The Squaddie's back, having dumped his Arabian Prince somewhere in the Seychelles. "I told him he was a spoilt child and terrible in bed. He threatened to call security, so I slapped his arse and got a plane home. Miss me?"I still don't know what to make of the Squaddie. He chain smokes, drinks red wine from the bottle, but likes foreign films and caviar. And his Dundee accent grinds like a waste disposal unit (I wish I could attempt to report it - can Fawkes help?).
He pops round after work, his workbag containing a laptop and a collar-and-chain. "Oh, it's not for you," he mumbles, "Got myself a slave last night."
For some stupid reason I tell him about my horrific slave-dating experience, and he laughs. "You don't kiss 'em, you daft twat, you just tell them what to do and they love it. This one was a nice young architect, so he'd even got the sling hooks in his living room. I trussed him up, beat his arse with a paddle, and made myself at home with his drinks cabinet. After an hour he begged me to stuff some love beads up his arse, but I looked at them and they were the size of cricket balls and I thought fuck that and said 'You've been bad slave, you don't deserve it,' and made myself another drink. He loved it."
Sometimes I feel I'm a GCSE mind in an A Level world.
6 comments:
Ah so this explains the sudden jump in my web traffic!
Sure, fit ye needin' translated? Mine it isnae called Scumdee far nae reason!
That is, as ever, amazing. Do you Scots just learn to do that when you grow up?
No, don't laugh - it's an almost serious question from someone who's wishing they paid more attention during Linguistics lectures. Is it a transcribed phonetic dialect, a pidgin, or just clever typing?
Emm... we're taught to speak the Queen's English in school, the only Scots we really ever did was when we're made to learn a poem for Burns Nicht.
So when you're transcribing the dialect it can get a little confuggling 'cause you just have to go with the phonetic sounds of the word, as the original Scots spelling is long gone out of use.
However I often translate in my head English words into their Scots equivalent automatically when reading something, which is sometimes easier than when it it written in say Doric for example.
Thank you. Brilliant.
Of course, after a month in Scotland, the urge to start speaking in the accent was almost unbearable. But I stopped myself, which is a mercy.
Posh Southern Boy can never hide his true voice. No matter how much he wants to. *sigh*
You've never heard me try and do a Welsh accent have you? It explains why I'm no longer allowed in.
Just your Confidential accent...
oh god that? For some reason I slow down on camera. You should hear the DVD commentary I did. I finally plucked up the courage to listen the other night.
I was vodka numb, but it was still horrid listening to Tim Nice-But-Fucking Dim bleat on: "gosh yeah but isn't that just amazing!"
I began to dread that at any moment I'd say "pukkah" or something equally unforgivable.
I've never forgotten chatting someone up once and being told, "Pity about your voice."
But what's so wrong about getting off with someone who sounds like the Shipping Forecast?
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