There is no better example of snobbery and entitlement than the English House of Lords and that silly old codger who got busted for allegedly snorting cocaine off the breasts of two professional ladies, who just happened to be visiting his posh taxpayer funded London flat.

But snobs are also alive and well in Australia and even on our very doorstep.

Way back in 1974, Ron Wild caused a ripple of discontent when he published Bradstow, his "study of status, class and power in a small Australian town," after living in Bowral while completing his doctorate in anthropology, unearthing a class structure among the entitled ladies and gentlemen of the Southern Highlands.

Anyone who has ever worked in a service industry, be they a doctor, plumber, shop assistant, nurse, council worker, or any other profession dealing with the public, will have a tale to tell about an encounter with a pushy, snooty snob at some stage in their career.

Actually, after dealing with my share of snobs over the years, I am of the opinion that the most snobbish people have never worked in their lives, but have either married well or inherited money. In my experience, you rarely encounter a rich person behaving like a snob , if they have worked for their money.

Anyhoo, you really have to laugh when some pompous git struts their stuff demanding things and snapping quaint commands prefaced with little gems like, "I pay your wages young lady."

Or, "I want to speak to the man in charge."

No please or thank you and too bad if the boss happens to be a woman.

"I don't want to talk to a woman, I want to talk to an engineer," I recall one snobby fool demanding. Clearly he firmly believed all students who graduated university as engineers were men.

And who could forget the pushy Mrs Richards in that brilliant Fawlty Towers sketch, when, after copping a barrage of abuse from this cranky old dragon about the view from her hotel window, Basil Fawlty delivered that immortal line;

"I ask what you expected to see out of a Torquay hotel bedroom window? Sydney Opera House, perhaps? The Hanging Gardens of Babylon? Herds of wildebeest sweeping majestically...?"

"Young man we don't have anything so vulgar as street numbers in Burradoo," is one famous retort at work I will never forget and then there was the legendary response to council's suggestion about where the boundary should be drawn between New Berrima and Berrima, when one property owner considered we had put him on the wrong side of the fence.

"I refuse to have a postal address whereby it would appear I live in a shanty town along with the riff raff, social security bludgers and wasters of the district."

Don't hold back mate, tell them what you really think, eh!

A very pretentious man made a rare journey across the river to Moss Vale, informing the general manager he intended to engage his barrister to take action against the council for having the temerity to put chalk on his tyres.

He wasn't even booked, but took exception to a parking ranger violating the tyres of his Volvo with chalk.

Then there was the snobby resident concerned at the temerity of the council to even consider building playground equipment in the park next to her place.

"But it will attract children," she retorted.

At the time I remember sending a note to the parks and property manager saying, "mate, could you have a look around for any playground equipment that doesn't attract children."

A few years ago, on spotting a portaloo and assuming there must be some illegal building work happening on a rather salubrious local estate, council staff investigated.

They found nothing illegal, but did find a very good example of the class system alive and well.

It seems the portaloo was for the butler, maid and gardeners to use.

Apparently the servants were not permitted to use the toilets in the main house.

Nor were they allowed to park on the property.

And who said Bradstow is dead.