You peasanty proletariat people think you had it hard... Well you didn't?! It's not easy being brought up as an upper class twit you know. Daddy was a banker and mummy won the Derby. They never really had time for me when I was young, they'd be too busy off schmoozing with their fellow City types/horses. I'd go to them as a young boy of 6 with some piece of work marked 'outstanding A++ better than a year 8' by my teachers and they'd just laugh. It was always, "mummy/daddy's busy" or "come on now Tibs, you don't need to work, you're rich." That's right! Not only did they never praise me for my achivements, they couldn't even remember my name. Even my three nannies couldn't console me.
When I was 11 I ran away from home, hoping to join a travelling group of bourgeois freedom fighters. They took me in, appreciated my ability to better myself academically and finally made me feel wanted. I was happy for the first time in my life. Unsurprisingly mummy and daddy were furious at my escape. It made them look bad among their compatriots, and Uncle Roderick was always wondering where 'young Tim' was when he came round to count money with daddy.
My parents sent out a team of their butlers to hunt me down. It took them one year three months and a day of happiness for me, but eventually they managed. The Bourgeois Freedom Fighters tried to defend me from the kidnapping but were overwhelmed by the sheer class superiority of the butlers and ended up buying semi-detached houses in Staines. When I was brought back home, ensconsed in a burlap bag, my parents decided they'd been too lax on me and so they employed a tutor to teach me the ways of the upper classes. That night was the first, but not the last, time I was buggered.
However, my time with the Freedom Fighters inspired me. I made myself a deep-cover agent. Biding my time, ready to strike when the opportunity arose. Eventually I was sent to Oxford, like every other decent gentleman, but once there, suddenly I was free. Free to express myself academically! Free to be friends with whoever I wanted, even if they were somewhat poorer than me. Once more I was happy.
I was able to avoid being buggered anymore once I got my scholar's gown, and could even go on the regular anti-buggery protests. My parents were somewhat annoyed about me doing well academically, "it's not gentlemanly to get more than a third." However, they couldn't do much as cutting my allowance would lower their own status. When I leave Oxford I plan to get a job doing something middle class, like law or accountancy and then I'll finally be truly free of the upper-class tyranny of my parents.
So remember, all you working class/ethnic minority/Chechnyan boys and girls, it's not all sunshine and flowers for members of the upper classes.