Six. Polo.

When it comes to sports, toffs dislike competing alongside those of a different social class. This may be due to a prevailing superstitions circulating among the upper classes about how coming into contact with the sweat of lower classes can cause the inexplicable haemorrhaging of money from the trust fund.

From a young age then, toffs are taught their own sports, one of which is polo, adapted from an early Persian game, I hate this pathetic and pompous attempt to create a sport because quite frankly it is shit. In order to make sure that it remains the domain of their own kind, the toffs invented a sport in which to compete, you must own at least TWO polo ponies and in order to be good, you must own a big field to practice in.

The toffs also managed to create a game that is so shit that no normal people are interested in watching it, which suits them fine as they would find it a travesty if it managed to attract many lower class fans. You can only imagine the look on the toffs’ faces if the fans of a West London Polo club brought sticks of celery to throw onto the pitch to accompany particularly offensive songs.

There have been reports in recent years of the toffs wanting to encourage more people to take up the sport of polo. The sole possible explanation for this is that in order to keep the game running they need to insert some fresh genes into the polo gene-pool as many modern polo players are being born with defects associated with inbreeding.

Five. Private Schools.

Private schools are where every toff sends their kiddies. They are a place where toffs learn how to be toffs, make friends with other toffs and develop a dislike for people who aren’t toffs.

They always have to wear stupid uniforms, which are designed to make the rest of us know which kids in town after school are fair-game for a bit of bullying. In addition to this toff school children also take lessons in subjects such as fencing, talking in a smug voice and in how to treat servants.

Because of the high price of school fees, toffs can be sure that their prized offspring will not be hanging around with normal people. However in exceptional cases toff-schools may offer scholarships to intelligent poor or foreign children. Toffs generally frown upon this intermingling of social classes however it saves them lots of tax money, so they let it happen, rarely.

In fact to save them millions of pounds in tax breaks, toff schools only have to let a couple of the little poor buggers in, and when there are hundreds of other toff children there, toff parents know that they would be very unlucky if one of their own asked to bring home the council estate kid who is good at maths.

The last but primary function of private schools is for toffs to learn that they should stick to their own and marry other people with posh names, thus prolonging the longevity of the narrow (inbred) aristocratic gene pool.

Four. Ginger Toffs

Without referring to the classics of ‘How can I hate gingers? I’ve got lots of ginger friends!’ or ‘I’m not Ginge-ist but‘, this post is not an attack on the ginger people of the world. I do in fact have many ginger friends and I do not extend the following prejudices towards them or their orange barnets.

However, it must be said that ginger toffs are at least twice as annoying as normal toffs. Its hard to put your finger on why. But they are. It could be that almost all ginger toffs go for the same annoying style, or that they are extra smug for being rich enough to not care if they get teased.

When told that Prince Harry (the Ginger Bullet Magnet) said he got bullied for being a ranga, the only thing I could think of was ‘good’. Being posh and ginger just provides too much bullying material to expect that you can get off without the odd ribbing, even if you are a prince.

Three. Gideon Osborne.

Gideon is the epitome of smug toffs and unsurprisingly I hate the man.

The first reason I detest Gideon is because he is called Gideon, an outrageously posh name, which is only shared by a type of Bible. The second reason for hating Gideon is that he changed his name to George, in order to appear less posh. Having long-since recognised that being a massive toff is a disadvantage when it comes to normal people, who will understandably hate him for being called Gideon (as well as being posh),  the young Gid, swapped names.

Giddy, has since the change, emerged as a leading figure in the Conservative party, the toffs’ own political party. Although it has been recognised by his fellow toffs that he is quite a detriment to their aims of tricking normal people into voting for them, so does not always front their publicity.

Despite his limited experience handling accounts, Gideon’s old Oxford chum, Dave, decided that anyone who manages a fortune the size of Gideon’s must be able to handle the country’s finances and gave Gid the keys to the national bank account. Its fair to say that the account was not in the best of states and was far into it’s overdraft and Gideon decided that instead of adding more to it (from his and his friends vast fortunes), they will simply stop many of the standing orders leaving. These standing orders pay for things normal people like, for example their jobs, their education, their health and their benefits all of which are unnecessary when you are as rich as Gideon, and need neither a job, a free education, or free health care.

The really sickening thing about Gid, is the smugness on his tory toff face when he quips such tosh as “We all need to tighten our belts”, when in fact what he means is… “You need to tighten your belts because I’m making some big cuts. My belt is fine where it is, I am heir to the Osborne baronetcy and a multi-million pound fortune”.

In a final interesting aside to this smug tory bastard, in his own expenses scandal, among many other things worth thousands of pounds, he claimed £47 on DVD’s of his own speech about ‘value for tax-payers money’. Now he is in charge of your taxes.

Two. Fox Hunting

Now, before I am associated with mental animal rights activists I will outline the reasons why I dislike fox hunting, which are two-fold.

1) Toffs do it.

2)I am British and therefore always side with the underdog (no pun intended). Therefore if I am to way up who I should support in a life and death struggle between a band of privately educated buffoons on horseback, armed with bugles, guns and a pack of hungry, salivating hounds and, well, a little fox, then I guess I want the fox to win.

Now, getting back to the crux of the matter, toffs totally love hunting foxes. I’m not sure what they see in it, whether or not they have a particular vendetta against the fox or whether they have just found badgers to difficult to catch and weasels to small to warrant the army of beings sent in to make the kill. But, whatever it is, they clearly see something in it, and the joy they express for their hobby is directly proportionate to the resentment I feel towards it.

Even though the hunting is basically pointless as no-one eats fox, (especially rich people), it is not so much the unnecessary killing of an innocent animal I hate (although that is kind of unfair). Moreover its the pompous toffery which turns the death of the fox into a countryside parade of upper class twits, charging around like they own the place. Which in all likelihood, the probably do.

Not being rural, or a toff, I am often made aware of the fact that not belonging to these groups negates my ability to understand the countryside. Apparently fox hunting is an important rural tradition, and fox hunting actually plays a crucial role in controlling the numbers of foxes. Therefore, if the hunts stop, not only do we lose some of our upper class heritage but the foxes will overrun the wild, organise committees, distribute pamphlets to other British mammals and orchestrate large scale occupations of rural toff estates. Neither of which sound like a bad thing.

Well I for one welcome less armed gangs on horseback, especially if they are toffs. I don’t really the idea of the government banning hobbies, but I will let this one slide because it gets right up the toffs nose.

One. The smug toff voice.

The first reason why I hate toffs is not necessarily the most annoying aspect of toffery. It is merely the beginning of a long line of grievances I have with toffishness. However, I would suggest that the voice of the toff, which is ever so uniform despite the region from which the toff derives, is smug, annoying and instantaneously provokes a reaction of dislike from the listener.

It is a knee-jerk reaction, like flinching at the threat of a punch, and I cannot do anything other than cringe at this vocal manifestation of toffery. Its not just the way that the words sound, but the facial expressions that accompany those sounds, the hand gestures, and the shapes made by the mouth of the toff which create that unique and grinding effect.

Hearing the toff in a crowd causes the ears to prick, the heart to pump half a beat faster. You become more alert, not wishing to move yourself on to make way from the fading aristocrat but not wishing to be close enough to be associated with them, your senses sharpen and you become more aware of the surroundings.

Toffs on tv are not a rare sight. It is the toffs on the news; the politicians, the bankers and the royals, which really test the patience of the anti-toff. Its not only the sound of their smug oral protuberance but the demeanor of the toff who has been given a platform that really grates on me. To hear them talk at us, recommending alterations to our lives cannot fail to yield a resentment reserved only for someone who says something with such a voice.

Here is a classic example of the voice of toffery in action, it may be advisable to have a bucket close by.