I am a West Country Girl. I grew up in a land of combine harvesters, cider and the wurzels. Actually, that is a total lie. I grew up in a city, haven’t drunk cider since a particularly bad night involving diamond white, and I don’t (and never will) own a wurzels record. But that doesn’t make me any less of a West Country Girl.
Awlrite my lover?*
See? West Country Girl.
Then I moved to Birmingham and I have added “Awlroight bab?” to my repertoire.**
When I got a job in the heart of the Black Country, however, I realised I hadn’t seen anything yet. Even seven years on, I sometimes need a translator.
* I only ever say this when people realise I am from Bristol and try to say it. I feel obliged to teach them how to do it properly.
** I have never actually said this. At least not when sober.