For those among the dizzy echelons of the, still surviving, English Landed Gentry, there is but one sentence which, when delivered by their young, is enough to make the ancestral suit of armor in the hall fall to the flagstones in a dead clank: "Mummy, I'm going to be an interior designer."
The idea of choosing how one's surroundings should be decorated, or, God forbid, moving with the times, is a truly alien concept for the landed gentry.
As Grayson Perry, Britain's most celebrated potter/transvestite, said, "Brits have an in-built class GPS."
The upper classes he tells us "have their taste dictated to them by their ancestors beyond the grave".
One of our most cutting political put downs came when Baron Jopling dismissed Michael Heseltine, a self made millionaire, with the cruel barb: "The trouble with Michael is that he had to buy his own furniture."
Hyacinth Bucket: "...the Bouquet Residence, the lady of the house speaking! If there's one thing I can't stand, it's snobbery and one-upmanship. People who try to pretend they're superior. Makes it so much harder for those of us who really are..."