Plummy-voiced Eton-educated animated scarecrow Boris Johnson is concerned that there are parts of the country that don’t speak English. Specifically, The North.
“I’ve been all over The North,” claimed Boris, rising from the wreckage of his bed. “Birmingham, Liverpool, Newcastle, Glasgow, Swansea, Penzance, the East End. I can’t understand what the devil any of them is saying!”
Boris went to Newcastle to reassure the locals. “Everything will be spaffing, I mean spiffing, yes, yes, fantastic, I say, jolly good,” he stammered at a public meeting. “Goodness me!”
“Aareet, why-aye are yee takin wor yeut iv the EU?” yelled a Geordie from the crowd.
“One is most terribly sorry, my good sir, but well I say – one does beg your paaardohn one dane’t knoh what you mean,” replied Boris.
“Yee faffin faggit, ah will hoy yee intee the Tyne!” replied his adversary.
The pattern was repeated in Birmingham. “Naaa dale Brexit is bostin yaouw soy?” asked a Brummie interlocutor.
“Heavens above old bean, steady on,” replied Boris. “I must be going crazy, because I can’t make out head nor tail of your charming speech!”
“Mama weer all crazee now,” replied the Brummie in disgust.
Everywhere Boris went across The North, it was the same old story.
“Where’s all de fuck’n rips gone, eh, eh, eh? Calm down! Eh, eh?” asked a disgruntled Scouser.
“If ye dornt listen tae us Scots, we ur gonnae break awa’, Jimmy,” stated a strident Glaswegian.
“Shut yer norf and souf, yer posh bleeder!” bellowed an angry Cockney.
“It is most frightfully disappointing,” said a bewildered Boris. “None of these fine fellows can speak a single word of the Queen’s English. One is most considerably discombobulated. Compulsory re-education is the only way! Eton or bust! Jolly good show.”
Elocution means elocution. There must be some EU money sloshing around for it. Are you posh or peasant?