Jackie whispered to Mandy, ‘French? Northern accent?’
Mandy shook her head, ‘The northern accent has been going most of the afternoon, a sort of a continuing theme, the French is because of the Muscadet, but Allah be praised…’ and she bowed to where she thought Mecca was, ‘…he has stopped singing “How much is zat dawgie in ze vindow” in his Gestapo accent, since the dog fighting lads got their just desserts.’
Jackie squashed her hand to her tight-lipped mouth, as they heard the end of the French anthem, “marchon, marchon”, in a northern English accent, from the depths of the kitchen, stifled more giggles as, “ou est le pouffe célèbre”, increasing in volume; he was on his way back.
‘Arr-reet girls, get yer laughing gear round this chocks,’ and he plonked the plates down in his best silve
