Monday, 28 January 2008

Catching up

Listening to: Waterloo Sunset (The Kinks)
On the way: back home (slowly)

Errr. . . right. . . where was I?

Inverness station at 4.30am, not enough sleep, about eight trains waiting, don't know which one's mine, no Edinburgh train on the departure board, nobody about, just me. . . and (in the absence of strong coffee) The Sex Pistols on the iPod.

Twenty minutes later there's a human being who explains the train to Aberdeen goes on to Edinburgh. . . they obviously don't like to brag about it. So at 5am we're off on the pretty way, east, then south.

Well, I just assumed it was the pretty way as it was pitch black until well after Aberdeen. The sun rose over Arbroath (note to self: try an Arbroath Smokie one day), a few minutes later we trundled past Carnoustie golf course and more than a few were out on the course in the half-light.

Bridges in and out of the Kingdom of Fife took me to Edinburgh, then it was south past the Bass Rock, through Berwick and Alnwick to Newcastle where former England football manager Bobby Robson got on the train. Then it was the Angel of the North, flooded fields all through Yorkshire and into the Midlands.

The Youngest joined me at Birmingham and we went through the ritual 'how's school?' questions, I read her NME (didn't take long), helped Mario through several weird adventures (they have some good drugs at Nintendo) and we tumbled out at Exeter around six o'clock.

The birthday celebrations were long and full of calories, but a big success. The Boy and I escaped on Saturday to watch Exeter v Penzance, surrounded by 6,000 other rugby fans eating pasties, drinking cider and saying "'ello my luvver" ever such a lot.

The Youngest and I set off back to Shrewsbury yesterday and I'm on the sleeper to Inverness tonight. Mrs TPF seems to be struggling to keep two boisterous pigs under control, there's a concrete floor to be finished, walls to be built, paddocks to be laid out, a kitchen to strip down, floors to dig out, slabs to shift - I need to get back.


Geoff said...

How far east is "my luvver" used?

I like it but I'd be embarrassed saying it.

Malc said...

Only really come across it in Devon before, but the Cornish fans (many dressed up as Charles Lawton-style pirates) were enthusiastic in its use too. Don't know if it spreads as far as Somerset/Dorset/Wiltshire. Not my field of expertise. Ziggi?

Puffincentral said...

Welcome back. Just as well you didn't use the ferries this time. re: 'my luvver', the Cornish also have 'my burd' and 'me 'andsome.' But in my opinion nothing beats the sight of two burly Nottinghamshire miners greeting each with 'Ey up, me duck.' (Not that there are any Notts miners any more...)

fiwa said...

Ok, I know we 'mericans have some strange sayings, but I just cannot picture two american men saying any of that to one another. Not that I'm poking fun - I just think it's interesting how different slang is from country to country.

Sounds like you had a rousingly good time, hope your trip home went smoothly!


ziggi said...

what was it you wanted to know my luvver?

KAZ said...

Sheffield is in Yorkshire (where it's love) and next to Notts (duck) so it turns into 'dove' which seems strangely intimate when you first here it.

Ginni Dee said...

I just love the way you guys talk. the UK must be the friendliest country in the see a lot of kissykissy on BBC-TV.

Glad you had such a nice time. I'll bet the food was wonderful!

mig bardsley said...

Oh that does take me back:) I did live in Devon for a good few years. Luverrly place :) Luverrly food too!

Malc said...


Haven't come across anything similar on Orkney. Have you?


I long ago came to the conclusion that the British are a bunch of weirdos. We do all this to confuse Americans - they teach it in school.


Just answered the question. Thanks!


I used to work in Derby where every male of any age is 'youth'. It's my favourite. There's also the different use of mate and pal. In Wolverhampton everyone is mate (occasionally chuck or chick), but pal has an aggressive tone and doesn't go down well. Out in darkest Shropshire it's 'mon' - don't ask.


Kissykissy? In Britain? No wonder the country's going to the dogs.

We did have a lovely time.


I like Devon as well (especially in winter), but to the disgust of my mother and her Devonian cronies, I prefer Cornwall.

mig bardsley said...

Oh well if what you like is bleak...I suppose you're in the right place?
(I know, I know, there are bits of Cornwall where summer never ends and tropical flowers bloom all year round. Bits of Scotland too)