Spotted Dick, Lallands, and Rugby

I arrived back in Paris yesterday morning and had to go to England in the evening. On the bus to the plane, which at Charles de Gaulle can take as long as ten minutes, I was sitting in a corner reading my newspaper when I became intrigued by two businessmen standing next to me. They were speaking a language I didn't recognize. I am quite interested in languages, but it didn't sound like anything I had heard before. I listened and tried to pick up a word here and there-- maybe it was Latvian? or Estonian? I could tell it wasn't a Slavic language. Then a familiar English word popped up and suddenly it hit me-- they were speaking English. With such a strong regional dialect that I could not understand them unless I concentrated hard on every word. I think it was Lallands (Lowland Scots). I was so happy to hear it for the first time.

Before coming back home this evening, we had lunch in Ye Olde Thatched-Roof Pub. The dessert menu (right) featured Spotted Dick. I was afraid to ask what it is. I ordered fish and chips, which was delicious, and the others had beef pie and chicken. British hosts used to serve beef aggressively to foreign visitors during the Mad Cow scare, but now the danger has receded and so has beef.

When I came out of the parking lot, I discovered that someone had keyed a long scratch into the brand-new rented Mercedes. There was no reason, so it was probably just because it was a Mercedes. There was paint still flaking from the scratch, so it had just been done. (Rented because the idea of driving on the left with a right-hand-drive, left-handed stick shift, when I usually drive an automatic, was too much for me. This Mercedes was the cheapest automatic at the time.) It is going to cost me 170 pounds. I was in such a bad mood about the expense caused by some criminal having fun that I didn't check the trunk carefully when I returned the car at the airport, but marched off crossly to the terminal. I was about to board the plane when they called my name over the loudspeakers, and I had to go back through security to where some nice rental-car employee handed me a black bag with a big smile. I had left my money, keys and agenda in the car!

On the plane back, there were a lot of people with green hair and green curly wigs. Some of them had "London Irish" shirts on, and they had an uproarious time the whole way back to Paris. They imitated French accents and gave each other French names, including Fromage -Tête. "Non, non, Dominiiiiiique! I eensseeest!" "Mais non, Jean-Marc, eet ees for moi!" That's how I found out that Ireland is playing France in Six Nations Rugby tomorrow night at the Stade de France.

Comments

[heather]

Spotted Dick is a steamed sponge pudding - the 'spots' are sultanas. Usually served with custard - I'm not sure of the source of the name.

[D]

Yeah, gotta love the English! lol I lived in England for a bit, and a couple of people there told me that they had a hard time understanding Americans because we talk too fast. I was shocked! They also said we had bad pronunciation, which I kind of agreed with. But when it comes to accents, they are much more difficult to understand, no doubt about it!

[Sammy]

I once had a friend from Aberdeen, in Scotland who had a crazy accent like that. I always had to tell him to slow down so that I could understand.

[Sedulia]

Thanks, Heather! I always wondered what Spotted Dick was.

I love all kinds of accents. I have a linguist's approach and don't think there is such a thing as a "good" or "bad" pronunciation. It really annoys me when British people make snooty remarks like that to Americans. They are only speaking bad Saxon themselves, and very few of them could pass the test of English pronunciation with their own countrymen. Don't let them intimidate you. American English speakers have the huge advantage of a more or less classless language compared to the poor Brits who you can see analyzing each syllable of a new acquainance to see if the speaker is above or below them in status.