Engerland

I'm away to the southern wastes of Engerland this week to enjoy my godson, Aaron. It's always a surprise to be confronted with the accent and idiom down there. "Awight?", they ask and I make the mistake of taking this literally, replying in kind, "Yes, I am quite well, thank you very much for enquiring. And how is your health and that of your family?". But the proper response is, "Awight, mite? Gimme a triple bacon cheeseburger", back.

They really talk like that, Engerlish folk, except my old friend D.. A migrant to Hackney of 20 years standing and still broad Embra, since she continues to roll an R and enunciate vowels no one in Landan can understand a word. I will get to meet her chubby 5-month old Aaron, attend bottles, baths and nappies, bury my nose in baby hair smell and hopefully get a wee hold again of a sleeping babby. You can't buy that stuff; it can only be earned.