meish dot org: life, unfolding

During the course of the last few months, I’ve dealt with and got to know a lot of people from all over the world. Of these, a handful have outrrrrrageously strong accents.

There’s a woman from Spain who espiks ass eef see ees a nestra een a espagetti westerrrn, an’ ees difficul forr joo can’ theeenk off ahnytheeen else.

There’s a man from Germany who hass ze ixact eckzunt zat a perzon frum charmany vood haff in a bad moovi.

There’s a woman from New Zealand who puppuz huh cunvusayshun wuth thuh sungle vuwul thut charucturizuz thut puhtucyuluh way uf speekung.

There’s another woman, from France, ‘ooze voys ‘as zuh mel-odd-yus kaliteh of ‘er ‘omm cowntri in ever-y leetl wohd.

There’s a man from South Africa whu tillz ivrywan thet huz ecksent esn’t thit strong, rilly, uzzit.

There’s also a woman from Australia with quoite the maost trooli umaaayzing ‘dn udderli faahntaaastic grayt bigg raaond vaawls.

The thing is, I’m convinced they’re all making it up. They don’t really talk like that: they’re putting it on, for comic effect. Their accents are just too perfectly characteristic – I’m sure that actually, they’re from (respectively) Dagenham, Slough, Kettering, Cheltenham, Margate and Ruislip.

It must be true.

Me, though, I’m actually from Azerbaijan, though you’d never guess it to hear me speak. It’s taken me years to get this whole well-spoken English thing down pat. It’s involved years of careful study and observation, and nights of listening to recordings of native speakers – newsreaders, actors, minor royals – and repeating, parrot-fashion, what they say.

Actually, saying that, and seriously for a moment, I’m constantly getting asked (by cab drivers, hairdressers etc) if I’m Australian – even by Australians. I’ve never even been to Australia. I don’t think I sound Australian. Do I?

You can hear a snippet of me speaking here, on an interview about the jailing of an Egyptian blogger which I recorded a few weeks ago for the World Service. Judge for yourself.