Ma Hootie

Ah cood wit ma hootie!

Bellowed the new guy, Pork-Shin sitting at the row of desks in front of me. He seemed very proud of himself as if he had discovered he had grown a spare penis whilst having his breakfast cereal.

I beg your pardon?

I called over in my finest and most comprehensible way.

Up ma hawnie! Heer we go!

Pork-Shin stood up and mimed swinging a golf club.

I chewed my tongue as if it were a lady-finger.

Sorry. I don't think I can understand you?

I said and indeed for once I was apologetic. Pork-Shin was English and very posh. His accent stuck out among us guttural apes of the North by a mile. It felt like we were working with the Queen sometimes.

He walked closer to me and spoke again. This time more clearly.

Don't you like it? I have been practicing, I think I am getting pretty good!

He exclaimed, holding his shitty little hands out in front of his chest like a beaver when sniffing the air for danger.

I gave him a sideways look and raised an eyebrow.

Practicing what, exactly?

I said slowly, in the same tone of voice I use when attempting to lure large toads out from the undergrowth.

Echty bechty humphy anaw!

He yelled, slapping his thigh with one hand.

I felt a vague tickling of comprehension form in my head.

Is that... American? Are you speaking in an American accent?

I asked warily. Pork-Shin had only been here a week or so and I had no idea if he was a dangerous kind of loon or just a dick.

What? No! It's not American.

Pork-Shin looked crestfallen then brightened.

This is American...

He screwed up his face and leaned over to the side as if he was suffering from a stroke.

Hoiya git outta heya, ya bum.

I narrowed my eyes.

Isn't that Welsh?

What?! No! It's not blooming Welsh. Anyway. Didn't you understand the first one? Hochy bochy noo?

I shook my head. He was either possessed by devils or talking gibberish. I was leaning more to the devil possession.

It's Scottish?!

Pork-Shin exclaimed somewhat belligerently.

You must have realised, surely? Are you just pulling my leg?

I drew in a big breath of air and let it out in a big shmoosh of a breath. I waggled a finger at Pork-Shin in warning.

Are you being racist?

He jerked back as if stung.

Erm, no? I'm just having a laugh. A joke, you know?

I made a face as if he had just danced against my leg like a dog after drinking vinegar.

Racist Bastard.

I plugged my headphones in and shook my head, steadfastly ignoring his protestations of innocence.

I had an inward chuckle. That will learn him.