Lovely last lines. They make me think how much I would enjoy an imagined meeting of your mother and Mr. Los Angeles, over dinner . . someplace . . if you ever get tired of reporting on the social quirks or annoying habits of the living and engage in your talents in fiction.
On ‘sure’, briefly, though I realise it’s not the core tenet of the article: I always see this response as a verbal shrug, with all the implied disrespect.
“Sure, I could allow you to do that for me, I suppose. If you want. Whatever.”
Well, that's how I took it, Tom, which is why it so infuriated me! But Mr. Los Angeles explained that, in this context anyway, it means "Yeah! Great! You betcha!" accompanied by an enthusiastic fist punch. I must ask him if he ever uses "Sure" in the way you describe. Americans have lately acquired the habit of saying "Sure" as an alternative to "You're welcome," which faintly irritates me philologically, as, to me, it implies, "Yes, you're correct, that was a very nice thing I just did for you." But I try not to go on about it as I'm not a huge fan of being set upon by a furious mob. I'm interested meanwhile - since you seem genuinely posh yourself - to know if you also ever heard about the salt on the side of the plate thing, or was my mother the last of the dinosaurs?
My Irish immigrant mother came from poverty too. She had many small snobberies that we all had to live by. Sadly, hers were due to being harshly judged for being Irish and looked down on. She clung to those snobberies her whole life but fortunately salt on the side of the plate was not one of them!
The salt thing was a strange one, June, but it was one she clung to ferociously until Uncle Tony blew it up for her. One day we must get together and swap maternal eccentricities ...
No, my Dad was London Irish to his core. The Liverpool policeman was my maternal great-grandfather, who married a Welsh woman and produced, among others, a daughter called Alice, who married your grandmother's brother Joe Barrett, apparently somewhat to the consternation of both families. Joe became quite rich as a civil engineer and I understand they moved in relatively high society in my mother's youth (admittedly "high" for our family was a fairly low bar), and I've always wondered how a couple from such humble backgrounds fared among the snobbish Forsyte Saga set of 1920s London ...
Lovely last lines. They make me think how much I would enjoy an imagined meeting of your mother and Mr. Los Angeles, over dinner . . someplace . . if you ever get tired of reporting on the social quirks or annoying habits of the living and engage in your talents in fiction.
Oh, not even in fiction, Anneke! If you'd like, I'll tell you some true stories about him and Uncle Tony, they were quite funny together ...
Please do! . . Could be one of your next chronicles?
🙏
Loved this! Great ending!
Glad you liked it, my fellow survivor of the state school system!
Thoroughly enjoyed this latest blog. THANKS!
Glad you liked it, Karen!
On ‘sure’, briefly, though I realise it’s not the core tenet of the article: I always see this response as a verbal shrug, with all the implied disrespect.
“Sure, I could allow you to do that for me, I suppose. If you want. Whatever.”
Well, that's how I took it, Tom, which is why it so infuriated me! But Mr. Los Angeles explained that, in this context anyway, it means "Yeah! Great! You betcha!" accompanied by an enthusiastic fist punch. I must ask him if he ever uses "Sure" in the way you describe. Americans have lately acquired the habit of saying "Sure" as an alternative to "You're welcome," which faintly irritates me philologically, as, to me, it implies, "Yes, you're correct, that was a very nice thing I just did for you." But I try not to go on about it as I'm not a huge fan of being set upon by a furious mob. I'm interested meanwhile - since you seem genuinely posh yourself - to know if you also ever heard about the salt on the side of the plate thing, or was my mother the last of the dinosaurs?
My Irish immigrant mother came from poverty too. She had many small snobberies that we all had to live by. Sadly, hers were due to being harshly judged for being Irish and looked down on. She clung to those snobberies her whole life but fortunately salt on the side of the plate was not one of them!
The salt thing was a strange one, June, but it was one she clung to ferociously until Uncle Tony blew it up for her. One day we must get together and swap maternal eccentricities ...
There will be laughter and tears. Mainly the former!
Always the former, my friend!
I didn't know your Dad was a Liverpool policeman.
No, my Dad was London Irish to his core. The Liverpool policeman was my maternal great-grandfather, who married a Welsh woman and produced, among others, a daughter called Alice, who married your grandmother's brother Joe Barrett, apparently somewhat to the consternation of both families. Joe became quite rich as a civil engineer and I understand they moved in relatively high society in my mother's youth (admittedly "high" for our family was a fairly low bar), and I've always wondered how a couple from such humble backgrounds fared among the snobbish Forsyte Saga set of 1920s London ...
Salt of the earth... :)
and sprinkled, proudly, clear across the top of it! Glad you liked the piece ...