When it’s the done thing to go low-brow
Stock up on bargains and throw out the Himalayan pink salt: Lady Somerleyton has shown us how you can have class and still shop at Morrisons
‘Anyone knocking together two houses in Knightsbridge has not got the hang of High Low living’
You probably heard about Lady Somerleyton losing a diamond and emerald pendant in her local supermarket last week. The story got extensive coverage, not because the pendant is a priceless family heirloom, but because of the revelation that someone like Lady Somerleyton, the wife of Hugh Crossley, 4th Baron Somerleyton, shops in Morrisons.
Waitrose, yes, or, in an emergency, Tesco. But Morrisons? Whatever next? Buying kids’ clothes from Tu at Sainsbury’s? Kitting out the stately kitchen with Ikea units? Driving a bog-standard grey Prius? Serving Co-op own brand champagne? Well, yes, actually, and the chances are they’re doing all of the above already. (As it happens, the Co-op’s bubbly was rated on a par with Dom Pérignon in this year’s champagne world championships, but that’s another story.)
We know this – just as we can assume that the Somerleytons would be happy to fork out for a Moleskine notebook, but not a fancy children’s Hallowe’en costume – because we are all familiar with the “High Low” existence: if not living in a stately home and shopping in Morrisons, then flying easyjet, getting the bus and, once safely at our destination (total cost £49), heading straight for an eye-wateringly expensive restaurant.
It’s second nature now. We have an in-built High Low filter in our heads, channelling acceptable highs to the right, and things that must be attained for as little as possible – even if it means spending twice as much on petrol in the process of tracking them down – to the left.
Strangely, there seems to be a consensus on what merits High and what has to be Low. We’re all agreed that only the senselessly rich buy wolf-trimmed parkas for their babies, or any flashy baby equipment for that matter (see Jacob Rees-mogg’s recent outing with the collapsible pushchair that looked like it was second-hand in the Seventies; Rees-mogg is a practised High Lower).
Seasoned High Lowers know that only a fool forks out for fancy glassware, anti-ageing creams, £300 pyjamas, Himalayan pink salt or a good-looking dog basket. And only suckers with money to burn have fallen for this year’s Nutribullet, the instant boiling water tap. (Don’t they miss the Concorde roar of the boiling kettle and those minutes spent gazing into the fridge wondering whether or not to shave another bit off the end of the cheese?)
On the other side of the coin, legitimate High spending would include: top-end Wellington boots (if you live in the country), a really good bike lock (if you don’t), a giant ice-dispensing fridge, lovely lamps (and lighting in general), a decent coat and laptop and a kitchen extension, if you genuinely need the room. Anyone knocking together two houses in Knightsbridge or building downwards, iceberg fashion, has not got the hang of High Low living at all.
Obviously, there is kudos and credibility in going Low in all the right places, especially if you can definitely afford not to. It’s not just canny and frugal, it’s modern. Good Low practice would include buying your knickers in M&S, ignoring sell-by dates, never putting the heating on before the end of October, openly recycling presents, using gravy granules, taking pride in wearing Zara and Topshop (to important events), not changing the sheets if only slept in once by someone clean, and not distinguishing between best and tat, just mixing it all in together (hence the Morrisonsbased heirloom disaster).
But the epitome of Low is surely not having a nanny when you are pretty loaded (I couldn’t help noticing that when Lady Somerleyton lost the family jewels, she was midway through the school run, not stuck in downward dog, in the billiard room, with the private yoga instructor). For the time being, Lady Somerleyton has replaced HM The Queen as our High Low icon, which is pretty good going.