It’s my first real introduction to the Scouse accent. It’s funny and I rewind his words in my head.
I should be getting used to the question. Poiting your lens at walls, zooming in on details has a lot of people confused. But I haven’t really got a standard answer yet.
“Uhm, I’m just taking pictures…”
He’s not really listening. He’s one of those high energy blokes, a little too old to be called a young man. Jeans a little too snug, always a little fidgety.
“… because it’s funny, look: they’ve stuck the new owner’s name over the previous one.”
He looks at me a little surprised.
“What is that accent? Where are you from?”
He doesn’t believe me.
“You’re joking. Dutch? I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
I explain I’ve spent a lot of time in Ireland.
“Yeah! Yeah! That’s it. You’ve a really funny accent!”
And off he goes before I can say anything, but I can hear him mutter to himself:
“There are better pubs to be taking pictures of, luv.”