I kept meaning to write my last, goodbye Mons post, and then life got in the way and I kept forgetting, and then I couldn't think of anything worth writing, so just left it.
I am appreciative of my lazy nature now, as I can write this final, last goodbye Mons post.
I've been back in the UK now for three weeks, and I have a job selling insurance over the phone. It's a world away from trotting to the laundrette every other week, and I would not be hard pressed to tell you which lifestyle I preferred. But time ticks inexorably on, and I knew the Mons adventure wouldn't last forever.
My last missive to you documents the happenings of last night. I went out in Canterbury with Alana, and as the night drew to a close we found ourselves meandering towards the Loft, as the DJ there had caught Alana's eye and she wanted another look. Two chaps behind us commented at the speed of our meanderings, and Alana politely asked them why they didn't just overtake - we were walking down a street that could comfortably fit six or seven people walking in a row. One of them said something in response, but what he actually said was lost underneath his bizarre accent.
There is a funny bit Eddie Izzard does, about the bad guys in Bond films having unrecogniseable accents. 'What is your accent?' Eddie's impeccable impression of Bond asks. 'I hev it stuk on shiop demonsraation' says his villain.
If you've seen the sketch to which I refer, you'll understand. If not, I expect that was thoroughly confusing. I apologise. Basically, his accent was all over the place, starting in South Africa, skimming across to India, touching on Spanish and ending up in Abba.
Not unreasonably, Alana and I accused him of making up an accent. As we had previously pretended to be a lesbian couple on our first date to avoid the attentions of an over amourous builder, we weren't judging, we just wanted to know the truth.
'Ay em not mekin thees accent up,' he told us in confusion. 'Whet diu yiu myean?'
'It just sounds made up,' we told him. 'Where are you from?'
'Wheyere diu yiu theenk?' he asked.
Lana guessed South Africa. I went for Dutch, having confused those accents in the past. He said Dutch was close, so I guessed Sweden. Nope, but close. My geography all but exhausted, Alana took the lead, and guessed a host of countries that I've only heard about on Eurovision. Finally, she shrugged her shoulders.
'I dunno. Belgium?'
'Yeeeyes!' he cried gleefully. "Ey em frem Brussels!'
'She lived in Mons!' Alana said, pointing at me.
He looked at me with a bemused expression.
That question is one many people have asked, and I didn't feel like explaining to a drunk Belge dressed as a cowboy. Instead I tried to wow him with my French. He looked even more confused.
'I don't think that means what you think it means," he said. 'Did you mean to ask me whether I sell binbags?'
One more night
1 week ago