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Corona quarantine diary
Thread poster: Mervyn Henderson

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WestEnders - Liz and Phil - Part 1 Apr 10

Following the demise of HRH Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh, the BBC has come up with its own kind of homage in a new series called “WestEnders - Liz and Phil”, everyday tales of a happy-go-lucky regal-class couple who run the Queen Mum Pub in Ballford, London – their joys, their sorrows, their triumphs and failures, their ups and downs, their trials and tribulations. Here’s a snippet - non-natives may require a Cockney translator:



“Liz? Liz? Get your
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Following the demise of HRH Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh, the BBC has come up with its own kind of homage in a new series called “WestEnders - Liz and Phil”, everyday tales of a happy-go-lucky regal-class couple who run the Queen Mum Pub in Ballford, London – their joys, their sorrows, their triumphs and failures, their ups and downs, their trials and tribulations. Here’s a snippet - non-natives may require a Cockney translator:



“Liz? Liz? Get your arris in ‘ere quick, gel, for Gawd’s sake!”

“Wot’s your row, Phil? Wot is it? Lumme, I dunno, as if I didn’t have enough to do around this bladdy rub-a-dub-dub. Well? Well?”

“It’s these cucumber saaandwiches, darlin’. Look - wot’s all that dark edging on them?”

“Dark edging? Don’t be soft, Phil. That’s just the crust, that is. The bit on the outside wot gets browned when the baker shoves it in the oven and it’s directly exposed to 'igh temperatures, innit?”

“Directly exposed? Browned? Don’t you get all technical on me, you daft cow. Is that wot it is, crust? Saaarnies wiv the crust still on? I never heard the like, strike me dahn and ‘ope to die if I ‘ave. ‘Oo would eat somefink like thaaat, Lizzie?”

‘Oo? ‘Oo? Millions of my loyal subjects, that’s ‘oo, for a start, our Phil. You can get dahn off that ‘igh ‘orse of yours, lad. Won’t do you a bit of ‘arm. And they ain’t sarnies, neither. They’re canapes, you bladdy hick. A bunch, Phil. A bunch.”

“Ca-wot? Bunch?”

“You silly sod, don’t you even speak the Queen’s Cockney? ‘Bunch of grapes – canapes’.”

“Thaaat? Canapes? No, no, no, no, no, ‘canapes’ don’t got two sybbalels, it’s got FREE sybbalels, innit? Canapés. Ca. Na. Pays. Wiv one of those French fings on it. So it ain’t no ‘bunch’ in Cockney, Lizzie lassie, it’s ‘appy. ‘Appy days – canapés’, you silly moo”.

“All right, all right, Mr Bleeding Philip of Greece and Denmark what woz, you can just less it with the silly moo stuff, me old son. It’s Madam to you. Or Mum. Or Mrs Windsor. Or Your Majesty. Or Your Royal ‘Ighness. Or maybe you'd prefer “Queen Elizabeth of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and the Commonwealth”, sunshine?

“Well, never mind all that, love, I want to talk to you about the faaaaamily. That grandson’s been and gorn and let the side down again, innee? Ups and leaves and takes off wiv that bladdy la-di-dah painted trollop, and now both of them are over there badmouthing The Firm. It’s Cry-Baby Di-Baby all over again."

"I blame the parents meself, Liz, yer, I do, straight up. I told ‘Arry’s dad, I told ‘im, you know, I said, This is what ‘appens, Chaz, when you don’t pack the kids off to Gordonstoun. Gives them spirit, son. Builds character. Didn’t do me no ‘arm, and you neither, lad, I told him. Oh, Lizzie, the pride I felt all them years ago when the 'eadmastah at Gordonstoun told me the uvvah kids was practically queueing up on the rugby field for the honour of kicking the future Charles III in the goolies during the scrums. They don’t do that to just anybody, Chaz, I told ‘im, know what that means, son, that means you’ve arrived, yes, it does, you mark my words, I said. But you shoulda been tougher on 'Arry and that Megwoman, my love. You shoulda told it to them straight, “Oh, wanna leave, do you? Well, go on, then, clear off, get aht of my realm, but don’t be expecting any goodies, now”. That’s what you should of telled them, Liz.”

“You nevah said a more truer word, Phil. But yes, too right we gotta talk. I’ll put on a brew, shall I? You always feel better after a cuppa, doncha fink? As Old Granny Victoria used to tell my dad, a cuppa a day flushes bad stuff away … In more ways than one, Phil, n-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-rrrr!!”


TO BE CONTINUED (Maybe. Possibly. Who knows.)


[Edited at 2021-04-10 14:21 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-04-10 14:23 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-04-10 14:33 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-04-10 14:55 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-04-10 20:43 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-04-10 21:44 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-04-11 06:31 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-04-11 13:47 GMT]
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Alice Apr 10

That's a tremendous poem, Portia! I had forgotten that one, but years and years later I came across it again recently when I was looking up some info on Lewis Carroll, having been given a copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland in English a few weeks ago by someone who'd found it while clearing out a house for sale. Wonderful writing. And I find the poem quite daring and modern and ahead of its time in a way.

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Westenders Apr 10

I'm hooked, Mervyn, give us more!

I really needed my soap fix, since yesterday my 3 BBC channels – 1, 2, World – have been rambling away about old Phil throughout the whole bloody evening.

I mean, I liked the geezer, but all the fawning over him was really preposterous. And I can't really relax properly after work, until I've watched the Walford shenanigans on TV.

Makes me think: "Well, I may be a silly sausage, a halfwit dunce, an inept who kee
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I'm hooked, Mervyn, give us more!

I really needed my soap fix, since yesterday my 3 BBC channels – 1, 2, World – have been rambling away about old Phil throughout the whole bloody evening.

I mean, I liked the geezer, but all the fawning over him was really preposterous. And I can't really relax properly after work, until I've watched the Walford shenanigans on TV.

Makes me think: "Well, I may be a silly sausage, a halfwit dunce, an inept who keeps asking questions to her clients, but at least I'm not going to prison/my husband is not a bad 'un like Phil Mitchell/I'm not banned from any pub/am not a daft cow/am not a slaaag", and all is well (or good?) with the world again.

Re: Alice. The poems and songs are pure genius. This one's my favourite, along with Jabberwocky, obviously.

I have to say though, that one of the Italian translations of Father William is even superior to the original, IMNVHO.
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We are not amused Apr 10

You'd better watch out they don't put a price on your head, Mervyn. Don't go getting lifts through tunnels.

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Any chance ... Apr 10

Mervyn Henderson wrote: As Old Granny Victoria used to tell my dad, a cuppa a day flushes bad stuff away etc

... to hear your plot as a voice recording on this channel?


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Go for it Apr 11

Matthias Brombach wrote:

Mervyn Henderson wrote: As Old Granny Victoria used to tell my dad, a cuppa a day flushes bad stuff away etc

... to hear your plot as a voice recording on this channel?


I'd love it, Mervyn talking all Cockney in a posh accent, something reminiscent of The Armstrong and Miller Show:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WK33sl64YNw


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WestEnders - Liz and Phil – Part 2 Apr 11

Lovable Cockney couple Liz and Phil, landlords of the Queen Mum, are behind the bar discussing certain wayward members of their extended family. Now read on (I can only write it, Matthias, I'm afraid, but I can't talk the talk so well):

...

“So wot we gonna do abaht the faaaamily, Liz? Wot we need, you and me, me little cabbage, is one of them advisors. Wot advise you wiv some advice. But ‘oo, Liz, ‘oo?”

“Maybe that Boris could help us out, Phil.
... See more
Lovable Cockney couple Liz and Phil, landlords of the Queen Mum, are behind the bar discussing certain wayward members of their extended family. Now read on (I can only write it, Matthias, I'm afraid, but I can't talk the talk so well):

...

“So wot we gonna do abaht the faaaamily, Liz? Wot we need, you and me, me little cabbage, is one of them advisors. Wot advise you wiv some advice. But ‘oo, Liz, ‘oo?”

“Maybe that Boris could help us out, Phil. You know, Boris, him and the crowd from the Dahnin’ Street estate. They’re always in ‘ere at lunchtimes. I could ‘ave a word in Boris’s shell-like.”

“Boris? That Boris? You talk to ‘im if you like, love, but not me. I’ve ‘ad it wiv that bloke. He comes in yesterday wiv all his mates, ‘e does, talkin’ all loud, ‘is mouth full of marbles, as usual – I mean, why do people even taaalk like that? – so that Boris breezes in, ‘e does, sits ‘imself dahn on a stoooool, and what does he say to me? “’Ello, sailor! ‘Ow’s Phil the Greek today?” that’s what he says. “Don’t you come it wiv me, young Boris,” I says to ‘im, “you ‘ave a bit of respect for your elders, sonny. And don’t you insult the Royal Navy, neither. I’ve served the country, me, I ‘ave. Not like you, mate, it’s more like the uvvah way round, it’s the country wot’s been servin’ you, John.”

“Nah, nah,” ‘e says, “just messin’ wiv’ you, Phil,” and then he starts wofflin’ on in stuff I didn’t understaaaand, love. Speakin’ in tongues, ‘e was. “Wot you on about?” I say, and ‘e says: “That was Greek, Phil. Don’t you speak your own effing langwidge no more?” Larfin’ at me, ‘e was, Liz, splittin’ ‘is sides. And then ‘e says: “Forget it, forget it, pal, give us five pints of IPA and some pork scratchings, will you, there’s a good lad.”

“So I goes and gets all that, and then ‘e says to me, ‘e says, “Oh, giss a coupla packets of cheese and onion, and a couple of praaaaawn cocktail too.” So I brings ‘im all that, and sets it down on the counter, and ‘e looks at them bags, ‘e does, and then ‘e goes all worried, like, and says to ‘is mates, “Golly, laaads,” ‘e says, “Beware of Greeks bearin’ crisps!” Oh, that Boris is a nasty roar, Liz, and no mistake.”

“Roar, Phil? Wassat? Wassa roar?”

“A roar? Gor blimey, Mrs Queen, I dunno ‘oo needs more ‘elp wiv the Cockney slang, you or muggins ‘ere! Roar, love. Roar and rant – caaant. ‘E’s a nasty …”

“DON’T you say that kind of thing, Phil Windsor, and especially not when you’re in The Presence! Don’t you dare, son. I dunno if I’m gonna have to wash your mouf out wiv soap, me old china. All right, all right, we won’t bovva wiv that little Richard, then.”

“Richard? ‘Oo’s Richard? Little Richard the singah? I was talkin’ about Boris.”

“Richard, Phil. Richard. Richard III, for cryin’ out loud!”

“Richard III? Sometimes I fink you’re goin’ doolally, Liz. What’s all this Richard III stuff?

“Fink, Phil! Wot you got in there between your ears? Sawdust? Richard the Third – turd. What I mean is, we won’t bovva wiv that little turd”.

“Oh, I see now. I just got confused, I did, wot wiv all them Roman noomerals. But, so you can say them naughty words, but I caaaan’t, is thaddit?”

“Of course I can, Phil. I can say whatever I like, lad. I’m the Queen Mum’s Commander-in-Chief, remember. I’m the gal in charge. I’ve got the big stick. And I’ll tell you this, next time I see that Boris, though, ‘e’s out on ‘is ear. Get aht of my gaff, I’ll tell ‘im, don’t you worry none, lover. No one messes wiv my Phil.”

“So, ‘oo else could we turn to, love? What about that Savile bloke? You remember, that chap wot did that ‘Jim’ll Fix It’ show on the Beeb. Maybe Jim could fix it for us, too.”

“Phil, you plonkah, don’t you nevah read the noos? Jimmy Savile’s no more, didn’t you know? Brown bread, ‘e is. Gorn to meet ‘is maker long ago. And not fondly remembered, neither. To fink that slaaaag was given one of them OBEs back in the day! I ‘eard they vandalised ‘is tomb an’ all, painted “barstid” and “paedophile” and the like all over it, they did. Yes, the faaaamily ‘ad to scale the plot down, they did, make it less noticeable, like. So they took away a lot of the foliage and some of the structure, and left just a small ‘ole and very little bush around it. They said that’s ‘ow Savile ‘imself would have liked it.”

TO BE CONTINUED (Probably. As likely as not. Could be.)


[Edited at 2021-04-11 08:02 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-04-11 08:04 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-04-11 08:34 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-04-11 12:12 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-04-11 12:48 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-04-11 13:49 GMT]
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Armstrong and Miller Apr 11

Clarssss staff, I mean, class stuff, PLF! I must say I'd never heard of them before.

And, Chris, as evry skoolboy nose, "We IS not amused" was wot Vicky akshully said. Geddit togevvah, will ya?

[Edited at 2021-04-11 13:59 GMT]


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Lol Apr 11

You’ve only bin and gorn an surparsed yorself Merv there wiv yor graveside manna

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Graveside manna Apr 11

Naoh, naoh, naoh, Mr S, you got it all wrong, laaad. Manna's the staaaff wot falls dahn from 'eaven, not the staaaaff wot goes aap to 'eaven.

I think Part 3 will take a while because, although I find there is huge potential here, it is beginning to interfere with my work. Today I very nearly found myself writing "It is difficult to Adam and Eve that this could evah come abaht ..."

Another thing. As I've said before with respect to Cockney speech, unless you have picked
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Naoh, naoh, naoh, Mr S, you got it all wrong, laaad. Manna's the staaaff wot falls dahn from 'eaven, not the staaaaff wot goes aap to 'eaven.

I think Part 3 will take a while because, although I find there is huge potential here, it is beginning to interfere with my work. Today I very nearly found myself writing "It is difficult to Adam and Eve that this could evah come abaht ..."

Another thing. As I've said before with respect to Cockney speech, unless you have picked all this up from birth in the UK/Ireland and very few other places (definitely not the US, for example), you may not understand a lot of the diction in "WestEnders". I've tried to write it more or less as it sounds dahn in the East Ennnd, so if you stick to the approximate pronunciation of elongated vowels and consonants, the elimination of initial Hs, and constant ellipsis as you read, and attempt to logically decipher erroneous grammar (which is not just a feature of the East End, but also in many, many other places all over the British Isles, Ireland and also across the Pond), before long you'll be able to walk around the market stawwwllls and paabs and understaaand evry wuuurd they say next time you visit East Laandin. Various aspects of UK culture are another thing, as are the actual Cockney rhymes, some of which I'm just making up anyway ...

[Edited at 2021-04-11 16:55 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-04-11 16:55 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-04-11 16:57 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-04-11 17:20 GMT]
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More lockdown Apr 13

Bilbao is now closed down again. Nobody allowed in or out, bar certain exceptions. We screwed up at Easter. Like we did at Xmas. And like we did during the summer. We've now topped the barrier of 500 somethings per 100,000 ... something or other, because I no longer know what all the statistics mean any more ... and that means red alert, so now we're not allowed out to play for a while. The same goes for a few other towns in this province, and the neighbouring provinces of Araba and Gipuzkoa in ... See more
Bilbao is now closed down again. Nobody allowed in or out, bar certain exceptions. We screwed up at Easter. Like we did at Xmas. And like we did during the summer. We've now topped the barrier of 500 somethings per 100,000 ... something or other, because I no longer know what all the statistics mean any more ... and that means red alert, so now we're not allowed out to play for a while. The same goes for a few other towns in this province, and the neighbouring provinces of Araba and Gipuzkoa in their entirety.

But it's been like that for the last year, really. First of all the powers-that-be say Crikey, we've got to protect people's health, so we'll keep them all at home. Then the health scene improves, but the economy's suffering, so after a while they say Crikey, we've got to protect people's earnings, so we'll let them all out again. Then the economy improves, but people's health is suffering because they're all out there together, so after a while they say Crikey, we've got to protect people's health, so we'll keep them all at home for another while. Then the health scene improves, but ... ... ...

One of two. Either the vaccines (which are rapidly turning into a huge worldwide bazaar) will put an end to it, or somebody's got to come up with a valid "health + economy" plan, instead of bouncing back and forth like bloody pinballs between one and the other.
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Same here (in Germany) Apr 13

With the third (or fourth? Who counts?) lockdown, the feeling is like having a foot in the door. Half-in and half-out. May we go out and if so, where to, till when, how many persons, etc.? It will (or already is, who cares) decided today. The most important question of all is: till when? Some say till mid-May, others till June. The cashier in a supermarket shared her husband's opinion that this will last for two more years at least. The whole cultural and social life is going on the parking plac... See more
With the third (or fourth? Who counts?) lockdown, the feeling is like having a foot in the door. Half-in and half-out. May we go out and if so, where to, till when, how many persons, etc.? It will (or already is, who cares) decided today. The most important question of all is: till when? Some say till mid-May, others till June. The cashier in a supermarket shared her husband's opinion that this will last for two more years at least. The whole cultural and social life is going on the parking places, in and near supermarkets and on the bus stops. Ah, and on the petrol stations as well. One can meet their friends or relatives outside for a cup of coffee without a mask and wash a car or two together making it a social event.Collapse


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@Oksana Apr 13

That "cultural and social life" rings a bell.

From what I can remember, when I was a kid, oh, some 20 years ago now, you've accurately portrayed the locations at which our cultural and social life unfolded - in or behind parked cars, in and near supermarkets, and bus stops (they usually have benches, see).


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WestEnders - Liz and Phil – Part 3 Apr 13

Liz and Phil have experienced a serious contretemps. Contretemps. A word that has not been chosen lightly, I might add. Now read on:



“Phil?? Phil?? You bleedin’ wretch of a prince, you! What‘ve you dahn? I can’t leave you alone for foive minutes, I can’t. Is it true wot the Foreign Orifice sez? ‘Ow could you? Why d’you keep puttin’ your friggin’ feckless foot in it, you useless so-and-so?”

“Caaaalm down, poppet. It wasn’t my faul
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Liz and Phil have experienced a serious contretemps. Contretemps. A word that has not been chosen lightly, I might add. Now read on:



“Phil?? Phil?? You bleedin’ wretch of a prince, you! What‘ve you dahn? I can’t leave you alone for foive minutes, I can’t. Is it true wot the Foreign Orifice sez? ‘Ow could you? Why d’you keep puttin’ your friggin’ feckless foot in it, you useless so-and-so?”

“Caaaalm down, poppet. It wasn’t my fault, I tell you. I can explain … there I was today, chattin’ to Basher Briggs and Lefty Lonnigan at the bar, see. But I was only listenin’ with ‘alf an ear, like, because I woz keepin’ an eye on that Nobby the Nonce the whole time. He was sittin’ over there in the alcove, on ‘is knees up on the bench, cloudin’ up the windows wiv’ ‘is breath, a-wheezin’ and a-pantin’ as he leered out at the kids walkin’ ‘ome from the 'Enry Coopah Comprehensive dahn the road there.”

“I’ve talked to ‘im about this before, Liz, you know I ‘ave: “Nobby”, I said, “you wanna watch yourself, pal. Just because you pay for your Pimms don’t mean you can come in ‘ere and live out your sick little fantasies, mate. I don’t want the filth marchin’ in an’ pinchin’ us ‘an all, for aidin’ and abettin’ as your centre of sleazy operations. Not to mention malice aforecourt.”

“Anyway, the door opens and in comes that Macron chap wiv’ ‘is muvva. She’s still a bit of all roight, if you knowworrimean, darlin’ – no offence, love - so ‘e walks up to the bar and introduces ‘imself and ‘er …”

“Phil, Phil, she’s not …”

“I know, I know, I found that aht later, didn’t I, but don’t interrupt me, flower, you arsked, and I’m explainin’, right … so I said “Monsieur,” I said, “Monsieur, I’m afraid my trouble’s not ‘ere at the minute. An old aunt of ‘ers bought the farm, see, so ‘er and all our saucepans ‘ad to put on their whistles and go to the staggah for the service, and left me ‘ere to ‘old the claret. But I’ll get ‘er on the dog, toot sweet, mate, and she’ll put one of them there girdles around the earth in forty minutes, so don’t you fret.”

“I could see right away they hadn’t sussed nuffink, and then I realised, of course, stoopid old Phil, they didn’t get the Cockney, did they! So I tut-tutted meself a bit, and I went on: “Sorry, sorry, wot I meant was her aunt just popped ‘er clogs, so the saucepan lids ‘ad to put on their whistles an’ flutes and go wiv ‘er to the stagger and lurch for the funeral service, right, I’ve been left ‘ere ‘oldin’ the claret an’ port, but I’ll call ‘er on the dog and bone. Clear?”

“Well, love, ‘e just looked at me, he did one of them Gallic shrugs, you know, the ones the bleedin’ Frogs is so good at, and then ‘e looked at this Brigitte bint, and ‘e said to her, “Keskeeladee?”

“Well, I didn’t know for the life of me wot ‘e was on abaht, ‘e’d lost me there, I’ll tell you – at first I fought this “Keskeeladee” fing was one of them Godforsaken shitty dumps where we ‘ad to go walkabout once over there in Paddyland, but then I remembered no, that was Donaghadee – and then I fought it might be some place in the bleedin’ Outer Hebrides or sumpfink, but then I realised ‘e ‘ad been talkin’ Frog, ‘e ‘ad, so I turned to that Brigitte and I arsked ‘er, “Wassat ‘Keskeeladee’, sweetie, wot did ‘e say just then?”, and she just stared at me and said “Wot did ‘e say?”, and I said “No, petal, that’s just what I’m arskin’ YOU, Wot did ‘e say?, and she just does a shrug too, and says “Wot did ‘e say?” again, and then I said, “Gordon Bennet, love! ‘Ow should I bladdy know wot ‘e said, I mean, you’re ‘is muvva, right? Don’t you speak French or wot?”

“I noo sumpfink was up by the way she reacted all right, love. She just rolled ‘er eyes, tossed ‘er ‘ead, yelled just one word, “Putain!”, and off she flounced to the bog. By that stage I was well fed up tryin’ to guess at all this Frog talk, so I keyed that “putain” stuff into Google Translate on the mobile under the counter, and … yes, yes, I know, love, she WASN’T ‘is muvva at all, she was a brass, she was, a tom. Cor blimey! You gotta hand it to the bloke, doncha? Takes a lot of moxy to waltz into the Queen Mum pub in Ballford wiv a workin’ girl when you’re the President of Fraaance. Anybody could be watchin’, couldn’t they?”

“Phil, she …”

“Just let me finish, my angel. Wot I mean is, it’s a big risk to take, innit? ‘Is wife could 'ave seen ‘im on the noos, even. But when she’d gone, I said to him, “Just right, son. You go for the mature types. Smart lad. A safe pair of hands, mate, if you get my meaning. Young girls on the game these days, they don’t ‘ave the experience, 'course they don’t. They don’t know wevvah to pull or push, moan or groan. I knew a bloke once wot …”

“Phil Windsor, you pillock, you. That Brigitte’s Emmanuel Macron’s ‘er indoors, you prat. You’ve practically created a dipsomatic incident single-‘anded, you tart! Wot am I gonna say to the bleedin’ Privy Council this evening? I can ‘ardly bear to go.”

“Mrs Macron? ‘Er? You’re winding me app. She caaaan’t be! She must be twice ‘is age, FFS.”

“She taaaaaught ‘im, Phil. She was ‘is teacher, and ‘e hung on ‘er every wuurd in clarss, an’ conquered ‘er wiv’ his ‘eartrendin’ poetry and desperate, passionate tales of neverendin’ laav. ‘E won ‘er strawberry tart, ‘e did. Now he’s called back the ambassador to Fraaance for consultations, ‘e ‘as, you cloth-eared clown!”

“Conquered ‘er? More like conkered, I’d say. Worth a good conkerin’, though, I ‘ave to say, pardon my French. Still, don’t you worry yourself, Queenie. It’ll all blow ovah. Just anuvva whingeing kike, thassall.”

“Kike? Wot you mean, kike, Phil?”

“Emmanuel, love! Emmanuel Macron! Don’t that name tell you nuffink? And let’s not forget it was ‘im and ‘is crowd what sunk our Titanic, Liz!”

“The Titanic? But an iceberg sunk the Titanic, you silly sausage! Along wiv’ shoddy workmanship and a duff design by a gang of Guinness-guzzlin' Micks.”

“That's just what I mean, your royal madge: Iceberg, Goldberg, Rosenberg … they’re all the same, aren’t they? Staaands to reason they done it.” ...

...


TO BE CONTINUED (unless the French Secret Service finds me first)


I should add that "claret and port" and "stagger and lurch" are my own inventions. Maybe a real Cockney out there knows the proper rhymes for "fort" and "church"?


[Edited at 2021-04-13 21:46 GMT]

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[Edited at 2021-04-14 03:32 GMT]

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[Edited at 2021-04-14 04:36 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-04-14 08:07 GMT]
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P.L.F. Persio
Ice Scream
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Beatriz Ramírez de Haro
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P.L.F. Persio  Identity Verified
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Member (2010)
uit Engels in Italiaans
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Magnifique! Apr 14

What an unPC feast! But it's how old Phil would have liked it, I guess.

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