When you are a child everything common is appealing.
We lived in an estate (council estate, not country estate) and there were so many families I couldn’t mix with because they were common.
Holidaying at Butlins, I admit I’d rather stick pins in my eyes now, but at the time it seemed the best fun.
Children who didn’t go to Sunday school, another very good reason to want to be common.
Minced beef, I have absolutely no idea why that was common.
Working mothers, whose homes would obviously be dirty.
Women who would stand around chatting as if they had nothing better to do.
White socks, I begged for white socks, but had to have fawn.
I could go on, I could probably write a book.
My dad used to stick out like a sore thumb, making me learn the piano, never going to the pub, football or working mens club, taking me to the library on Saturday mornings, even when we had a car, still walking everywhere possible, I guess he thought he was trying to do the best for us, and maybe he was.