Women and Foreign Connections.

For weeks now the accent sported by the woman on the checkout in a certain supermarket which shall be nameless has intrigued me. It sounded Russian, but it didn’t seem likely because we don’t get many Russians in Britain, at least not out here in the Styx well away from the major cities. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever met a Russian in my entire life. But it definitely sounded Russian; she sounded like a character from a James Bond movie, or one of those Russian pianists you get on YouTube talking about Shostakovich. So today I asked her:

‘That’s a splendid Slavic accent you’ve got there. Where are you from?’

She looked at me and scowled (like Russian women do in James Bond movies.)

‘A big country,’ she murmured darkly.

‘Ah! Russia?’

She reached an arm out and touched mine.

‘Good boy,’ she said with an air of congratulation (the voice of Mother Russia, no doubt.) ‘People say to me: "Poland," or "Czech Republic." Czech Republic? Big country? Pff.’

And so I felt duly congratulated, but I had to go because the woman behind me in the queue – who looked 100% dyed-in-the-wool English – was getting restive. (Just like the English women you see in Jane Austen movies.)

*  *  *

But then I saw the delightful Lucy in the coffee shop again, as I always do on a Monday. (You might remember that Lucy is ¼ Greek, although she speaks with an East Staffordshire accent.)

‘Would you like to hear my new ditty?’ I asked hopefully.

‘Is it about me?’ she replied without betraying the slightest sign of covert intent.

Well, what would any self-respecting Englishman do in such a circumstance but be frank?

‘Erm… No.’

She didn’t even look disappointed. And don’t serving wenches employ strange opening gambits these days?