August 2, 2012 by kitcac
As I have said before, I am apparently a potty-mouth. I fupping well dispute this.
I went on a roadtrip today to see my chum Benno and, on reflection, I was amazed at the sheer number of times I had language difficulties.
I will number them for ease of reference, because I’m helpful like that.
1. The F Bomb
I used the F Bomb three times in a forty minute journey. Twice when my sat nav dropped off the windscreen (once was when I was going over the Thelwall viaduct, which me no likey).
The other F Bomb was dropped on a woman who dared to pull out in front of me, even though she was at least 100m away. Not really sure why I swore at her so viciously, but it might have been just because she was driving a Nissan Micra.
I feel sorry for homophones. They are often mistaken for homophobes, which are totally different.
Its not really fair on homophones because they are great fun. Well, they’re not that much fun, but they’re more fun than homophobes.
Homophones are words that sound the same but have different meanings. For instance:
You’re, your and yore
They’re, their and there
Wait and weight
The last example is the one that makes me throw my head back and cackle, rubbing my grubby hands together in glee (the emotion, not the TV show).
My second language difficulty today was in a corner shop, I was buying two bottles of pop and a Euromillions – its £163 million on Friday, get in there! Anyway, the kind young man behind the till was apologising to customers in the line for the delay.
When it was my turn, he said “I’m sorry about your wait”.
I did my best sad/gutted/close-to-tears face and said “I’m not really thrilled about it either and I’m trying to lose some, but I HAVE just had a baby.”
The poor lad was mortified. My chum Benno did a little wee and they had to put up a yellow triangle sign so other customers would not fall foul of the slippery surface.
In a different shop, I was chatting away to J-Wop. He’s quite easy to entertain and laughs his head off at the word “Hello”.
For reasons unknown to me, I was saying hello in an Irish accent. I didn’t even realise it until I’d said it about ten times.
It was apparent that the shop assistant had been amused by my sudden change of accent from when she served me, as I had switched from the beautiful lilting Chorley accent to Irish.
Also for reasons unknown to me, I then proceeded to talk to the shop assistant about Roland Rat. Yes, you read that right.
Then I did his voice.
I said “Rat Faaaaaaaans” to a woman I do not know.
Then I walked out of the shop reinstating my Irish accent and shouted “Oi’ll be going now, Oi’m off back to Dublin, to be sure”
Do not let me out of the house. And if I get out of the house, do not let me open my mouth. Who knows what might slip out.