ranks., Fri 16 Sep 2005, 12:18, Reply)

I'm not posh, but...
I had a posh girlfriend once. She took me to a ball at the London Hilton. Black tie, cocktail dresses, the whole routine. I shagged her under the table.

Will that do?
(><(((">, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 12:12, Reply)

Not posh meself but
I always thought Chlymidia would be a lovely name for a posh girl. If Chylimidia grew up and became a bit of an irritable twat then the name would be ironic....or an oxymoron.....or or or....sigh....wish I was posh, I'd know the word for sure if I was.
I'm off to eat some lunch. Not sure what I'll have but there'll be no fennel, no sun-dried tomatoes and nothing sauteed. Mind you, I may deep fry my food in vegtable oil rather than animal fat as a token gesture towards poshness.
( sneep used to date Freddie Starr's hamster, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 12:03, Reply)

Not common at all but...
Apparently, on my Mum's side of the family we have Dick Whittington (you know, thrice mayor of London bloke) and Benedict Arnold (blokey who sold the English army down the river in the American War of Independence). Obviously both of these chaps have been worm food for some time.

I can't call myself posh but I got a beating if I dropped my h's and t's when I was a nipper. All that means is that people now think that how I speak is a function of being privately educated rather than coming from a shitehole of a town on the edge of the Cotswolds (Chipping Norton, if you give a toss).

The poshest person I've met (apart from Prince Charles, who has a penchant for fucking old mares) is possibly my Gran, who was part of 'society' in the 1920's and was a debutante.

Apparently the phrase 'Rags to riches and back again in three generations' is ideally suited to our family.
(Tibbins, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 12:03, Reply)

I'm not posh
(I grew up in Coatbridge, near Glasgow, and that's where my Dad's side of the family are from)

However, my maternal Granny (married beneath her, a postman, shock!) still has her shrill, cut glass, RP accent. And mild Alzheimers. She loves antiques.

We really shouldn't have taken her to the Barras Market in the east end of Glasgow to look for some antiques...
( drunkenoaf, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 11:58, Reply)

Posh or Not????
My family are rougher than a dogs chuff, however when i was a kid I was considered rather clever and somehow managed to earn a scholorship to a rather posh private school. Getting bullied at school as I was poor and then being bullied outside of school as I was considered posh left me somewhat warped but hey I turned out ok with a "posh" accent but a "salt of the earth" type moral base. Met many posh people whilst during my time there..Duke and Duchess of Kent probably take the honours of Poshest, but many retired colonels etc at old boy meals. Have found that there are twunts from both sides of the fence and likewise there are some really cool people so have found I always take people for who they are not what social background they are from. Wahay first post result!!!
(Quirkyboy, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 11:54, Reply)

i am a bizzarre blend
of posh harley street surgeons and aristocrats and proper oldham slums. one grandfater a wealthy country doctor, the other a ragandbone man who made money bare-knuckle fighting. both mad, one gentle and eccentric, the other a raving psycho. the similarity is hilarious for the two extremes. both my grandpa and my dad spent all thier money on mountaineering and motorbikes. grandpa raced the early days of the TT and was friends with jeff duke. dad raced the langdale valley and, reportedly, broke the record at the time. (for those that don't know it its dangerous and illegal and coolAF).
of course when my dad (decent working class) meets the posh ones they get on like a house on fire. its the middle class we can't stand :)

see if this means anything... "GRITSTONE!!!".. nah? ah well :)

i have been called one of the last remaining gentleman, but also have a nasty streak when pushed. i swear like a trooper, and feel ashamed when its brought up. i don't fit in in either side of my family but i prefer the posh cause thier nicer and more educated but i have as much respect for my down-2-earth mates. sometimes it feels like there are two sets of genes warring to see who wins. it definatly makes things interesting as i change my mind/personality at least once an hour :)

length? let me just check if i give a damn.... ah. seems i don't.
(unlawful odour i dunno..., Fri 16 Sep 2005, 11:33, Reply)

Supposedly...
On my mother's side there was a Duke, however he seems a bit dodgy - "The Duke having been attainted of treason for acting in favour of the pretender, and his estates confiscated". Pa's side is solid Glaswegian criminal stock, shipped here to Australia for thieving good hard cash.

Oh my. There is little hope for me, with that mix...
( Strangey is present at, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 11:30, Reply)

I have two houses..
Well my dad does, does that make me posh?
(Give me all your money, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 11:29, Reply)

my parents
sent me to boarding school from the age of 8, cos they work abroad. My accent was fairly high RP anyway, but poshness was forced upon me at my rugger-bugger school to keep up with the other posh twunts that went there. Now they are trying to be all trendy and hard, putting on fake "sarf-lunnon" accents to fit in with the Hoxton crowd, and sounding ridiculous; whilst I, with my cut-glass enunciation, am complemented on my melodious accents, and am offered jobs far more readily than they are.

PS. my boyf says my accent is a turn-on, so it's not all bad! (in fact I loved my school days and am v glad I didn't go to the local comp, cos I would probably be bearing my 6th child by now, like the other village girls. Moohahaa).
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 11:29, Reply)

Stupid posh name
A mate of mine out west used to know a very posh guy, son of a west country land owner/restraunteur. Loved himself a bit too much, wore pink shirts, jumper round shoulders, slacks, boat shoes, tory voter, hates the "oiks", you know the type. His name is Joby, as in a cross between Jody and Toby. With me coming from Glasgow, this sounds like my pronunciation of Jobbie (jobbie meaning poo) and I laugh like a fucking drain every time I hear about him.

Incidentally, Joby was on Blind Date and failed to get his 'Nat King'. He's THAT much of a twat I am told.
( Normanator Bad case of trapped wind since, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 11:23, Reply)

Charles Lamb
Mistafeesh - being related to Charles Lamb isn't too shabby. He was an essayist (well, *I* like that sort of shit) who, with his sister Mary, wrote short-story versions of Shakespeare's plays. I wouldn't say a D-lister, more like Kevin Bacon. (You know, not A-list but associated with sorta cool stuff.)
(Emily Bruce-Dickinson http://jovialfellow.blogspot.com/, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 11:13, Reply)

Right.....
I raised a quizzical eyebrow and uttered the words 'This place is a refuge for the poor' and with that... I took my Paul Daniels head out from her mouth and laughed heartily. 'HA HA HA HA HA' I boomed.
She had been in the room for more than her fair stay and I had a trickle of guilt for some of the things which I had 'taught' her.
At first we romanced, we danced, we had a ball but, with her being a scrubber it was inevitably going to end in tears.
My father had forbidden the relationship from the first outset and was a man of great passion and furious belligerence when it came to, as he called them 'the great unwashed'.
Mother was cold, like a sheet of icy serenity which only served to make fathers unquenchable thirst for the blood of the underclasses, more torrid and unduly hideous.
I did the only thing that was possible, at this, the poor wretch's time of need....
I kept her in the loft, fed her raw pork, cut all her hair off and punched her in the face.
Her looks had weathered over the years and it would be a lie to say that time had been kind to her. Yet i found a strange love inside me for this urchin, the kind of love a man finds for a well trained dog, a sexual love,
I bum dogs you see. As far as I can see, that is the main difference between the higher class of people and the anti-aristocrat, they work hard for a living and we need not do, they live simple and humble lives, ours are blessed with indulgence and hedonism, we bum dogs, them, not so much.

Why is that? I thought to myself one day whilst giving 'scruffy' a thoroughly deserved seeing too.
Suddenly a thought crossed my mind 'I can smell dog poo', it was a mystery all right... The Game Was Afoot!

I lurched back and forward, my legs were of varying sizes and walking up and down stairs made me weave back and forth.
I lunged at the nearest hound, a small Corgi by the name of Lord Snootles Hemmingway-Smithe, he also took the full chudderbum dry.
The look on his face was priceless.
"I AM SALAMAN, SON OF VALDOR!" I exclaimed as I bullyrammed my third victim, Sir Earnest Archingway-Croften-Martyn, a small dachshund with a kind eye and a reputation as a lovable cad. It was still there, that foul smell. Dogmuck. Dogdirt.
The stench was overpowering, I gaged with tears in my eyes and a painful grimace as I shot my full load all over Sir Archingways slender backside.
Then it was the turn of my old arch enemy, Viceroy Pumpernackle Consworthy-Honningchurch, a vicious bloodhound with a cruel streak a meter wide and a curious white flash that ran from the top of his head to the tips of his oversized paws.
'My spidey-sense is Caningaling' I thought, as I held old el' pumernackle (a pet name, forgive the pun) in front of me and went mental, kicking his back-doors in with furious gusto.
He didn't seem bothered, just carried on chewing an old cricket ball he seemed to have produced from no-where.
I was fast approaching the vinegar strokes when the mutt turned round to me and opened his mouth, but nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.
"Craig Charles will be in Coronation Street" he murmured. I was stunned, I politely asked him to repeat, which he did only much louder and clearer than the first time he had spoken.
"Craig Charles will be in Coronation Street".
I finished my dirty duty with an arc of cocksick that I smeared all over his proud mary. 'Craig Charles' I thought to myself, 'whatever next'
"Craig Charles the rapist?" i asked my furry compadray
"You can talk?" I questioned.
"You can talk!" he spat,
"you've hurt my doggy's bum bum, bad-style"

"Wait a minute" I pronounced.
"poo comes from my bum.... and I eat food, and dogs eat dog food, so maybe... if my calculations are correct...
DOG POO COMES FROM A DOGS BUM!"

"stands to reason" announced Pumpernackle,
"what else would explain the stench of dogshit in here".

Of course we laughed and laughed and later that day I took pumpernackle to the vets and had him destroyed.

Thus, Solving the mystery of...
"The stench of the poor and bumming"
(JinDod, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 11:10, Reply)

One is so posh....
That one's inbreeding means one has no discernable chin, and an adams apple that looks like one is permanently trying to swallow a ballcock.
The working classes?? Lazy freeloaders, If one had one's way one would give them all a darn good thrashing.
(LunarJim, Fri 16 Sep 2005, 11:02, Reply)