Lingo.

Honestly, what does set one apart as 'posh'? I could laugh in the face of anyone who said such about me; the sad thing is I am aware that people have. This has been made even more apparent by spending my first year in the confines of Holland Hall, the infamous dumping ground for ex public school-goers. The fact I was considered 'stuck up' by some is one of the most hilarious notions I have ever heard - one night in Holland Hall would be enough to expose that assumption as a complete mockery. Many people opposed to the 'posh' clan at Exeter have often described the female version of said clan (rah) as mindless bottle-blonde clones of one another, each sporting the latest in lacrosse wear and fighting a subconscious battle over who has the messiest hair/highest top-knot. Complete with the drawling sound: "Oh yaaaaaaaaah." I will never forget hearing one said girl appearing genuinely upset when she discovered she had only a wincy £400 to last her for the weekend.

Setting aside the ridiculous New Labour claim that Britain is and aims to be a 'classless society', I would say that I am the perfect example of Britain's middle-class, through and through. I'm the daughter of a dentist - one can't get any more bourgeois than that. I did ballet, horse riding, piano and clarinet. I attended Brownies and Guides, and was put through the rigours of an all-girls grammar school. I would say I've turned out pretty well as a result; the idea of having a child my age makes me physically shudder, and I seem to have inherited my mother's standard of cleanliness and order. Although I am aware I do not need to worry about money at this stage, I still know how to budget and am quickly becoming a lover of the cocktail bar rather than scrum-pit nightclubs.

This all occurred to me the other day when discussing accents. I would say that my accent is fairly neutral, despite being born and raised in the West Country, land of the farmers and inbred (stereotype, stereotype). Perhaps there is the odd twang about certain words. For instance, my mother is unable to say the words 'girl' or 'thirteen' without exposing just a little of her Plymouthian upbringing. Yet it is rather tragic that we all make assumptions based on peoples' accents. I know it sounds awful, but as soon as I hear a Scouse accent, it makes me cringe internally. Welsh accents I can now only attribute to various X-Factor nobodies, and London accents make country-bumpkins like me down in little old Devonshire feel positively Medieval in terms of lifestyle and fashion habits. Indeed, such assumptions need not be so relevant any more. My friends and I reguarly greet each other with the word 'Yo' and definately using terms such as 'crazy times' and 'so gay' far more than is necessary. But that's just youthful lingo, not excluding the obligatory hyperbolic statements of 'OH MY GOD' and 'Kill me now'.

But whatever, I'll continue to use my neutral, unremarkable middle-class English accent, and continue my suitably middle-class pursuit of gaining my degree. But in the short term, bed time for me.

Night night, sleep tight. Don't let the bed-bugs bite.