It's wicked to mock the afflicted

I have just returned from an unsuccessful sojourn into the dark heart of what the natives call Liverpool. I was there for a job interview and it went well until they quizzed me on my Beatles trivia knowledge. I don't know if I was just hyper-attentive but I could have sworn every restaurant I ate at played some track from those four guys. It is a shame I really liked the environment there it. I knew a lot of people at the department and the big boss seemed like a man I could do business with. La vie, C'est comme ca.

Once I was politely told that I interviewed well but the Prudence referred to in the 1968 song was in fact Mia Farrow's sister and the job would go to another, I was free to wander around the city. It's a nice city. Filthy. But nice. My major complaint was that most people seemed intent on taking the piss out of this one regional accent. Every where I went they were speaking in this comical accent. I knew they were not making fun of my accent as when a Brit wants to mimic an American accent they inevitably sound like a Texan with Downs Syndrome. It turns out the accent so ridiculed was their own and they weren't making fun of it. They really talk like that. I couldn't help stare at people in queues and the train station.