Thursday 23rd March 2017

How does your voice sound? Do you think you have an accent?

I grew up on the Norfolk Suffolk border, as rural as it is possible to get, or so you would have thought, but then you've never been to Loddon.

Growing up, everyone else pretty much had the same accent, except for Darren Knott who was from London, and a Cockney, and a fire brand not to be trusted. Anyway, At some point in the mid-70s, my parents bought a Sanyo Radio Cassette player, something to listen to in the kitchen. And as you can guess, it could play cassettes. Not only that, it could record from the radio, and had an in-built microphone, so could record whatever was being said.

One Sunday as Mother was preparing dinner, she called me in to what can now be described as deliberate conversation about nothing, whilst standing in front of the new radio thingy. A while later, I was called back and invited to listen to what had been taped.

To say I was horrified would be an understatement: I sounded like a junior farmer, or the singing postman, on helium. A broad East Anglian accent that I had not picked up in my own voice before. It was awful.

Really.

So, from that day forth, even at ten years old, I tried to rid myself of the accent. And over the years I pretty much succeeded, with only the occasional Norfolk-ism sneaking in, if I say computer or petrol, my mouth still says them in Norfolkese.

Why say this now, because I was on the radio yesterday, and when I played the show back on the i player, I did not recognise my own voice. Some kind of non-regional accent, deep. Maybe London, home counties. But not me. But it was, certainly not Norfolk now, mind. My younger self would have been pleased to have heard my voice. But this is what other people hear when I speak.

Anyway, that for later.

We have breakfast and morning to get through first.

I slept better, no night time panics, or any I could remember, but I had to be up and about early, as I had a meeting at eight, bins to put out and breakfast to get. In the end I failed to have breakfast until well after nine, after the meeting had finished, and the sun was out, and taking the edge off the keen breeze.

The meeting passes, then there is more work to do, and already I am feeling the pace so I warm up a bowl of curry before eleven, more than enough to see me through until evening. I take breaks through the day, as I try to concentrate on work, going into the garden with the camera to snap the plants, capture the colours, but really, just be be outside. Spring in the garden is wonderful, and I am joined by Molly, who does her circuit of all the sniffing posts, checking on who has been round. And making she is still queen.

There are even a few insects about, but I don't get a shot.

In the afternoon with more reading to do, I put the radio on, Radcliffe and Maconie, and listen to the tunes and banter. All very enjoyable. They have a game, called The Chain, where listeners can mail in with suggestions for the next tune. Normally I am working and listen via the i player, but I could write in, and in about ten minutes the producer calls. Did I want to be on the radio?

I did, so she checked some details, and said she would ring back at ten past two.

She rang back, I spoke to her some more, then put through to Mark, and away we went. All a blur, but I did OK, sounded slightly humourous, and then could listen to myself. Urgh.

You can here it here, fast forward to 01:15

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b08hzqlt Phew, I was drained. I make a tea and tell Molly all about it. She's not impressed, but then she has had seen the Queen.

The afternoon passes and so Molly and I watch Time Team before I get to prepare dinner; dirty food. Burgers and onions. And beer (or cider).

Yup, just about done when Jools came home, so we sat down to eat together and listen to some fool on the radio.

That left the evening, TOTP and a Henry VIII documentary before it was time to head to bed. Again. Phew, rock and roll.