The West Country accent
homely as shepherd's pie.
So it went on.
Dinner was dinner,
tea was tea. Simple.
When did it happen?
Someone's house complicated the simple dinner/tea time sign/signifier relationship.
Perhaps it was that boy with the foreign name that was too hard to say so we all called him 'Shen'. He wore polo necked sweaters and used the word sweater. Not jumper.
There was a saucer on a window sill filled with strange money that had holes cut
through the middle like a Polo Mint. Polo Sweater, Polo Mint...
There were no West Country voices in this house.
Dinner was lunch. Tea was dinner. A complicated arrangement that took me a long
time to get my head around.
There was a cake tin and we were given a slice. Home-made fruit cake. Did I need a plate?
-What, you mean that you can eat a cake without a plate?
Sure. As long as you don't drop crumbs in the lounge.
Lounge? Where I come from its called a sitting room. Sometimes we eat our tea in there while watching the West Country news and the money in Grandad's pockets doesn't – don't- have any holes in it.