Do you remember that the last post ended with a clue of what I was doing for Christmas? The time has come to reveal the truth.

Black Country dialect.

If yowm saf enuff ter cum dahn ‘ere agooing wum, yowr tay ull be spile’t! Maybe you’ve already recognised this as the Black Country dialect from the West Midlands in England. If you haven’t, the translation into standard English would be: If you’re soft enough to come down here when going home, your tea will be spoiled!

I’m obviously visiting my in-laws. I’d call them out-laws since I’m not married — yet? —, but they don’t do illegal business as far as I know. Anyway, I’m having my first genuinely English Christmas ever. I must admit and celebrate that English Christmas food has nothing to do with the reputation of their everyday gastronomy. I should also add that I won a game of Scrabble against two well-educated native people. Arrogant as it sounds, I don’t intend to show off; I’m just promoting myself as a language professional.

There’s only one thing that bothers me about this whole English holiday. I’m Catalan, therefore my biological clock runs one hour faster than the English clock. Should I celebrate the new year at 11 pm? It’ll be weird to pretend that nothing happens knowing that all my people are already in 2012. But then, I’ve always enjoyed the weird things of life.

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