I am not very good at accents. If I ask someone which part of Ireland they come from, they are more than likely to say Glasgow, or if asked about Scotland, Belfast.
Some people find that odd as I have a good ear for music, but remembering my school days, foreign languages like French and German did not come easy to me…… at all.
In the early days of our marriage, we used to go on camping holidays. It was just us in the beginning having lost Kiz, so we had a little pup tent, and would cosy up together at night making sure we didn’t touch the sides.
Cornwall was a favourite, and we’d found a nice site with shower block, swimming pool, cafe and entertainment Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights.
It was on a Thursday night that we got talking to a couple about our age, or should I say, we listened and nodded or laughed in hopefully all the right places as we didn’t understand a word they said most of the time.
I couldn’t even tell you their names now, but they seemed to find us good company, and found my broad Dorset accent highly amusing.
They joined us on Friday evening too, and things weren’t much better. It’s very difficult trying to make conversation with someone who is full of life and animated, but speaking in a different language. Occasionally something would make sense, and I was hoping that perhaps we were getting used to them, although the female half of this double act was easier to understand than the male. Luckily though, laughter is the same in any language, and the act on stage were entertaining in not just a comedy routine, but musically talented too.
They left on the Saturday morning, though we had another week to go.
We parted company, wishing them well, getting hugs and cheek kisses in our farewells.
When we asked if they had far to travel, we understood their reply of Yorkshire perfectly.