‘Divided By A Common Language’

A few humorous language ‘difficulties’ on WP prompted this ditty from me. A conversation about kilts and pants. And it wasn’t for the first time that comments with a fellow blogger took on a whole other meaning. Google doesn’t translate English to American or vice versa. Not that I know of.

 

Take a stroll on your sidewalk, my pavement,

Watch your ass or my arse on the kerb

Mind out for your trash and my rubbish

Our differences should not perturb

The fact that your fanny’s a bottom

While ours is a word I can’t say

And a name of a female or eejit

Irn Bru captured in ad for some days.

Your diapers are nappies, our trousers your pants,

Our pants are your underwear,

Your shit is our shite, but fuck is still fuck,

Good lord, it’s confusing, I swear!

You might wear a rubber, while I’d just erase,

And your fag’s not my cigarette,

Your sneakers are trainers, my randy your horny

Your buns are not iced/frosted as yet.

Your shag’s not my shag, cos ours copulates

While yours is a dance, I believe.

Your fries are my chips, your chips are my crisps

One language? Who would conceive?

I’ve been wasted; so touched by the pleasure,

Of words kindly said by a blogger.

On telling this truth she thought I was pished/pissed

Or high. It’s becoming a bugger

That words that I say with a smile and a nod

May be viewed with a frown or with glee,

While my reading here still guesses at some

Expressions not heard on TV.

I love it. It’s charming. It’s funny.

Like a joke that no one has used,

Except when we’re chatting and we each say a phrase

That leaves the other aghast, flummoxed/confused.

I’m thinking that we might need translations

To pass off the comments so jolly

A dictionary perhaps, in my boot or your trunk

Or maybe your cart or my trolley.

So before slagging off my sayings

Or I laugh at your craziest of phrase,

It might just be that like you, like me,

There are differences in all of our ways.

So Slainte to the Irish, the English,

Canadians, Scots, Aussies, the Welsh,

To the US of A and whose other Anglais

Is confused by our distinct vocal cords.

I’m all for the accents, the flavour,

The taste of a word said in prose

Or poesy fine, straight or in rhyme,

Though it helps if we sort out our codes. (zip or post)

 

 

Bear in mind when watching this that for us, well for me and my crew, this is not a word we would use in common parlance unless in the unlikely event that we met some female by this name. Or maybe, occasionally, if we were humorously calling someone an eejit/idiot/tosser.

On first hearing it in my living room, with some of my kids there, I was speechless. As were they. Then we fell about laughing. It was the talk of the place afterwards, everyone asking everyone else if they’d seen the new Irn Bru advert. Doesn’t take much to make us laugh! And Irn Bru’s very tasty too. Although it still wouldn’t persuade me to call any wean Fanny.

 

 

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Sane With A Touch Of Mad

So here was I earlier congratulating myself on having two ‘sensible’ daughters now in flats. Knowing how to take care of themselves. And budget. Grown up stuff.

The phone call I received last night just after midnight from the sexual health clinic did make me laugh. I thought it must be one of my sixteen year old daughter’s friends who’d been here last night. I must admit, in the earliest seconds of the phone call, I was going, ‘Who? What! When?’ Doubting my own sanity, you know? But I did chuckle. They said they were sorry for phoning me so late at night and would call back the next day!

Turns out several other people were laughing for different reasons.

Someone thought they had won a holiday.

One was obviously slightly concerned that Yahoo had contacted them to report suspicious activity on their account with the threat of a jail term where ‘you know what’ might happen.

Apparently, the one referring to, how shall I say this, love of animals, particularly on a Saturday night, caused some hilarity to the young man in question.

Her future mother-in-law was questioned about being an illegal immigrant with threats that if she didn’t do the conga and post it on Facebook she’d be spending some time in Barlinnie at her majesty’s pleasure.

Now I know that my daughter has a rather weird sense of humour at times but she’s 24 for crying out loud.

I blame it on the stress of being a nurse. They like to let their hair down now and again. Oh, and alcohol too, obviously. 😉

But at least she did apologise.

“ I would like to apologise to anyone who may have been affected by my antics last night. Some individuals may require a more formal apology but due to the nature of the behaviours I’m unsure who these people are.. If you feel you fall into this category please do not hesitate in contacting me directly. Thank you.

Ps dear vodka we are overrrr!”

Her equally ‘aged’ friend has just facebooked me an apology

“Eh yeh I think I did do a shift at the sexual health clinic last night, sorry!”

Young ones, eh?

It’s been ages since I’ve done that. What an old fart I now am. 😦

Preconceptions

Ah’m no’ hard.

Ah’m no’ even that tough.

Bit ye see, Ah come fae Glesca,

So that seems tae be enough,

To send some people scurrying

Right off their mark,

Terrified I’ll chib them,

Attack them in the dark.

Bit ye see, it’s jist an accent,

‘Cos ah come fae this place

Jist lik you’ve got wan,

Mibbe nicer. Bit still an accent.

An’ a face.

Ah could dae Irish fur ye,

That sounds awright.

Ah’ve always liked that yin,

‘Cos it disnae gie ye a fright.

Or mibbe the Highlands cos

They sing a wee song,

Makes ye want tae dance

As if ye belang.

Or ‘ow about ze French?

I ‘ope eet’s not too bad

Been a leetle while seence I practeesed

So eet might sound a trifle mad.

But ah’m no’ fae they places

Ah’m fae Glesca, awright?

An’ ma voice is jist a voice

Wi’ an accent that’s no’ too polite.

A helluva wie tae judge people though,

Lookin’ at faces an’

Listenin’ as if ye could know

Whit they’re aboot,

Like ye know them so well,

Rubbish that is,

A terrible wie tae foretell

A person’s character, their

Values, their worth.

Makin’ judgements ‘cos folk are different.

Who dis that kinda stuff?

Ah’m no’ hard, ah’m tellin’ ye,

Jist a Glesca lassie that’s aw.

Inherited my accent

Fae ma da an’ ma maw.

Bit they always tellt me,

No matter yer station,

‘mind yer as good

As the rest ae the nation.

A message ah learnt

When ah wis jist wee

No’ tae judge others

‘cos ae where they’re fae.

 

Guilt Trip – Mark ll

Strictly speakin’, this isnae actually a new post ‘cos it’s the wan ah posted yisturday!  Guilt Trip

Bu’ a few folk huv commented oan ma video readins an’ ah think that they aw think that that’s the wiy ah talk aw the time. An’ it’s no’.

So, ahm offerin’ an alternative here fur yer delights. If ye kin make oot wit ahm sayin’ then good fur you! You’re a linguist ae soarts.

Translation:_

Strictly speaking, this isn’t actually a new post because it is yesterday’s post!

But, a few people have commented on my video readings and I think that they all think that that’s the way I speak all the time! But it’s not.

So, I’m offering an alternative here for your delights. If you can make out what I’m saying then good for you! You’re a linguist of sorts.

Guilt Trip Mark ll

 

On A Theme

I’m definitely no’ gettin’ wan’ ae these.    An’ who sez ah huv an accent?

 

Your Voice

Your voice is quite mellifluous

In my imagination

It washes clear across my pores

And takes me to your nation.

It may be one like Hugh of Oz

That melts and quivers knees,

Or could be spoken like a kiss

That touches, breathes with ease.

It could be a Canadian

Or US dialect,

It could be Scots or Irish

With a something in its fleck.

It could be just my hearing

That warms to accents so.

It may be just the words you say

That cause ears and heart to glow.