The middle classes are known for their eccentricities and this clip, filmed sometime during the 1910s, proves that this has always been the case. What appears to be happening is a fancy dress competition for the whole family, which has been organised to military precision and where no one seems to be having fun - quintessentially British then.

A procession of seemingly random groups of fancy dressers passes by the crowd, and we can assume there is no theme because in the parade is everything from Little Bo Peep to two baby minstrels in full black face. Charmingly, this sort of thing drew huge crowds once upon a time, but now we make every effort to avoid any kind of fancy dress involvement.

Garden parties can be awkward, and adding fancy dress into the mix can cause disaster – we’ve all seen Bridget Jones. However, it’s good to know that dressing up was once a wholesome family activity before drunken teenagers and hen parties went and ruined it for everyone.

Maximum virtuous misery points available

"Totes" and "onesie" added to the OED

Devastating

Cassava crackers

The middle-class nibble du jour

Try putting the emphasis on "are" of "how are you?"

It sounds more sincere. (NB. only try this if prepared for a genuine answer)

Anything 24/7/365

Annoying x4

Writing "Hello everyone!" or some such first thing in the morning on Twitter

Really not necessary

My Family was not dropped for being too middle-class

We knew it

Fountain pen sales on the rise

Hurrah! Long live the lovely schooly fountain pen

Opening the train carriage window?

Just check first if there's one of those passengers who likes to bicker, and have a response ready

Loud, open-mouthed, squelchy gum chewing

Unacceptable

Convertible ownership is a tricky area for the middle classes. It traditionally feels a little too shouty and flashy for the statement-averse professional. To drive with your hood down on those treasured blue sky days is the social equivalent of loudly guffawing in a quiet restaurant, while swilling down vintage champagne and perhaps even slamming your fist on the table just to rub it in.

Having an overtly good time in this way hasn’t always been encouraged within middle class life, although the largely anonymous arena of Britain’s roads does provide the opportunity for a more subtle sense of fun that perhaps helps explain the unlikely statistic that Britain is in fact the highest consumer of convertible cars per head in Europe.

On the face of it, to buy one is an extraordinarily optimistic purchase for inhabitants of an inclement island in the North Sea. Although at least one benefit of ownership is to be given even greater rein to talk freely and endlessly about current weather patterns.

But on closer inspection, perhaps it isn’t strictly optimism that fuels our enthusiasm for roof down driving – we know the weather here isn’t suited to it and never will be. Instead it seems more likely to be rooted in a ‘stuff and nonsense’ stoicism and cheerful cynicism upon which middle-class families have relied for generations.

To show positivity then towards an expensive item of such evident impracticality and that so overtly prioritises feelgood over function may be instinctively troubling, but the increasing importance and value of life experience both for ourselves and our wider circle give convertibles a powerful counter argument: “we can put the child seat in the back”; “The dog can sit up front with me”; “We’ll use Dad’s car for IKEA”. Memories – and framed photo murals outside the downstairs loo – are made of this.


DOS AND DON'TS

DO be prepared to drive with the hood down in changeable weather. The occasional damp and windswept journey is both agreeably eccentric and eliminates any perception of smugness from your hardtop driving fellow roadusers.

DON’T hurry to fix any dents or imperfections on your hood or bodywork. A malfunctioning electric hood that requires additional manual force each time you use it is merely karmic payback for that blissful weekend you spent in Dorset last September.

DO bemoan its impracticality and silliness whenever it crops up in conversation. The positives are implied in your cheerful castigation and are palpable to anyone listening.

DON’T be tempted with going long on the stereo volume in traffic or town. It may feel like the perfect chance to crank up the Neal Young but it’ll sound better without the self-conscious discomfort once you hit the B roads.

DO litter the interior with top-down driving accessories that cement your car as less vehicle and more lifestyle - a crusty stick of melted sunblock, a baseball cap you got free through work softball, a cracked pair of aviators, a fleece gilet that lives in the backseat.

DON’T call it a rag-top if it’s a metal folding roof – in short, a little knowledge of open-top history goes a long way. Do call it ‘the car’, never ‘the convertible’.

DO drive in winter but you’ll need to balance the merits of a fleeting sensory experience for you with the environmental and financial factors of putting your fan heaters on overdrive. Your call.

Flickr: Chailey

Is this the most middle class estate agent window in Britain? We think it is, but we don't know for sure. Consequently we would like you to send us your pics via twitter @MiddleClassHB and we will attempt to compile a top 10.

The question is: why the emergence of this craze at a time when the predominant cultural ideology is openness and sharing?

The easy answer is that it’s a backlash. We’re sick of having privacy invaded and ‘specialness’ undermined by everything being visible all the time. So the cult of secrecy comes in as an antidote to all this over-exposure.

Even so, the paradox remains. If you look on the Secret Cinema website, you’ll see its strapline is ‘Tell no-one’ . But the navigation menu then invites us to sign up on Twitter and Facebook, and read the latest press coverage. So someone’s clearly telling someone.

The paradox intensifies when we note that it’s usually sharing on social networks that makes these secret clubs possible. Often you can only find out about them on Twitter or Facebook.

This suggests that social networks create symbolic value by hiding information in plain view, as well as by offering opportunities to share. The quantity of data they offer has become so vast that only those who are truly ‘in the know’ can reach what really counts.  The fashion for secrecy reflects the fact that there's now a new elite – those who can find their way to the information with the highest symbolic value. He or she who knows, wins.

At the end of a dinner with a friend the other week, as we set down our knives and forks, I had a realisation that I had been far too aware of what was on her plate throughout the meal. How embarrassing. How often had I been looking at it?

It’s rooted, of course, in worry that you might be eating more quickly or slowly than the other person. Occasionally glancing over to see your friend’s progress through her meal means you can keep your gobbling and guzzling in check, and maybe pause to savour the food or sip your wine, or speed up a bit if it’s looking likely that you’re going to leave your friend sitting there for 20 minutes, replete, while you munch slowly through your supper.

And, just to drive home the innuendo, it’s worth saying that your goal should be to set down your knife and fork at roughly the same time as your fellow diner.

Flickr: Jamie Carter

Awkward, isn’t it, when a phone call drags on a bit? Even if it was you that made the call, there’s always a point when you realise you just don’t want to be on it anymore; maybe you need the bathroom, you’re hungry, or you’ve just had enough of the person on the line, really. It happens.

You need a way out, but you don’t want to be blunt, of course, and you want to show an appreciation of having taken up the other person’s time. That’s why “I’ll let you get on” is perfect. It puts their busy day ahead of yours, suggests you’ve got all the time in the world for them, but wouldn’t dream of intruding a moment longer, and is sufficiently decisive to end a call without too many fiddly farewell niceties.

If someone uses this one on you, recognise that it’s been said in order to get you off the phone – and don’t witter on. The appropriate response is “yes, yes, lots to do, thanks, bye”. And try to get in first next time, won’t you. It doesn’t do to be the one being allowed to “get on”, every time.

Flickr: Blubus

These days the metrosexual man is hard to distinguish from the similarly well-dressed hipster, but this could be where the metro-movement began – with a humble spa for blokes. The men in this clip have some way to go though, with the majority sporting beer bellies and back hair.

Male grooming has since reached levels probably unimaginable to the men in this clip (it’s unlikely the spa offered back, sack and crack treatments) but they seem comfortable enough with their sexuality to have a manicure and hair treatment, and in doing so they led the way for middle-class men everywhere to dare to enjoy a bubble bath with scented Yankee candles. It even looks like one of them is having the Gwyneth Paltrow endorsed suction cup treatment way before it became a fad. Clearly the middle-class diet of hummus and olives hadn’t quite reached Britain at this point, judging by the paunch on the guy in the final scene.

The New Romantics
They’ve just moved into their first flat. But there isn’t room for his CD collection, and why does he need them when he’s got them all on his iPod anyway? This stall is often surrounded by men, of a similar age or slightly older with a similar defeated sadness in their eyes, swapping Stone Roses trivia.

Little Sugars
They’ve watched Junior Apprentice and are saving up for their own Wii. Typical stock includes Action Men/Barbies that they’re a bit embarrassed about ever having been into, High School Musical paraphernalia (ditto), roller blades, Playstation 2 games, and figures that came free with Happy Meals.

Million Dollar Women
Yes her husband earns enough not to have to make loose change at a car boot sale, but giving up her successful marketing career to bring up a family has left her with untapped sales skills and a lot of outgrown DKNY Junior dresses, Kidorable wellies and Little Green Radicals playsuits. Still knows how to make a bob or two.

Tatty Declines
Chipped crockery, a Sony Discman, a random bit of curtain fabric, a CSI box set (minus series 2), novels that were given away with newspapers, an Ikea tea-light holder, rummage boxes of bangles, badges and buttons… the days when people would buy anything are over. As are the days where you could find a lost da Vinci sketch in a box of rubbish. Cash in the Attic has a lot to answer for.

The Haggler from Hell
Whatever the item, whatever the price, they can’t help asking, “Can you do me a better price on that?” Even if the price you’ve asked for is only 50p. 50p!

The One Who Though It Was A Craft Fair
Wherever there’s a group of stalls somewhere, there’s always someone selling their handmade scatter cushions?

The Pro
The ones who come every week, or often enough that they turn a regular profit, are in on the banter, pick up great bargains which they may sell on later at a mark up. Wrapped in their huge woollen coats (a ‘find’ from a previous sale) with their flasks of hot coffee, fingerless gloves, folding table, hanging rail and money pouches, they are the first set up, and make packing away an art form. For them it’s not man verses hangover, or a battle against the elements, but a great morning out. They represent the car boot sale idyll. You hate them.