This is a familiar theme for true faith but still, there are few things more grating than an aspirant Geordie attempting to ameliorate his/her hard vowels with the adoption of what can only be described as the “Scenty Bottle” twang. We return to this subject with no apologies. It is evil and needs to be confronted. This is a modern phenomenon adopted by such massive whoppers from our own lands as Robson Green, Jimmy fucking bastard Nail, the twat Sting, the minger Denise Welch and every single one of the social climbing doylums on regional television, especially the BBC and Scenty Bottle’s Aga-cooker Queen, Carol Malia. It is a completely unnatural accent prung from what was the Rotary Club set and is now just the hallmark of a massive bell-end.
Like a lot of modern life’s ills I blame it on Thatcher. She made any traces of working class culture toxic in the 1980s and so it applied in spades to local dialects with the ambitious social x-rays in almost every walk of life ditching as much of their soot covered prole clothing as possible. Sure this wasn’t the first time something like this happened as the Labour MP Jack Cunningham, who should be shot with shit for crimes against verbs particularly guilty and the twat John Hall also weighing in with his ridiculous Chamber of Commerce diction. Somewhere in Glasgow I’d hope someone was having a similar rant about fucking Lulu, another establishment Uncle Tom.
We all know when we work or go away from the Geordie Mothership we have to moderate our Tyneside patois but if Cheryl Cole and Ant & Dec can pull it off simply by slowing down a bit then everyone else can. Unless they happen to be irredeemable evil cunts that is! There’s a copper that gets handed the heavy crimes who is often the telly and this bloke has swallowed the whole Scenty Bottle gospel. You knew it would be a Polis who’d be the worst didn’t you?
Not that the prattish adoption of soft-vowels from Tynesiders is alone in the crimes of modern talk. This new world trend for the upward inflection to turn even the most basic of statements into a fucking question is long established as the mark of a prize prick. The adoption of the “yeah-yeah-yeah” to signify impatient agreement by some conceited charlatan kidding on they are way ahead of you is the water-mark of a massive fraud. Do I really need to cover the modern penchant for calling people “guys”, “dudes” or using expressions such as “wicked”, “cool” in the manner of Seattle surf punks about to form a grunge band? That some slinging this hep-talk around are over-weight beige provincial mediocrities imagining talking like someone off a BBC3 Yoof programme will imbue their pointless existences with some yearned for “edge” makes the whole habit more tragic than a burning orphanage.
Fuck me though – what happened to a straightforward cockney accent? When did young cockneys stop talking like Tommy Trinder and adopt the style of Dizzee fucking Rascal? Grime? Get to fuck. I’m not saying I want to hear a hammed up Ray Winstone (those betting adverts by the way? Fucking hell!) but this predominantly knife crime twang is way out of line for me.
Talk properly. A’all yiz!
STANHOPE STREET JUMPY JACKS