A beginning, and British accents.

Hi there, and welcome to the first edition of my new blog. Hopefully, this should be a weekly thing, or at least, if not precisely weekly, something I update semi-regularly. My reasons for writing this are three-fold: firstly, it gives me something to work on while I’m avoiding both my college work and writing my book, secondly, it means I’m exercising my incredible writing talents on something other than an account of my holiday, and thirdly, to give you all an insight into my sick little mind. You may, or, as probably will be the case, may not enjoy it, but that’s not important.

Oh, quick disclaimer. I may come off as slightly fascist at times here, or at least, anti-working classes. Well, I’m not. Simply trying to play Devil’s Advocate, which I love, and make you think about the issue. Everyone who knows me knows that it’s hippies and Commies that I hate. So very, very much.

So, without further ado, let’s get started. For the subject of my auspicious first blog, I chose a subject dear to my heart: the British accent. Or, rather, accents. Yes, Americans, there’s more than one. We don’t all speak of tea and crumpets and cricket. Well, a lot of people speak about cricket, but it doesn’t sound posh, as you’d generally expect.

The reason I chose this subject to start on is rather a selfish one, but that’s OK, because it’s my blog. So there. You see, beloved readers, I work in a Chinese takeaway. That might be somewhat surprising for people who see me in the street, but whenever any questions about my appearance come up, I just explain that I’m Chinese-Irish. Anyway, in the Godforsaken part of the world that is Norfolk, there exists the most horrific accent, or more properly, dialect, known to man. Even worse than the stereotypical Southern American ‘Get’im, Pa!’ that so many people cringe at. This page should give you a rough idea of what I’m dealing with: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Norfolk_dialect. Now, being something of a stickler for proper grammar, you can imagine how it grates on my nerves having the majority of people talking like that. Especially since they all feel that since you work in a Chinese takeaway, you must be somehow deficient, so they all speak rather slowly and (supposedly) clearly to me, to help the poor mentally handicapped boy figure out what they want to eat. Excuse me? Am I the one who speaks as if they’re in their third inbred generation? Is it my fault that, despite having lived in the same area pretty much all my life, I cannot decipher this butchering of the English language? Oh, and it gets worse. Anyone who doesn’t speak the Norfolk accent who comes into my takeaway is usually either Scouse or Scottish. Two more accents that, broadly, I cannot understand for the life of me! It’s as if there’s some huge cosmic joke at my expense.

OK, rant over. I come (eventually) to my point. I was reading the EDP (that’s the local newspaper) the other day, and there was an article about how the Norfolk accent is dying out. Well, good, I say to myself, it’s about time. However, not only is there a campaign and a festival every year to promote further mangling of diphthongs, but it’s being replaced by Estuary English. In fact, Estuary is spreading throughout the country, and some linguists believe that it will actually replaced Received Pronunciation as ‘the’ British accent. Well, I for one will not stand for this! A nation, once proud, once rulers of pretty much all of the Earth that matters, (not you, America. Sorry, but you’re irrelevant to everyone but me) reduced to a country of chavs? Sixty million people, assuming that it spreads to Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland as well (although in the case of the first two, it would be a grudging improvement) sounding as if they wear half their own body weight in ‘bling bling’ and are all called some variant of ‘Sharon’ or ‘Gavin’? Not on my watch, Goddamnit! What of Wellington, eh? What of Nelson (who, admittedly, was from Norfolk and sounded as much of a farm-boy as that man I can see from my window on his tractor)? Would they have stood for this? Hell, no, I think the answer has to be.

Now, I know I’m infernally lucky to speak Received Pronunciation, or at least, close enough to pass for it in a bad light. I know that my accent is slightly bastardised with Sheffield, (for some reason) London, Norfolk and New England sometimes, but my voice helps me sound more intelligent than I actually am. And hey, I often slip into a reasonable Norfolk accent when I’m with my father, but that’s just his influence. But I, for one, will not put up with the chavs inheriting the Earth. My children (God help them) will be taught to speak Received Pronunciation, not only because Americans love it, (but that definitely helps) but because it’s how they should speak, and Hell, it’ll stop me from being put in jail for killing them because they uttered those abominable words, ‘am I bovvered?’ Ugh.

So, in closing, don’t believe anything that ‘Love Actually’ tells you about that guy going to America. It’s a lie, kids.

Peace out.
P.S. Feel free to email me suggestions for future blogs. Any suggestions welcome. Oh, and comment away! Keep it civil, though.