Nicholas Elliott: Steady On - Online Studio Sale . . . 30% OFF

I have lived here in North Norfolk for just over 4 years now and still at times fail to understand the broad East Anglia accent. I don’t stand a snowballs chance in hell of understanding my neighbours elderly gardener. In early autumn I answered a knock at the front door and there he stood in my porch in his gardening outfit comprising of a far too tight fitting beige jacket, a ladies hat and wellies turned over at the top. I froze, not because of his attire but in the knowledge that we (well he anyway) was about to enter into a form of communication that only one of us would comprehend.

I greeted him with “Good Afternoon” and he grunted something which I took for confirmation that it was indeed afternoon, maybe a good one - maybe not. Then it was his turn. He went on for a while in his strange dialect, stopped and then looked at me expectantly. I have absolutely no idea what he had said. Thinking on my feet I came up with what I thought was a clever ‘open’ response that should cover all eventualities for anything that he could have said.

“I agree, yes indeed”

With that he nodded, grunted, pulled his ladies hat down at both sides by its wide brim, turned on his wellied heels and was gone.

Phew it was over. There have been times when I have been abroad and not spoken the native language but have understood more of what was being said.

A couple of days later the dogs were barking persistently at something in the garden. I peered out of the window to investigate. My neighbours' gardener was in my apple tree, bag in hand picking everything within reach. Mystery solved then.

Staying with the accent - on another occasion I overheard a conversation about farming. I think it might have been on BBC Radio Norfolk. It was an agricultural item and the discussion was about a farm, with apparently 5 Sows and Pigs. Goodness I thought, How on earth can they make a living? and carried on with my work. Later when I had tuned into the accent a bit better I realised it was a farm with five thousand pigs. Deary me.

All this is leading up to a recent walk (looking at the horizon to help with my vertigo) when we met a fellow dog walker who is a native Norfolk man. We got to discussing the obedience of dogs and recall.

You need to imagine the East Anglia accent here when he said:

“I reckon my uncle had it about right. He used to say I never had trouble training a dog . . . they always come back after a couple of weeks”

Here is today's (bargain) painting: