Posh

Even if I use the word ‘posh’ with tongue firmly in cheek, there are always times when a little pomp and circumstance are necessary when you are entertaining. The French definition of what is or isn’t ‘posh’ has swung around regularly through the decades. The fall from grace of the event previously known as the dinner party has also occurred there over the past ten years. When I first arrived in the eighties, my French friends would imitate the formula so well learned from their parents: a quickish drink with light nibbles before a full entrée, plat, formage and dessert, then back to the sofas for coffee. Within my belle famille, table seatings followed strict etiquette, with my grandfather-in-law as the pivotal point, always in the prime, middle seat, befitting his age. Once his eldest daughter (my mother-in-law) was seated on his right and his eldest daughter-in-law on his left, the husbands and lesser females could alternate down according to age, until they reached the mere girlfriend of the second youngest grandson (me) right on the edge of the table. Once we were married we enjoyed the traditional special newlyweds’ favour of being sat next to each other until our first anniversary, but still often found ourselves on the foldaway stools. Even amongst my new French friends the same sort of rules seemed to be religiously kept, from serving wine to cutting cheese on the cheeseboard, and though I found it fascinating, it did all seem rather stiff.