It’s Time… Pt26

Written by Prim on 14/10/2022

But it’s gonna be… Toned

‘ ‘It aint what you say, it’s the way that you say it’
*Not Bananarama, Fun Boy Three, Jimmie Lunceford, Harry James or even Ella Fitzgerald

Postie Prim and his Black & White Dog talk

You’re the voice try to understand it… Johnny I am mate…

Accents in all sense are borne out of familiarity. The work’s AI voice on the maps thingy-ma-jig omits ‘the’ when giving directions; ‘take next left… and, at junction turn right etc. It has been subconsciously drip fed from the area’s timbre, tuned in to its northern altruism and resonated her stout reply.

Artificial Intelligence has learned to drop the article or is it a determiner? Let’s ask AI Lady, ‘Determiner is a movie released in 1985 starring Arnold Schwarzkopf, a cyborg hair stylist sent back in time to re-root Sarah Connor whose unborn son Zohan (Yiddish for John) will one day save mankind from extensions.

Welcome my friends, welcome to machines – name that tune for a bite size Milky Way

But keep your hair on, for somewhere a posh AI boss is plugging pretension. For but a spit down the road at a different and shall we say less affluent depot, there, we said it, their machines over accentuate pronunciation to the point of snobbery; Take the firsT exiT aT roundabouT… so heavy on the ‘T’ they make Viking Cruise lady on those TV adverts down the Danube sound natural. There you go see, no such thing as bad advertising.

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And now back to this…

Veering off the postie track

Somewhere in the last couple of weeks I surrended my bladder to the Watford Gap motorway services on a trip down south (darn sarf). Point of note; the Watford Gap services are in Northampton. Second point of note; no longer can you get a good ol’ fashioned self-service all day breakie at any service station in the UK. Kill the pigs. The offering these days is all burger me bad this and vegan bolony, I wish it was bolony, that – crickey, if I had Cherry with me now… eat them all, all the motorway service planners, eat them now, eat them all…

aired
haired

Mind you, in between meandering past the motorway middle lane minders it’s good to stretch the tootsies, at a service station preferably and not the middle lane. And lo by-bum-buggery air those hardy toes of the Highway I did. Cherry stayed home to smoke her pipe. I wonder if she’s stretching her tootsies.

In what turned out to be the sun’s last warming hurrah. Thereonin after the great tootsie airing saga the summer simply cut off like a Vietnamese rain shower and layers are to be donned, wood is to be chopped and broth shall be brothed.

Back on the road Google Maps Lady told me I was ten minutes away and should ‘take the third exit… the Determiner flourishing nicely on Google. Daughter No.1 prefers the Aussie accent for directions, which is so much fun, we deliberately miss turnings. You gone too far dingbat, tern aarouund at a safe location. I veered first left to get petrol. The bloke ahead of me at the cashier spoke with such harsh estuary overtones I nearly shat myself, then realized that mirrored my own tongue, that rough gruffness is how I speak. G’day, I greeted, diverting any mood, Xin chao, he replied, equally diverted, he must be thinking the same. Aye up bloody southerners came a holler from another divertee, nowt worse than bloody southerners, apart from French, proud of his contribution he stepped back (in it) when a Welshman sings, Oo la bleeding la. From another corner, Zees is getzing silly said an Mongolian Pakistani… out out, everyone out cries the Senegalese shop owner, ‘Go and get your jelly-the-cock-eels-in-liquor somewhere else’ when a jellied eel pops up from behind the Quavers, ‘you’ll nae catch me yer mad bastards, and vroom it’s gone…

For the return trip I stock piled the car with southern trees and headed back to the north to burn them. The wood. ‘You’ll need that soon enough’, says a neighbor, ‘but it’s not cold yet’… stop saying that.

In other news

There’s wheels everywhere, folk on push scooters, electric scooters, one-wheel scooter Segways, electric bikes with fat tyres and electric roller blades that look like monster trucks strapped to the feet.

Old wheels found in a barn recently had only done 2,056 miles. Thought to be the world’s lowest mileage Land Rover Series III sat in a barn for 36 years, men all over the country are checking their lofts.

Angela Lansbury was all she wrote at 96. Which is a shame because I’ve taken to wearing my glasses like her for this series of Postie Prim and Cherry his murderous dog – Murder He Wrote

Prim
he Wrote

…Somewhere on a silent bend of the Danube a Viking Cruise Lady quietly slips beneath the placid blue film. A bubble regurgitates the surface. Plop. Rolling on the dispersing ripples lay a fine dusting of black and white fur…

Cherry strikes again.