“Bah”
I say, and “humbug” too.
No
I am not an ovine with a sweet tooth – I am an irate Australian who is already
pissed off with Christmas – and it is only November.
Many
people will recognise the term “Bah Humbug” from Charles Dickens’ tale “A Christmas
Carol” where the grumpy character Ebenezer Scrooge uttered the same in his
declaration that the Christmas season was a fraud. Scrooge was a miser who
believed that the giving of gifts commercialised the concept of Christmas. He
was accused of lacking any Seasonal ‘spirit’ – and several ghosts haunted him into
liking Christmas.
Sucker.
This
evening I battled my way through the crowds of Boat Quay to meet with some
friends for dinner. Boar Quay is one of the main tourist districts of
Singapore. It is located on the banks of the dirty Singapore River and it is neither
a quay nor are there any boats. This is typically Singaporean.
Whilst
beating my way through crowds of locals and tourists – many of whom were
tinselled up or adorned in some other way in Christmas garb – I heard someone
yelling. “Ay Oop ‘ep”
The
voice was male and the accent was unmistakably that of a Northerner.
I
paused in my stride and was looking around when I once again heard the
Northerner voice, “Ay Oop o’er ‘ere ‘ep”
My
roaming eyes quickly identified the voice as belonging to a Northerner friend
of mine who we call the Hammer. He was perched on a bar stool at an outside
table of a pub called the Penny Black.
Some
readers may already be confused – as is the spell check function of my
computer. The automatic spell check function on the word processing software of
my computer does not recognise the Northerner dialect. It is rejecting the term
“Ay Oop” and is bewildered by the absence of consonants in the Northerner
diction.
As
it should be.
A
Northerner is someone who comes from the northern part of England. They are
doubly cursed by being both English and coming from a part of the country that
is subject to ridicule and scorn by their own kinfolk. I however quite like
them.
“Ay
Oop” is a Northerner greeting that is fairly flexible in its use. It can be
used to say ‘hello’ or ‘goodbye’ as well as a form of general acknowledgement
in conversation.
The
phrase, “Ay Oop o’er ‘ere ‘ep”
directly translates to “Hello – over here
Hep”
I
am not ‘Oop’. I am ‘ep.
The
Hammer is quite a typical Northerner in that he is a large and dour unit. Like
many Northerners he is an enormous consumer of alcohol, is a spendthrift of the
highest order – and he normally oozes misery. The Hammer is a modern day Ebenezer
Scrooge.
I
beat my way through the throng of map-carrying and sweaty tourists and
Santa-hat wearing bar attendants and arrived at the Hammers table. He was
seated with another Northerner named Harry and a fat German bloke named Horst.
“Ay Oop ‘ammer, Ay Oop ‘arry,
Ay Oop ‘orst” I greeted the trio.
I
am fluent in Northerner.
“Ay Oop ‘ep”
the Hammer repeated.
“Ay Oop ‘ep”
echoed Harry.
The
fat German named Horst muttered something guttural that was difficult to make
out as he was also drinking from a bottle of beer when he was saying it.
The
fat German bastard Horst does not like me - and he has told me as such -
because I refer to him as the fat German bastard Horst. I call him this because
he is fat and a German and a bastard. There are of course other reasons that
Horst and I dislike each other – however I will not elaborate further here as
that is a tale unto itself.
“Y’Oright ‘ep?”
asked the Hammer.
“Y’Oright ‘ammer innit”
I replied.
This
is essentially a Northerner exchange of pleasantries where we are asking each
other whether we are alright. “Innit” in
it’s literal form is asking “Isn’t it?” – however the English tend to drop this
word indiscriminately into many conversations.
As
do I.
“Y’Oright ‘ep?”
enquired Harry.
“Y’Oright ‘arry innit”
I responded.
“How are you fat German bastard
Horst?” I jibed at the fat German bastard Horst.
He
glared at me in response.
“Fookin Christmas”
the Hammer said as he drained the contents from a bottle of Tiger beer
Harry
nodded his head grimly in agreement.
“Ay Oop”
I concurred.
“What are your plans for
Christmas Hammer and Harry?” I enquired of the Northerners.
I was ignoring the German Horst for the moment.
“Nout”
they replied in unison.
This
is Northerner for ‘nothing’.
“You are staying on the
Island?” I enquired.
“Aye”
said the Hammer.
“Ay Oop”
grimaced Harry.
Both
“Aye” and “Ay Oop” mean the same thing in this instance – and the meaning is
an affirmation.
“Wha’ abou’ youse ‘ep?”
enquired the Hammer.
The
Northerners often have difficulty in pronouncing the letter ‘t’
“’ome to Oz ‘ammer”
I replied in perfect Lancastrian.
The
fat German bastard Horst made another sort of phlegmy guttural noise that could
have been just clearing his throat – but I took it as a form of derogation.
“What about you then Horst –
are you and your kind planning another crack at world domination - or perhaps a
bout of genocide?” I asked.
Horst
spat on the ground in contempt.
I
was about to launch into the German however at that moment a pair of tiny and
quite young green-clad Singaporean girls appeared at the outside bar – each
carrying a basket of what appeared from where we were sitting to be Easter eggs.
They were handing these out to patrons.
The
desire to set them on fire was immediate and compelling – however I resisted.
I
was surprised when the munchkin type creatures made a fairly direct beeline
towards our table and I was even more surprised when one of them embraced the
fat German bastard Horst in a rather intimate fashion.
Horst
looked much chuffed.
The
phrase ‘beeline’ relates directly to the behaviour off bees – the buzzing type
– not the second letter of the English alphabet. When one of the forager bees
finds nectar or pollen it flies back to its hive and communicates the source to
the other bees. It does so by releasing a chemical and also performing a type
of dance that bee enthusiasts refer to a ‘waggle dance’. The collector bees
then fly directly to the nectar following the shortest possible route. This is
referred to as the beeline.
“What’s going on here Hammer?” I
enquired of the Northerner as the fat German bastard Horst cuddled and embraced
the tiny munchkin girl.
“I assume that is one of
Horst’s many illegitimate children?”
“Tha’s ‘is girlfriend”
replied the Hammer.
“Jaysus” I
retorted.
The
fat German bastard must be sixty years old – if he is a day - and the tiny
Chinese girl appeared to be no older than twenty.
Love
really is blind methinks.
Now
that the baskets that the little munchkins were closer I could see that they
contained not Easter eggs – but humbugs. These are hard boiled sweets that
contain peppermint. They are distinctive in that they are small, white and
egg-shaped decorated with colourful stripes.
“What creatures are you dressed
up as?” I enquired of the other girl.
“Guess”
she responded.
“Smurfs?”
Harry offered.
“Gremlins?”
I suggested.
“Imps?” enquired
the Hammer.
Horst
again made some disgusting and indecipherable Germanic noise as he continued to
embrace his girlfriend and it was unclear to me whether he was contributing to
the conversation.
“We are elfs lah”
the Singaporean girl squealed.
“Elfs?”
I enquired.
“Yes Christmas elfs”
she giggled.
As
with the Northern dialect, the auto spellcheck and correct function on my Mac
is rejecting the word ‘elfs’ – and quite rightly so. I momentarily considered
the merits of informing the elf that the plural of elf is elves – but I simply
couldn’t be bothered.
“And what do you think these
sweets that you are handing out to patrons are?” I asked
“Christmas candy”
she replied.
She
thrust her basket towards us and both Harry and the Hammer took handfuls. They then
put the handful into their pocket and grabbed some more. Free stuff and thrift
is irresistible to the Northerners. I have seen many examples of this before. It
is the Northerner way.
“These are humbugs aren’t they
Hammer?”
“Ay Oop”
he replied.
The
only relationship that I could fathom between the humbugs that were being
handed out by the elves and Christmas was the Ebenezer Stooge connection. This
was either a brilliant public protest against the consumerism of Christmas by
the Bar owner who had employed the elves - or a confused Singaporean
interpretation. I am leaning heavily towards the latter.
“’Ave a beer ‘ep?” asked
the Hammer
“Cannot Hammer”
I replied
“You know very well that I do
not drink and I must go now and meet some friends for dinner”
I
cast the fat German bastard Horst a withering look of disgust and contempt –
for his elven girlfriend was now sitting on his lap and their tongues were
entangled in messy kisses. I grabbed a handful of humbugs from the other
Singaporean elf as I stood.
“So long Hammer and Harry”
I said as I departed
“Merry Christmas ‘ep”
nodded the Hammer.
“Merry
Christmas ‘ep” echoed Harry.
“Bah humbug,”
I said to them both.
Then
I walked away.
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