Tag Archives: lancashire dialect

Sawp!


Due to some stunningly bad housekeeping on my part ( well, I did warn him before he married me that I was a rubbish housewife) we managed to run out of soap yesterday.

“We’ll pick some up on the way to the studio”, says I. After walking round the shop three times and not being able to see any I asked the man behind the counter; “Do you have any soap?”

“Yes dear, all  different kinds. It’s all on the back wall. Look.” I was impressed that such a small  corner shop would have a whole selection of soaps. I turned round to survey my choices.

And  looked  up; at a wall full of tins and tins of assorted soups.

“No, I meant SOAP not SOUP.” The gentleman looked at me strangely.

“Hang on, I’ll try it in a local accent. “Av yenny sawp?”

Instantly his expression cleared and he replied, “Oh! Sawp “(funny to hear from an Asian chap). “Gnaw loov, wiv no sawp, only shower gel.”

Shower gel it is then.

 

 

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Christmas Eve


Christmas Eve!

Hold on a sec while I go and take sausage meat and pigs in blankets out of the freezer…….Thanks for waiting.

That wouldn’t be good  – Christmas dinner with no pigs in blankets or sausage meat stuffing. So it’s all ready, shopping done days ago, presents wrapped, house cleaned, trimmed up  and ready to receive a stream of visitors. I love Christmas. All we need now is a nice blanket of snow and it’ll all be just perfect. Not much chance of a white Crimbo this year though with temperatures at 10 degrees, rain and blustery winds. I hope Rudolph doesn’t get blown off course! But just in case he does I have a nice little stash of pressies upstairs that might find their way under our tree.

It’s a peculiar thing about  Christmas. During the last few days when people are out shopping, there is always a different atmosphere in the air. I always find that people are friendlier, smilier and more polite – far more inclined to wait and hold a door open for you than at any other time of year when they’d probably let it drop in your face. You can hear, “Happy Christmas” , “All the best” and other greetings to and from people who would hardly get a nod at any other time of year. Even a total stranger with a trolley laden with all sorts of goodies and crossing the car park at the same time as me cheerfully wished me  a happy Christmas.  Seriously. What’s not to love about Christmas? I really does have a touch of magic about it.

The plan for today is to make a start on tomorrow’s feast. I’m making Boofuls some parsnip and apple soup because he won’t like the starter the rest of us are having. This year we aren’t having the traditional smoked salmon and prawns. This year we’re having king prawns wrapped in bacon and fried in garlic butter. Ok, I know it’s not the healthiest option, more of a heart attack on a plate but I’m working on the basis that since I eat healthily 99…98…..better make that 85% of the time I’m not going to worry about it.  I’ll cook the turkey today so I don’t need to try and do it after our annual champagne and croissant breakfast at bezzie mates in the morning. Hic.

I think I might make the root veg mash as well today as well as the traditional sherry trifle. OH! Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the waaaaaaaay!!!

The other day, Gembolina, Lashes and me took the clingons to a huge garden centre known for it’s fabulous Christmas displays. We weren’t disappointed. It was A-MAZ-ING! Dancing snowmen! Polar bears! We were giddy with excitement.

Dancing snowmen
Polar bears

Here’s of picture of our gorgeous granddaughters. It was Batty’s birthday yesterday. Aaaw I remember vividly the day she was born. Due on Millennium day, she was a bit early and greeted everyone by projectile vomiting on them. That was the start of six weeks in the special care unit but just look at her now, a gorgeous and confident young lady. I wish there were words to adequately describe how much I love my family. Sigh (wipes away tears of pride).

All three clingons

I was chatting with Paprika Furstenberg ( go and have a read, she’s a funny, funny lady) via the comment box the other day about accents and words that are peculiar to our own countries. Apparently her favourite English work is ‘gobsmacked’ good call. I was a bit gobsmacked when I discovered that.

Just as a little seasonal gift to her I am going to expand her knowledge of Lancashire dialect, courtesy of our nearest neighbour, the Lanky born and bred  farmer or as he says it ‘furmer’, who even occasionally has me guessing as to what he’s actually meaning.

So here we go:

Saying:  Am a feart.

Have you worked out what it means yet?  If not I’ll give you the answer at the end.

When it’s said out loud it sounds remarkably like ‘I’m a Fiat.’

So in the absence of auditory clues you need to be looking for visual and contextual clues. If the person in question is holding up their arms to chest height as if holding a steering wheel and running round the room saying ‘brum brum’ then they probably do mean, ‘I’m a Fiat’ in which case a call to the nearest mental health facility might be in order, unless they are four years of age, then it’s entirely appropriate.

If however, they are standing in front of you white faced, shaking, with their eyes as wide as saucers and  rolling round in their heads then they probably mean, “Ahm a feart.’

Got it yet?

Meaning: I’m scared.

Tune in for another Lanky dialect lesson soon.

Happy Christmas  everyone. Just to get you in the mood, here are a couple of photos of Mrs Woofy in her Christmas scarf from when it was snowing last week.

Snowy lane
Mrs Woofy in her new Christmas scarf

Extreme DIY


Day one of the ‘Big Easter Weekend DIY Fest’ got underway yesterday. Most of the day was spent on my knees cleaning out the moss and stones from the cobbles ready for flooding them with cement.

Now, hold on a minute. Before you start screeching “Whaaaat, covering cobbles with cement, you heathen!”  Lets understand each other. These particular cobbles, or more accurately, stones, are an accident waiting to happen.

They are on the downhill slope between the stables and the outside loo and are at all heights and angles and how no-one has broken an ankle on them before now is a mystery to me. When they’re wet they get very slippery and I for one will be glad, and just a little a bit sad since they’ve been there since 1850, to see the back of them.

Admittedly cement isn’t the prettiest material to use but the idea was that the top of the tops would just poke through and it would retain some of it’s rustic charm. The other thing we thought was that when we do put the house back on the market, horse owners would find it a lot easier for getting their equine buddies up to the bridleway if they had a smoothish path to walk up.

Y’see, there is method to my madness. Forward thinking.

Anyway. The method for applying said cement, as described by Don the farmer up the lane: “Nah sithee, mek it reight sloppy and flood it, poo-er id all oo’er an brush i din wi’ a broom an it’ll be reight.”

Relaying this instructions to Boofuls I could see that he wasn’t seeing it as a viable plan, “Poo-er id in…. er… I mean, pour it in? Really sloppy? Are you sure?  Should we not trowel it in.?”

“Nope. It’ll take forever, Let’s just try it his way.”

Boofuls mixed it all up, kept adding water and looking at me worriedly.

“Go on, more water, we want soup not mash.”

Eventually the first batch was ready and out from the cement mixer poured a thick, porridgey, gloopy mess. “Now, Boofuls, when I said we wanted ‘soup’ I really meant consomme not clam chowder.”

We used brooms to sweep it all , as well as we could since it really was thicker than we thought,  into the crevices and holes. We could see that the plan had potential but as for the tops of the stones popping through well, nah. They were buried as soon as we started to sweep. Maybe we should just pour it in and let it settle.

The trouble is that once cement’s on, well, it’s on. You can’t really take it off and start again. We should have the technique right by the time we get to the bottom of the  20 yards stretch to be covered (hopes).

We (Boofuls) mixed up another  batch,  adding loads more water to it. This time the mixer dispatched a lovely thin liquid that poured exactly where we wanted it to and swept out beautifully. I think this might just work!

What a shame that we ran out of sand and cement at that point. I was secretly pleased though as I ached in places that I didn’t know could ache. This morning I’m walking round with a very unusual gait, a bit like a cowboy with a dowager hump. Standing upright is more than a bit tricky, my back and thighs are killing me. I’m not used to this bending down lark.

We’re in for more of the same today, if the rain stays away.

The plan was to get to B & Q by 8.00 am for more sand and cement but it’s 8.15 now and Boofuls hasn’t surfaced yet.

As well as doing the cementing he spent most of yesterday strimming,  mowing, working on the new workshop door he’s building, fixing and generally being a very busy bee.

I think I might let him lie in a bit longer, eh?