Are people with posh accents always a class act? Not so, Keir...

Keir Starmer waged war this week on the “class ceiling”, promising that Labour will give priority to ensuring pupils of all backgrounds are able to speak English fluently and express themselves clearly.

But in truth, you English don’t really speak English – you speak euphemism.  When I first moved to London 30 odd years ago, it took time to realise that a visitor needs those little United Nations headphones to decipher everything you say. For example, when a host would turn to me and purr “Oh, do stay for another drink”, I would plunge head first into the Pimms. I didn’t realise that translates as, “leave immediately and never darken my door again”.

The same goes for, “Oh, you Australians, you’re just so refreshing.” At first I thought this meant that you really, really liked me. It was only years later I realised this decodes as “rack off, you loud-mouthed, colonial nymphomaniac”.

And of course, speaking of euphemisms, we can’t possibly not mention, “there were no lockdown parties in Downing Street” which clearly translates as, “Vote Labour”.

Over the past several decades, various governments have declared that the class system is defunct, and that Britain is now a “levelled up” meritocracy. Despite this, surveys have continued to reveal that people with “received pronunciation” – that posh “is there any loo pepper, abite the hice” accent – are generally perceived to be more punctual, hygienic, intelligent and better in bed.

I’m dubious about the intelligence of the upper classes when they’ve been hitting their heads on the low beams of their priceless Tudor mansions for centuries. And as for sexual prowess? An upper-class Englishman just can’t drive past a perversion without pulling over.

In my erotic experience, the “cream of English society” clearly just means rich, thick and prone to whipping. Being “sent away” to school warps them in the most peculiar ways. It’s very difficult to date a man who can only achieve arousal when touched on the genitals by a rubberised gardening glove.

If you can understand his request that is. The voice of the upper class male is so brittle it qualifies for osteoporosis pills. He’s also bound to be a Conan the Grammarian, meaning he’ll correct your grammar, even when you’re talking dirty in bed.

The expenses scandal proved categorically that the class system is still thriving in all its stereotypical glory. Labour politicians were caught claiming for Hobnobs and nappies, while the Tories were raiding the public purse to pay for their moats and mazes.

Research also reveals that Britain suffers from some of the worst social mobility in Europe. Now, I have a head for heights – I’m the Edmund Hillary of social climbing – but my accent will forever keep me stranded on the lower social slopes. That “Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor,” nursery rhyme is not fiction, but fact; for the most part: Brits are born into a strata of society, and tend to stay there.

In Australia, which is a true meritocracy, we have inverted snobbery. Those without a convict branch in their family tree quickly graft on a twig or two; while those born into wealth take the opposite of elocution classes, at pains to flatten their vowels so that they can sound like everyone else.

But what this unique social experiment that became Australia proves is that unshackled from the class system and with the oxygen of optimism and opportunity, reinvention can take place. By the time of the 1814 muster, only one of the first fleeters, Enoch Weavers, was still in jail. Modern Australia began as an act of theft – it was stolen from the Aboriginal people. But from our inauspicious colonial beginnings as the world’s largest open prison, we have grown to be a successful, confident, egalitarian democracy.

Starmer has a track record of breaking his promises, so I can’t imagine we’ll all be rounding our vowels any time soon. But he’s right on this; getting rid of your class system really would be classy.

Meanwhile, if any snooty aristo is ever mean to you, simply smile and say “Do stay for another drink… You’re just so refreshing.”

Kathy Lette has written 20 books, the latest of which is ‘Best Laid Plans’

This article was amended on 14 August 2023 to change the name of the nursery rhyme to “Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor”. it previously contained the word ‘spy’ in the place of ‘sailor’, but that is the title of the John le Carré novel.