The word 'Posh' isn't really in my vocabulary, it's not something I often say or think. My boyfriend, on the other hand (who is giving me my Daily Challenge word every day) went as far as calling hummus posh, recently. He seems to think that anything classier than Greggs is reserved for royalty.
It's not that I come from a rich family or anything. In fact, I grew up in a seaside town on the North East coast of England, South Shields (AKA Sarah Milican's home town). Anyone who has been there knows that it's pretty much the antithesis of posh. In fact, I'm pretty sure I can remember seeing pigeons and people uniting as one to eat from the same fish and chip tray. But I haven't grown up to label anything that errs towards the middle class as 'posh'.
As I was thinking about this blog post, though, I started to realise that I haven't really come that far from my South Shields, (with its low-income demographic) roots. A South Shields childhood was ice cream on a freezing cold beach, the odd trip to Newcastle and a few outings to the pantomime. Looking back, it was simple, unpretentious and happy.
One thing that has lingered from this upbringing, though, is being tight with money. It is my firm belief that any money I possess defies science and literally does burn a hole in my pocket. Despite this, I can't remember the last time I paid full price for an item of clothing. And I'm certain that this must be a Geordie thing. In fact, the last time I visited South Shields high street, it had about 15 pound shops and not a Topshop or River Island in sight.
Although I've retained some of my North East charm in the form of thriftiness, though, I have grown up without having the annoying habit of referring to everyone as 'pet'. Sorry Sarah.
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