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When I saw him standing outside of Barbican Station, I was thankful that he wasn’t as pretty has his picture had made him look.

I was thankful.

And when he began to speak, it was, I believe, the most clipped upper-crust accent I think I’ve ever heard. All “Fah-ther” and “her-ahl-dry” and “bah-stard”.

Now I like to think my own vowels are somewhat well-rounded, and that in the formal dinner situation I could hold my own, but this was a whole different ball game.

Yet when we started talking, he was interesting, cultured, refined; we spoke about opera, books, career, and little by little I found myself more attracted to him. He had a decent height, a fair set of shoulders, a pleasant and well-featured face. But as we paged over Thackeray and noted our enjoyment of Handel music, I began to wonder: how posh is too posh?

Are we still refined and defined by class?

Is judging someone by the way they speak as shallow as judging someone by their skin colour or income? Do we all, secretly, still do those things?

The thing was, is, that I actually quite liked him. It had been a long time since I connected with someone and just felt we could talk about all the cultural things which interest me. I know some of my friends would despise him because he talks like a “yah”, but I have to say, sitting opposite and sipping the coffee he bought me, I really quite liked him.

I’ll admit, I didn’t look at him and think “future husband”, but I did look at him and think “potential boyfriend”. Perhaps that’s a good thing; any guy I’ve looked at so far and thought “potential husband” has always ended in tears and a swearing never to speak to him again.

So far, I’ve always been an independent person, I’ve never felt the need to be in a relationship just for the sake of it. Some people hop from relationship to relationship, but I’ve always been more of a “wait and see” person. Usually, to use an old adage, I refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies.

Perhaps there wasn’t a flock of butterflies this time, but there was certainly a chrysalis. There was a something I wanted to explore. And it seems there was for him too, as we’ve pencilled in another date.

Perhaps the only restrictions of class and breeding are those we set on ourselves. For someone who was smart, witty, funny and interesting, what’s a voice at the end of the day?

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