
Wow, so it turns out that your NQT year isn’t really compatible with blogging. However, it also turns out that spending all your time working isn’t really compatible with sanity either.
So in an attempt to regain my sanity, I’ve been trying to get back into blogging recently. Annoyingly though, I’ve found myself completely incapable of picking a subject – it seems there is nothing but teaching in my brain these days. Earlier today I finally decided on a topic, and on browsing the interweb for some opinions, discovered the following article on our attitude towards accents. The author has said exactly what I wanted to say (and more), and it’s well worth a read if you’ve got the time. Determined not to be defeated though, I’ve added my two-penneth (is that the right phrase?) in the paragraph following this one – any excuse for a good rant. Sorry.
As someone with northern parents, who grew up in the Midlands (on a somewhat related side note – despite what northerners / southerners variously think, this means I am neither a northerner nor a southerner. The clue is in the name) and now lives in the south, it frustrates me no end to have my accent corrected wherever I go. Just because someone speaks differently to you doesn’t mean that they speak incorrectly. Giggling or commenting every time I say “class” or “task” or “grass” with a short ‘A’ strikes me as slightly offensive and closed-minded. I can’t help my accent – it’s a part of me, it reflects my history and I like the added sense of “home” that it gives me. The way we speak is just another form of diversity, and diversity is there to be embraced not scorned. It brings with it the ability to learn about the world outside your own sphere and to gain a more balanced outlook on life – surely that can only be a good thing? Life would be boring if everyone looked, spoke, dressed and acted the same. If you want the people around you to be a carbon copy of yourself, move to North Korea.
And besides, in my head, YOU’RE the one pronouncing it wrong 😉
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I absolutely agree! When we moved from Manchester to Hertfordshire, some idiot in a fruit shop pretended she didn’t understand your Dad when we asked for raspberries instead of raarsberries. (the clue is in the spelling, n’est ce pas??) Then my northern sister in law pretended she didn’t understand your brother (born and living in Hertfordshire) when he referred to a garaarge rather than a garage!! There appears to be discrimination both ways and, for those of us who were brought up in the centre of the country … well …