the modern world of confusion

Accents are a strange thing. Especially if you come to England as a foreigner, and are suddenly faced with the whole range of them and all of their implications.

In Poland, you can pretty much speak with one accent- Polish. You would never really be able to tell what region of the country people come from, judging just by their accent.
The onle exception might be Warsaw but then that's just because most of the 'capital people' consider themselves to be better and try to sound posher and cooler than the rest of us. An attempt which generally fails and gives pathetic results, to be honest.

But in England (or Britain in general) it seems to be completely different. I was astonished to find out that you can pretty much tell everything about your speaker- the region of the country they come from, their social backrground, their education, their job and social position- judging just by their accent. It's incredible. And sad and in many ways.

You're one of the few countries where 'classes' are still very much present. One of the few countries where one is forced to establish a connection to one of the classes and consider himself to be a member of it. Obviously this comes in the full package with hating/looking down on other classes.
You are the only country where people have invented words like 'chav', a phenomenon which I was rather shocked about.

But then it's not just about using the word 'chav' it's also about the way you pronounce it. Careful, or you might end up being assigned to some group yet again, even against your will.

We've had countless discussions and arguments about this in Oxford. Sitting at the table you suddenly hear people arguing:
'No it's not 'France' (with the short 'a'), it's Fraaaaaaaance'
'Don't be ridiculous. It's hilarious how you say 'graaaaaass' when it's obviously 'grass'.
'Marika, you learnt English as a foreign language, how would you pronounce it'
'Ehm... graass? And Fraance?' I try to balance out between the two thus causing general confusion in the hall.
'She said it in the southern accent!' starts one of my speakers.
'No you plonker, it was quite definitely northern' the other one replies.
And so on.

Next time Im just going to put on some ridiculously strong Polish accent.

But then I already do realise where it's going. I have to admit, as much as I wanted to, I've not managed to escape being assigned to something. I've not managed to avoid going one way or another. I've picked up an accent which I cannot supress anymore. My foreigner's neutrality is thus gone Im afraid.

'Your accent has become so posh' says my ex (who came from Stoke-on-Trent) with strong disgust in his voice. 'I absolutely hate your vowels. How can you say 'graaass'? Revolting.'

Having been told for the past two years that the Southern and posh accent is an evil thing (my ex came from Stoke and thus genuinely detested it), I have to admit I feel ashamed.

Ha! This is so amusing I just felt I had to share it with the world. A passage from one of my translations (English to Spanish):

'Slowly, the drab encrustations of work began to drop from her. Her limbs began to stiffen and shine.'

But that still doesn't beat the other text which Im meant to translate from English to German:

'I intended to write to you about it all at once, but was prevented from so doing during weeks of long illness which denied me the quiet hour I needed for my reply. (...) It presents the war as seen within the small compass of the frontline soldier, pieced together out of many separate situations, out of minutes and hours, out of struggle, fear, dirt and bravery, into one whole mosaic, from which the word Patriotism is seemingly absent because the simple soldier never spoke of it. His patriotism lay in the deed (not in the word).'

Amusing. At least for now I still get to use a dictionary. But in my exams I won't be allowed to. Very funny.
Why did I apply to study at Oxford??? I am SO going to fail everything.
Aaaaaah. Somebody please kill me now.

Only eight more days to go!!! Eight days till I return to my beloved Oxford, all of my friends and my, somewhat unusual, idea of 'real life'. In the meantime, I watched 'Harry Potter' in desperate search for 'normality'. Yep, that's what Oxford does to you. You start considering flying brooms, magical tournaments and talking creatures more normal than every day life.
Suffice to day, throughout the entire film I kept on shouting out: 'I've been there!'; 'I've seen it!'; 'that's where I go to library!' etc.
And Dean Thomas is played by my friend and tute partner. It was quite amusing, seeing him on the screen rather than struggling through Spanish poetry.
Speaking of which- I am The Official Queen of Procrastination. I am completely snowed under work but instead of doing it Im online blogging, yet again. Now let's have a look at things I have to do in the next week:

For German: Re-read Kafka. Write a commentary. Re-write the translation from Thomas Mann trying to actually make it sound like English this time. Translate another chapter from some novel I've not even looked at yet.
As for new authors- read and summarize the dramas by:
Frank Wedekind- 'Fruhlings Erwachen'- the drama is survivable if weird- it is mainly concerned with a bunch of sexually frustrated 14 year-olds.

Bertolt Brecht- 'Die Massnahme'- interesting but not really understandable. So far I've managed to understand that it's about Russian and Chinese communists. Which won't suffice for my essay Im afraid.

Georg Kaiser- 'von morgen bis mitternachts'- absolutely crap. I will not bother with further comments.

Elsa Bernstein 'Die Dammerung'- one of the two books Im definitely getting in prelims and sadly also one of the two books I cannot get hold of since it's not been published for 50 years now or so. I even looked for it in the biggest book shop in Berlin but it's not available anywhere. So my tutor is going to strangle me before chopping of my limbs, yay.

As for Spanish- Romaces historicos, Romaces, El romacero viejo, Romanvero gitano and a hell load of poetry. The mentioned books are nothing to do with romance (sadly), they are mainly old ballads which I do not understand.

Exactly what made me think that it would be a good idea to study at Oxford? And that I should apply to study in three foreign languages? Clearly this was a BAD, BAD idea. I can barely speak Polish now that my brain has fully switched onto the holiday mode, let alone any foreign languages.

It gets amusing when I get drunk or when Im very tired anyway because I start speaking in a very unusual mixture of 4 languages and thus create a language which is only understandable to me. Which is probably good since it might stop people from understanding some of the rambling shit I tend to say when I get drunk (one of my last brilliant sentences- 'I have two FEETS!' followed by 'my shoes have lots of sex')
Which is ok because as well know, things that happen while drunk are not actually real.

Im missing Oxf and people I could have random conversations with. My parents don't really care about anything. I spent half an hour today telling them about all the protests that Irving and Griffin coming to a debate at Oxf Union have caused. I explained about them. And about the idea of freedom of speech and whether it can be limited etc. And my mum's only reply was: 'aha. Can you go and get us some more water?'

No comments.

I had a huge row with my mum's husband who genuinely hates me anyway. So now neither of them is talking to me anymore.

Anyway, I know that this post is incredibly random and chaotic so I should probably go and get on with my work and return once I have regained (or should I just say gained?) the ability to say something funny and witty which probably won't occur until I return to Oxford. Sadly for now my brain seems to have turned into cream cheese.