Ahhh….here we are, back with my Oma. I just sit here and chill, in my crib, with my peeps.
Cor blimey this one can talk. Reminds me of my nanny payne. blah blah blah blah blah. Gee I am comfy though.
….just so so comfy. ooh I might just…yawn…close me peepers for a bit. No one will see cause my Oma’s just so chatty….blah blah blah blah blah blah….
My guess is Annie-Rose’s internal dialogue went something like this….
“dum de dum de dum…what are these five wiggle things I have here?? dupe de dupe de dupe…they must have a purpose….ho ho ho hum…oooh whats this big dribbly hole on my face….boup de boo….aha, wiggley things in here, one two three…hmmm, still a wiggley thing left…ahhhh up my snose! check it! I’m so clever mama”
Our accents are under attack since being back in blighty. Neither of us can seem to pronounce anything correctly and Pete’s been accused, by those that know him best, for having a Kiwi twang! outrageous. I think we are having a case of a severe identity crisis.
Yesterday we were driving through Sonning and we passed a forge, or a sign that said ‘Forge’ and Pete turns to me and says,
“ahh, there’s the ferge” as though he were Irish.
then he looked all bewildered and says, '’FERGE, Ferge?”
'”what did we pass?'” says I
“A forge, FORGE!” he says
We drive on for a bit until I says,
“You might want to roll down your window, I just Ferged”
hahahaha. Is that funny in translation? It was funny in the car. But things seriously keep coming out wrong and in abundance. And worse, I find myself putting on a British accent when I’m mocking something, it sounds very disrespectful and is entirely unintentional. But at least my British accent sounds British, unlike my French accent I do to sound like Elisabeth that comes out Indian. I would be the worst actress ever.
