Wednesday, 10 June 2015

Barking Up the Wrong Tree

That's the sort of title I like. A good old fashioned saying with a strong image attached to it. It's also the title of a card game that's attempting to get crowdfunding for publication. It's a particularly English game from the Ragnar Brothers who have a good tradition in quirkiness. Have a quick look here: Barking! if you have some time, you'll enjoy the video description of the game if nothing else!

I mentioned yesterday the forthcoming poetry reading I shall be taking part in and thought I should actually give you a little insight into the world of Ivan Shrimpton. He's my fictional character that pens all these Suffolk poems on my behalf. He's probably mid 60s and has managed his life within a small radius of North Suffolk/South Norfolk. He has insights into local events and places as well as trying to keep up with the pace of technology in the 21st Century. He first came to life with this poem:

In The Village That I Live

In the village that I live 
I keep myself to myself,
there’s too many rum old 
busy-bodies already see,
and barely a soul to speak with,
Mrs V who run the store, 
but I don’t like to ask o’ her,
and the vicar, well, 
he’s too like a milkman now,
doing his round all odd days.

In the village that I live 
I keeps good care o’ hedges
do some grass cutting too, 
still grow all me own veg,
’at’s fruit I struggle at, 
have to get it online I do,
bit of a muddle, bit of a mess, 
but I’m getting through
the fifteen nets o’ oranges 
I ordered by mistook.

In the village that I live
’at’s better just me and Fordie,
my West Highland Terror 
as I call the scruffy fellah,
when he gets a going after 
them rabbits and hares
there ain’t no stopping him, 
nor catching him neither!
Mind he can take some persuading 
to shift his arse of an afternoon.

In the village that I live 
there’s no young folk any more,
they up and go, just like that 
once they get the urge,
we us’d to play amongst 
the bales, go beating
and trapping the game, 
but the farms is all different now
all mechanicalised it is, 
I can still drive a tractor though.

That's the standard language version that I read from, using my local knowledge of the accent he'd be talking in. My dissertation covered off my doubts of trying to read dialect for my prospective audience - you, yes you, don't cower away! So, just for comparison's sake, here's the first verse in dialect.

En the Vellege that Oi Lev

En the vellege that oi lev
oi keep mesel’ to mesel’,
there’s too meny rum ol’
busy-bodies already see,
an’ barely a soul ’o speak wev,
Mrs V who run the store,
but oi dun’t loik to ask o’ her,
and the vecar, well,
he’s too loik a melkman now,
doen hes round all odd days.

That's your lot for today.. if Ivan's piqued your interest it's Saturday week, see below for the poster from yesterday.

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