On apple pie.

You’ve now spent over ten years working in a business where everyone around you has an accent.

Except you, of course. 

In Russia, it wasn’t just the students and general inhabitants with their Russian accent but also your colleagues, who hailed from every country where English is a first language and a few where it isn’t as well. Nowadays, the students are the mixed bag, but although your trainees and colleagues are mostly British, there’s a steady trickle of people from elsewhere to keep it interesting. And throughout there’s always been the constant of dealing with your Russian husband.

The net result of this is that you have become largely oblivious to accents. It’s not that you can’t recognise them if you concentrate really hard but that you no longer automatically separate people into categories according to how they speak in the first split second of meeting them.

This is a particular relief when it comes to British accents where such behaviour tended to include not only speculation as to where the speaker came from geographically, but also a swift assessment of whether or not Daddy bought them a pony when they were six, the sort of house they grew up in, their educational background and that of everyone in their family unto three generations, and their probable ability to explain the offside rule versus the likelihood of their reacting correctly to the question ”Who’s winning?” at a cricket match (answer: for god’s sake woman it doesn’t work like that). Followed by a generally accurate stab at estimating the annual income of their parents. 

In fact, it’s becoming increasingly difficult for you to remember even to notice if people are native speakers or not (given a certain level of competence) unless you are forced to do so for professional reasons.

This lack of awareness can be a bit bewildering for other people as it leads to conversations like:

Other people:  ”… and of course as an Australian she -”

You: “Oh! Is she from Australia?”

Other people: “Yes. The strong Australian accent?”

You: “Does she have an accent?”

Other people: [Give You a funny look]

There are a few you do zoom in on swiftly, mind. You have a particular fondness for the way South Africans talk and can always be relied upon to spot that accent as you will be preparing to sit and listen with a rather unfocused expression of dreamy appreciation to anything that person might say. 

And you miss North Americans. It’s not so much the accent as those expressions they use which you came to know and love and are now largely deprived of. So whenever someone from that part of the world pops up on the courses you teach on, it’s always a time for rejoicing. You spent a  month being entertained last year, for example, by the trainee from the Deep South who insisted on calling you ‘Ma’am’ at every available opportunity. He got a bit self-conscious about it in the end, though, as every time he did it you would giggle delightedly.

Your top favourite thing about North Americans is the way their praise phrase is ‘Good job’. Or rather, ‘Good jaaaab’. This, for some reason , has always tickled you absolutely pink. You find it utterly endearing.

But you are also quite keen on their extravagant use of the word ‘awesome’. The last British person to use this word in earnest was a public school boy in the 1950s. And the great thing here is it’s not something you have to rely on bumping into an American to experience – it’s all over the net too.

Lovely. Keep it up. Good jaaaab.