Scouse encounter



Pointing my camera upward at the licence on the Lion Tavern a voice from behind says: “Sorry, can I ask ya wha’rre you taking pictures of tha’ pub for?”

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?”

I laugh.

“I’m Dutch.”

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.”