Friday, 23 April 2010
Surprisingly, northerners are well represented in my office. A freelancer on my desk is probably the most extreme case. He is about 50, but still eats crisp sandwiches. He only has full-fat milk in his tea and he buys his cake in blocks. He talks fondly of the days when you could smoke at your desk. He knows a lot of things on a lot of subjects and is keen to share them with anyone who will listen, and many who would rather not. You would want him on your pub quiz team, but after a few pints you might tell him to stop prattling on. He wouldn't take it to heart.
There are many extreme cases of southerner lurking around the building. The sort of person who says ‘fan’ instead of ‘fun’ (I'm not sure how they pronounce 'thank you', 'please' or 'sorry'). They have normally just come back from a skiing trip and are in a hurry. They either don't realise how rude they are, or don't care. They drink 'grande skinny lattes' (I cannot bring myself to order them - in the past I have asked for a 'big latte with semi-skimmed milk, please'). They will use words that you nod at, but then have to look up in a dictionary afterwards.
Even if an extreme southerner was reciting the sweetest poetry, I would rather be stuck in a room listening to a man munching his way through a Walkers salt and vinegar sandwich. On white bread.