Accents are amazing, aren’t they? I am from the pit area of Durham and, while the rest of England will think I am a Geordie, I’m not. I speak pitmatic. At the age of eighteen, I decided I didn’t want to speak like that anymore and, after about seven years of making sue my ‘ing’ words ended in ’ing’ instead of ‘n (‘going’ instead of ‘go-un’), I thought I had cracked it. Once a year, the ‘un’ sound would appear and I would choke on the pronunciation. Now, aged sixty three, people still think I am a Geordie and, oh, how I wished I hadn’t changed the way I was going to speak. I think it is ‘ahm’ sound I make for ‘I’m’ that still makes me a Geordie, so to speak and I’m pleased that the sign is still there.
But accent never truly leaves you. I’ve been living in Spain for ten years and am just in the process of returning to God’s country yet, five years ago, in Spain, I began talking with a man who was definitely from my neck of the woods and, within fifteen minutes, I was back there with ‘aye’, ‘man and even ‘traa (bye-bye)’. A great experience. I hadn’t lost it at all but simply hidden it away. I’ll soon be back there in god old County Durham and back to being my real self. Yippee!