Speaking in tongues

The mem' has been reading the tabloids and has discovered that Her Majesty is rather adept at speaking in a Cockney accent. Unfortunately this has resulted in the mem' deciding to go one better and begin speaking in an accent that can only be described as Yorkshire incorporating a whiff of cat with a strangulated hernia. She is now accompanied on her jaunts "ower t' moor" by a pack of Whippets and ones morning ablutions are seriously disturbed by the cage of ferrets sitting in the bath. Just can't concentrate on the Sporting Times with a pair of beady eyes watching one from between the taps.

Worse still, she has involved the staff as well and last evening cook served up a 'reet gradely' repast of tripe and black pudding....at least one thinks it was tripe and black pudding, it could have been well done sausages and congealed mash knowing cooks culinary skills. Needed several stiff brandies to get over that one. Even Blenkinsop has not been immune and his usual "Would you care for some more kippers sir ?" at breakfast has been replaced with a request of "'ood 'ee care f'r um mooar kippers lad ?". One needed Clackthorpe just to translate over breakfast this morning and he speaks unintelligible gibberish at the best of times.

In fact, it has become so bad that Utterthwaite who hails from somewhere north of Barnsley, dismayed at the mangling of his native tongue has offered to take some time off clubbing the moles in the arboretum to use his shovel to club some sense into the other staff members. So now the estate resounds to the sound of "'eee bah gum lad..."...SPAAAANG! as he takes his new crusade rather seriously indeed.

One hopes that this is just a passing phase and that normal conversation will be resumed soon. Heaven help us if the mem' decides to try another dialect. One does not think one could take "Yurr, pass oi th' marmaladel downyer awri moi babber!" at breakfast without reaching for the gun cabinet.