Class has become a dirty word in our society.
Whenever people mention class it's always in a cringe-worthy context, is it not?
It's mentioned by seventeen year old northern college students with unfortunate bowl haircuts; posing on twitter by sticking their fingers up in their avatars as they retweet every utterance that drips out of George Galloway's gargantuan gob.
It's an unfunny remark by a politician cheaply attempting to undermine their rivals by bringing up what schools they attended.
It's Bob Crow losing his rag on Have I Got News for You and making the audience feel uncomfortable with incongruous ranting.
This is the great shame, because class as an issue is all around us.
It informs your dress sense; your accent; what tv stations you tend to watch; your political views; how you spend your free time; your diet; your life expectency; your levels of education and even your choice of holiday destination.
It informs your dress sense; your accent; what tv stations you tend to watch; your political views; how you spend your free time; your diet; your life expectency; your levels of education and even your choice of holiday destination.
Book a ticket for an Easyjet flight from Luton to Malaga and then go skiing in the Alps. Compare the British on both trips and tell me class doesn't exist in our society.
I'm not suggesting that every middle class person walks around in a cashmere jumper eating hummus, speaking in an RP accent as they race home to watch Newsnight. Or that every working class person can be seen donning the latest JD tracksuit, eating McDonalds, grunting in a regional dialect before they go home and watch Coronation Street. That's not totally true for every person....just most.
I spent four years at university, three at UCLAN in Preston, one at the University of Leeds. If you go to Leeds and you meander up to the student section of the city centre you will come to a bridge. On the one side is Leeds Met, on the other stands the University of Leeds.
The bridge is essentially The Wall - protecting a tapestry of Hollister hoody-wearing Surrey-ites with golden, flawless, vitamin C infused skin from coming face-to-face with the riff raff.
On the other side of the great class wall lingers the wet-look gelled bonces of the local Yorkshire wildlings, studying Sports Science and playing 'head the bin' in drunken glee.
There's no Night'sWatch to keep order in check here, instead the divide holds through the threat of receiving dirty, disparaging looks for anybody carelessly wandering too close to the border.
I would never have gone to Leeds university at the age of 18. Yes people from state schools do go to top universities, and yes there aren't any 'real' barriers or 'walls' stopping a working class kid from going to a redbrick. But as a general rule of thumb, it doesn't happen on a noticeable level. Not in my experience.
I'd have never studied at Leeds at all if I hadn't opted to change whilst at UCLAN.
During my middle year I'd become a huge fan of Russell Brand's comedy but I grew frustrated with not understanding many of the references dropped into his jokes. I was ashamed that I couldn't grasp a fair chunk of the words Brand was using. So I decided to alter that.
I bought loads of Penguin Classics from Waterstones and gave myself the task of finishing one every couple of weeks. On top of that, I had to expand my vocabulary.
The Guardian was subsidised in the Uni shop. I made a decision to purchase it every day, read it from front to back and highlight any words I didn't understand with one of those chunky highlighter pens. Once back at the flat i'd make up a list of the highlighted words, search for their definitions online and memorise them.
It is amazing how your essay grades change when you substitute 'everywhere' for 'ubiquitous', 'apparently' for 'ostensibly' and 'stubborn' for 'obstinate'.
Never let it be said that style over substance is a nonsense. In many cases it's everything.
Don't over-egg it either else you'll look like a try hard arsehole who's swallowed a Shakespeare play. Orwell did say that it is better to use plain language to put across ideas - although he probably didn't take into account university mark schemes when making that claim.
I crossed that Yorkshire bridge. Scaled the wall. My nan, old nan, was a cleaner at Birmingham University and now her grandson was sharing lectures with the children of diplomats. Though strangely there were no Ferrero Roches being handed out - I thought they'd be on tap.
How then, do you then expect me to hate Baelish?
How? It's an impossibility.
For here is a man operating in a world dominated by high born lords with birth rights, obscene levels of wealth and unbound family connections. Baelish is the rags to riches storyline. The working class hero.
He owns no sword, no bow, no axe. His words and his wit are his weapons.
He created his own sigil, the mockingbird. A bird that imitates its rivals song and uses this to infiltrate their nests. Quite apt for the Machiavellian workings of the almost Thomas Cromwell-esque Littlefinger.
The Lannisters with their glowing skin, perfect teeth, blonde locks and golden lions wouldn't be out of place at Leeds University. Oh yes, you could picture them sauntering around Hyde Park in the sun.
Baelish would be in that Leeds Met Sport Science class, rejecting offers of a lunch time game of 'head the bin'.
He'd be staring intently out of the window, glaring across the bridge....and plotting...
They ask how can you like a man who poisons children, kills the unarmed and betrays an honourable man like Ned Stark? I'd respond with what I say to those people who get too wrapped up in hating Big Brother contestants.....it's tv, it's art, don't apply your real life morality to something like Game of Thrones. Treat the show as a metaphor if you must find some kind of meaning.
If Littlefinger lived next door you'd be totally justified in despising him, for he is a highly dangerous individual. But this is Game of Thrones, a snake pit. You have to admire the ingenuity of the man as he fights against his social status. You have to laud his pragmatism and lose yourself in his climb.
For Baelish is one half of the dichotomy of order. A manifestation of chaos. Varys is his polar opposite, a simpering bald Buddha of stability. Varys will stop at nothing to ensure the status quo continues; he'll work tirelessly to avoid plunging Westeros into a state of war. Every Varys action thus far is 'for the good of the realm' - whatever that means.
If Varys was part of our university metaphor he'd be the admissions officer. Smiling in the courtyard on a red-skied October afternoon as he welcomes another coach load of Lannisters to the green gardens of the Headingley campus.
Let us then champion Lord Baelish.
He who sees an ostensibly untraversable bridge and fits dynamite to its foundations.
Baelish will not resign himself to a life of mediocrity just because he was born into anonymity. So who is the more evil? Baelish for seeking betterment and self-fulfillment or Varys for denying opportunity to the people?
The bridge is essentially The Wall - protecting a tapestry of Hollister hoody-wearing Surrey-ites with golden, flawless, vitamin C infused skin from coming face-to-face with the riff raff.
On the other side of the great class wall lingers the wet-look gelled bonces of the local Yorkshire wildlings, studying Sports Science and playing 'head the bin' in drunken glee.
There's no Night'sWatch to keep order in check here, instead the divide holds through the threat of receiving dirty, disparaging looks for anybody carelessly wandering too close to the border.
I would never have gone to Leeds university at the age of 18. Yes people from state schools do go to top universities, and yes there aren't any 'real' barriers or 'walls' stopping a working class kid from going to a redbrick. But as a general rule of thumb, it doesn't happen on a noticeable level. Not in my experience.
I'd have never studied at Leeds at all if I hadn't opted to change whilst at UCLAN.
During my middle year I'd become a huge fan of Russell Brand's comedy but I grew frustrated with not understanding many of the references dropped into his jokes. I was ashamed that I couldn't grasp a fair chunk of the words Brand was using. So I decided to alter that.
I bought loads of Penguin Classics from Waterstones and gave myself the task of finishing one every couple of weeks. On top of that, I had to expand my vocabulary.
The Guardian was subsidised in the Uni shop. I made a decision to purchase it every day, read it from front to back and highlight any words I didn't understand with one of those chunky highlighter pens. Once back at the flat i'd make up a list of the highlighted words, search for their definitions online and memorise them.
It is amazing how your essay grades change when you substitute 'everywhere' for 'ubiquitous', 'apparently' for 'ostensibly' and 'stubborn' for 'obstinate'.
Never let it be said that style over substance is a nonsense. In many cases it's everything.
Don't over-egg it either else you'll look like a try hard arsehole who's swallowed a Shakespeare play. Orwell did say that it is better to use plain language to put across ideas - although he probably didn't take into account university mark schemes when making that claim.
I crossed that Yorkshire bridge. Scaled the wall. My nan, old nan, was a cleaner at Birmingham University and now her grandson was sharing lectures with the children of diplomats. Though strangely there were no Ferrero Roches being handed out - I thought they'd be on tap.
How then, do you then expect me to hate Baelish?
How? It's an impossibility.
For here is a man operating in a world dominated by high born lords with birth rights, obscene levels of wealth and unbound family connections. Baelish is the rags to riches storyline. The working class hero.
He owns no sword, no bow, no axe. His words and his wit are his weapons.
He created his own sigil, the mockingbird. A bird that imitates its rivals song and uses this to infiltrate their nests. Quite apt for the Machiavellian workings of the almost Thomas Cromwell-esque Littlefinger.
The Lannisters with their glowing skin, perfect teeth, blonde locks and golden lions wouldn't be out of place at Leeds University. Oh yes, you could picture them sauntering around Hyde Park in the sun.
Baelish would be in that Leeds Met Sport Science class, rejecting offers of a lunch time game of 'head the bin'.
He'd be staring intently out of the window, glaring across the bridge....and plotting...
If Littlefinger lived next door you'd be totally justified in despising him, for he is a highly dangerous individual. But this is Game of Thrones, a snake pit. You have to admire the ingenuity of the man as he fights against his social status. You have to laud his pragmatism and lose yourself in his climb.
For Baelish is one half of the dichotomy of order. A manifestation of chaos. Varys is his polar opposite, a simpering bald Buddha of stability. Varys will stop at nothing to ensure the status quo continues; he'll work tirelessly to avoid plunging Westeros into a state of war. Every Varys action thus far is 'for the good of the realm' - whatever that means.
If Varys was part of our university metaphor he'd be the admissions officer. Smiling in the courtyard on a red-skied October afternoon as he welcomes another coach load of Lannisters to the green gardens of the Headingley campus.
Let us then champion Lord Baelish.
He who sees an ostensibly untraversable bridge and fits dynamite to its foundations.
Baelish will not resign himself to a life of mediocrity just because he was born into anonymity. So who is the more evil? Baelish for seeking betterment and self-fulfillment or Varys for denying opportunity to the people?
No house sigil; no family wealth; spurned by his childhood love; beaten by a Stark brute; mocked by the powerful.....yet he is rising, and rising quickly.
There's inspiration in the narrative of Petyr Baelish. That is why he is one of the most romantic characters in a show packed full of huge personalities.
A working class hero, aye, he'll get into those Headingley gardens yet.
I wouldn't bet against it.
I wouldn't bet against it.
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