It’s early in the morning and I’m in the tube, laboriously making my way to the gym, when a girl bearing an uncanny resemblance to Amanda Seyfried enters the carriage, sits next to me and strikes a conversation. For what seemed like twenty minutes, she spoke to me in the thickest Scottish accent this side of Rob Roy and William Wallace. Having been abruptly transported to the Scottish Highlands for the very first time, I was at once enthralled by the scenery, but flabbergasted by my utter inability to decipher half of what was being said to me. The guttural consonants and rapid staccato of her accent simply gave me no respite. Then, suddenly, her monologue came to a screeching halt.
“Where are you going now?” she asked me.
“To the gym,” I answered.
She looked at me completely mystified.
“You have an accent!” she said.
I’m still laughing.