Sunday, 26 June 2016

A Reight Yorkshire Lass

January - 14th
Saturday Night Baby - Best Night Ever!
I haven’t been out for absolutely ages. I’ve either been stuck in here trying to be somebody I’m not or worse imprisoned in the Flannigan’s Lilliputian mansion with their vain (more like veins) guests christened pretentious names such as Rupert, Albert, Dagbert, Ansbert and loads of other erts, that quite frankly make a weekend at the third annual cabbage fest seem entertaining – this was not my idea of how I would be spending my flirty thirties.
I’ll have to make tonight count though. Don’t know when I’ll get out again.
I can’t wait to see my friends – mi mates (James Flannigan, my bf, call these common utterances Freudian slips. Says it reveals who I really am. I’m a Yorkshire lass born and bred; strong in’t arm, thick in’t ed, but he gets mad when I say things like this so I don’t say them anymore; I don’t really say much of anything anymore.) James can be a complete arse sometimes but I just blame his mother, makes it easier to tolerate him.
Seriously though when you’re from Yorkshire you seem to spend your adult life trying desperately to shed the accent if you ever want to be taken seriously at least once throughout your entire lifetime and avoid being stereotyped as a porn-tashy farmer (yes women too) who get up to far more with the livestock than just milking and shearing, and that your brother is yer dad and his sister is yer mam.
James Flannigan is different though. His parents paid for elocution lessons. Unfortunately the inbred accent, words, sayings and phrases that the rest of us have spent years trying to turn into ones that will enable us to mix with people outside of Yorkshire (to be fair not that many escape) eventually slip out. Our neural pathways are just too hardwired – probably from the clap cold weather – and there’s just no getting away from it. We always revert back, especially in times of stress.
I will not be worrying about my linguistic capabilities tonight though. For the first weekend in over a year, I will be amongst my own kind. I will show mi mates that they are wrong about me changing and turning into somebody I am not and that I can still be fun even though I do have a serious boyfriend now. I will prove to all and sundry that my spark is, as ever, still very much ignited, on fire even, and ready to throw out some serious flames – especially to that little bitch Harriet Harper.