Tag Archives: regional accents


Being born and bred in Littletown as she was I suppose that it was inevitable that despite half of her family coming from outside the area Munki was going to pick up the local accent.

It wasn’t too bad while she was at nursery school but once she started at ‘big’ school the full Littletown accent has come to the fore. Oh Dear Lord.


Only last week she was telling me about a beautiful hoe-ass she’d seen.

“A beautiful WHAT?!?!?

“Hoe-ass, Nanny.”

“Did you mean ‘horse?”

“That’s what I said, hoe-ass.”

“No. You said hoe-ass. Try saying horse.”

Quick as a flash she replied, “Ok Nanny, I know what to say: “Pony!”

Clever clogs. Had she not pronounced it as pawny it would have been hysterical.

She really has a a veritable smorgasbord of witty and clever comebacks. Not bad for a five year old. I always used to tell Lashes that one day she’d have to deal with a child like herself and I’d stand back and laugh and laugh while reminding her that she was exactly the same at that age. Well. Here it is. Retribution time, Lashes! Heh. Funny isn’t it how what goes around comes around? God help us all when MUnki’s fifteen. Then she’ll be witty, clever AND have an attitude as well as have the ability to come up with a really reasoned argument as to why we should allow her to something completely unreasonable.

Anyway, let’s put the ghost of Christmas future back in it’s box and return to the present day: Munki’s little Littletownisms, while they usually make me laugh also assault my ears and make them bleed a bit when I hear them.

It’s not long ago that she was telling me that one of her friends had a toe itch that they’d taken to skoowul. “A toe itch? Have they got athletes foot?” “GNAW NANNY!! A toe-itch!! To shine a light with.”

“A torch! Why didn’t you say so?”

The word ‘more’ has turned into ‘mowah’ ‘short’ has turned into ‘show-ert’ Just about every single syllable word has had an extra syllable added but on the other hand letters, and in fact whole words, are frequently left out of sentences. For example: ‘I’m going bed now.’ GAAAAHHH ‘TO’ bed!I’m going TO bed. It’s not difficult!!

Recently I heard: “I keep getting texies “It took just about all the resolve I had not to walk over and quietly whisper ‘texts’ in her ear. It’s not unusual in shops and pubs to hear people asking for a packet of crisp. Crisp? Crisp what? Do you mean crisps? No wonder visitors from outside of the area think all northerners are thick.

Moving on before I bust a blood vessel:

I popped into the local beauty salon for an eyebrow wax and tint. Due to my unusually tender and delicate skin I ended up with my poor eyebrow area all red and swollen. Not only that but the beautician had obviously misunderstood when I said I like my brows arched and gave me at the whole McDonald’s golden arch shape – except in dark brown, not gold. That would be silly. I left the salon looking like a sad clown with my big semicircular brows and red face.

When I got home Boofuls took one look at me and asked me why I got my eyebrows waxed and tinted. “To make them more prominent and frame my face.” “Mission accomplished” he said in a scathing tone and just walked off, leaving me standing there now looking and feeling like a sad clown. Harsh.


I’d better start polishing

Occasionally, I pick up my business phone just to check that it’s still working. I sit next to it for hours and hours which turn into days and days when it doesn’t ring. Well, not till I leave the room to go for a pee …. ahem, I mean until I find myself indisposed, then the bugger’ll ring alright.

One such occasion was yesterday. I quickly ran back downstairs to attempt to catch the caller  and avoid committing that heinous business crime of  letting the phone ring  more than three times before answering it or  the answering machine kicking in.

It infuriates me when I’ve dashed downstairs, leapt off the last three steps while holding onto the bannister,  thus gaining  momentum  enabling me to swing round the corner and land on the ground running, skidded across the tiles in the dining room, jumped over the cat who stands there not knowing which way to run and thinking he’s just about to die as I career towards him at a rate of knots, tripped over the office chair which is invariably in the way and  made a lunge for the phone to  get  there just as the machine answers and the caller  hangs up, leaving me to hastily and breathlessly dial 1471 to get a ‘the caller withheld their number’ message. Gaaaahhhhh!!

Who needs to go to a gym when you can have exercise as good as that at home?

Still, at least this particular caller left a message. It was only the a local business organisation wanting me to do a talk at the International Women’s  Day event in March!

Oh my Gawd!

How many years since I last did any public speaking?  At least eight. In those days I was talking about personal presentation skills, stuff I had been very well trained in –  and I knew my subject inside out. Easy peasy.

This time they want me to do an inspirational talk for the business women of tomorrow. Crap!

Oh well, I’ve got a month to make something up do my research and put together a well informed, interesting and entertaining speech. I’d better set to polishing up my public speaking skills. I’ll start now with some of the elocution and enunciation exercises  my Mum used to drum into us when we were kids.


How now brown cow.  Unfortunately, with a strong Lancashire accent it sounds more like;  Ti reet y ‘ewd  cew?

The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain,  or more coloquially:   T’ rain i’ t’ Spain falls mainly o’ t’ plain (don’t forget to flatten all the A’s until they’re pancake shaped ).

Around the rugged rocks the ragged rascal ran. or:  Rahnd  yon rugged rocks t’ scruffy bastid  legged it.

Don’t forget to practice regularly!

Can you hear that slight whirring noise? That’s my Mum spinning in her grave faster than a large hadron collider.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch,  it’s been an interesting weekend for the clingons.

All three of them did their dance exams yesterday. Munki was the youngest one ever to do an exam at the ripe old age of three years and two months. Aaaw, she did the birdie dance and by all accounts did a pretty good job of it as well. We’d all been thinking that she’d refuse to perform or just walk off the dance floor when she’d had enough or have a tantrum. The potential for disaster was enormous but on the day she pulled it out of the hat and performed beautifully. Batty and Dangerous went along in the afternoon to dance with her after having done their exams in the morning.

Everyone was feeling pretty pleased with themselves so I’m looking forward to seeing high marks and good feedback. As for Boofuls and me, having completely lost our enthusiasm for dancing when our teacher became ill, we have finally booked a lesson with his co teacher because  not dancing was just leaving too big a hole in my life and I couldn’t stand it any longer. Dance teacher himself has made an amazing recovery and is now regaining his health and his strength at a rate far faster than anyone would ever have believed possible.  Welcome back to the land of the living, Teach.

Leave it airt!

You may not know this but my Boofuls is a southerner, or as northern folks say, ‘poncey southerner’.  He hasn’t lived in the south for many years though and has largely lost his southern accent. The odd ‘northernism’started to creep in a long time ago, although he’d never admit it, Many’s the time I’ve caught him saying  things like: “I’m going for a bath.”  at which point I gleefully reply ” Bath”? Did you say just say bath?”

“No. No. I said barth.” he  always replies in his best received pronunciation. I half expect him to say ‘Ding Dong’ at the end of a sentence and give me a saucy wink while he twirls his handlebar moustache, he sounds so much like Terry Thomas. Thankfully he doesn’t look like him though.

Source: Internet
Source: Internet

Southern accents, to a born and bred northerner, are generally to be treated with suspicion, in fact anyone with a southern accent is considered to be one of four  things in the north:

1. Poncey

2. Posh

3. Cockney or if male, ‘a cockney bastard’

4. A villain or royalty, there are no levels in between

Boofuls isn’t any of those things, in fact he doesn’t even come from London never mind from within hearing distance of  Bow Bells.

Of  course for most folk ‘oop narth’ anywhere south of Birmingham is considered to be London and anyone from London is cockney.

Of course, Boofuls, as we’ve established doesn’t come from London at all, he comes from Buckinghamshire originally – which admittedly is a bit posh.

The only time Boofuls really slips back into his Buckinghamshire accent is when he’s actually in Buckingham or on the phone, which just makes Lashes and me laugh hysterically when he’s spouting such gems as, “Leave it airt.”  (Yes, well posh, that I can hear you saying). It’s a totally meaningless but overused phrase but I suppose no worse than the local teenagers’ favourite words which are ‘innit’ and ‘like’ both of which are used  be used in totally inappropriate contexts which would have had my old English teacher, Mr Hook, spinning like a top in his grave. I’m not sure I would even have dared to say ‘innit’ in his presence.  Come to think of it, I didn’t really ever dare say anything in his presence. I can only imagine his reaction if he’s heard the following  exchange between two young girls in a shop recently.

“I is totally pissed off  wiv me mum and dad, innit, like”

To be honest I wasn’t sure if I should have put a question mark at the end of that sentence because when I heard it there was an upward inflection at the end that implied she was asking a question. Poor confused girl.

My curiosity as to what her mum and dad had done to piss her  off so monumentally that she felt the need to broadcast it at full volume  to her friend in a town centre store rather took second place to my curiosity about how a young girl girl born and raised in Lancashire managed to pick up a New York gangsta rap accent. Innit.

But anyway, back to the plot:

Munki has realised that Grandad, or Gangand, as she likes to call him, doesn’t sound like the rest of us. It turns out that Munki is turning into quite the mimic. She’s got her mockney accept off to a tee. Here’s her impersonation of Boofuls.

Don’t worry, I’m well aware that other peoples’ kids aren’t the least bit interesting so it’s only eight seconds long.

Just in case you need a translation it’s “leave it airt, leave it airt. Come and ride the hel’er skel’er.”

You have to love a regional accent

I’m keeping this one short for Peewee Winklepop who has the attention span of a gnat at the moment, and the fact that I’m knackered after spending the afternoon trying to put the studio back into some sort of workable order before tomorrow’s shoot.

Popping over to the snack bar across the road at lunchtime for a plastic plateful of chips, gravy and melted cheese (wonder why I’m not losing weight?) an old codder of a chap complete with flat cap, raincoat, clogs, scarf, the works,  rudely pushed past me as I was leaving the shop,  muttering and glaring at me balefully he declared for no obvious reason:

” Si thi, a  thewt  thad cloo-esdoo-er on mi.”

Feel free to leave your guesses as to what the translation is in RP English in the comments section. There will be a prize of  um, nothing for the  closest guess.

Anyone who gets it absolutely right will win a small amount of admiration for a short time, say about two minutes?

Burning the candle at both ends

Light candle at both ends, step back and wait till it extinguishes itself. Shouldn’t take too long. In my case about three days.

It was 1am when I got to bed Thursday after a loooooong magical mystery tour home from Dewsbury courtesy of motorway closures.

Midnight Friday night courtesy of a bottle of cava and a hot tub

1am last night courtesy of 20  ish people, not all of whom I knew, turning up at our house for a karaoke party – a good excuse to continue bezzie mates and my birthday celebrations.

Today I am officially knackered, pooped, exhausted and completely burnt out.

I’m normally such a clean living girl, in bed by 10pm and up with the lark all I can say today is, “blueeeergghhh.”

So was it all worth it, bloody hell, YES!!!

Last night particularly was the most fun we’ve had since  um, since…….well – last weekend!!  Everyone from 7 year olds to 50 somethings all got up to join in the fun. There was much laughing going on, I was assured it was ‘with me’ and not ‘at me’ while I was rocking to Fall Out Boys ‘Going down swinging.’ Sigh. I can’t even blame alcohol, I hardly touched a drop last night. Not only that but I shouldn’t even know music like that at my age – I’m a disgrace to grandmotherhood!.

Here’s me rocking and playing air guitar to the instrumental bit in the middle. The chap looking at me  a bit scared and more than  a bit bemused has only met me a couple of times before. As his partner’s Mum’s bezzie mate ( got it?) I’m not sure I’m quite what he expected, I think he was expecting more of a twin set and pearls type person. Ha! WRONG!

Not so much 'Rock Chic' as 'Old Boiler'

A picture of sophistication and sartorial elegance, yes?

Ok. No.

At some point I suppose I’ll grow up.

You’d be amazed at the number of people who ask if I’m drunk when they see me larking about.   “Just high on life, baby.”  My younger sister, S is the same and she’s teetotal!!  It doesn’t take a lot to get us giddy.

Towards the end of the evening my sister S (different sister ‘S’) asked a young girl who was an AMAZING singer what her name was.

Here comes a tale about  one of the subjects that I LOVE: regional accents. I so wish I’d finished my degree in linguistics all those years ago. Language  and especially regional accents absolutely fascinate me. Yes, yes, I know how sad that is; there’s no need to point it out, thank you.

What?  Why did I not finish it?

Well, it was because I’d got all the compulsory units out of the way, you know, the syntax and yawny stuff. Next I was about to start a unit on historical linguistics to be followed by a study of regional accents. The only tutor went off for open heart surgery and was never seen again. It all got a bit messy after that and I moved on to other things.  anyway, back to the plot:

Sister S asked Young Girl  what her name was.  Young girl, Jodie,  replied in a broad lancashire accent:


Sister S ( in Brum acent) : Geordie? That’s an unusual nime, izzinit?

Jodie: Gnaaaaaw!  Not Geoooooordie.  JAWDEH!

Sister S. Ow now {oh no}  don’t you speak funny, Jowdai!

HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!!!!!!!  OK, I suppose you really needed to be there.

Of course with my, mostly Lancashire, ‘leaning slightly towards Welsh with occasional forays into Buckinghamshire’ overtones, no one ever has any trouble understanding me (much).

My hens went off to their new home yesterday – the freezer.


I’ve given them to a woman who is just starting out with poultry keeping. It has been really odd today, I keep feeling like I’ve forgotten to do something because I haven’t had to run down the garden in my dressing gown to let them out and feed them, then again later in the day (not usually in my dressing gown at this point) to give them their evening meal and  later again to shut them in at night. Why have I given them away? You’ve just read the answer, A lot of work for a few eggs.  The farmer up the road has exactly the same hens and free range eggs, I can get them without all the hassle, why didn’t I think of it before?

Loving my new car. Did I say it was a grand voyager? That was a dirty rotten lie, it’s a grand vitara, not as prestigious but I love it.

The clingons are staying with me tonight, we’ve just been watching, ‘Cloudy with a chance of meatballs’ funny film. I’m not normally a fan of animated films but I really enjoyed it.

Now I’m off to bed to get an earlyish night.  TTFN.