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Being Aussie and a nomad with a wish to travel far, there comes a time when money’s scarce no matter who you are. I was in the north of England when the bank declared I’m broke, so I went to seek employment from someone who needs a bloke. It was a hospital in Liverpool that needs a cleaner in the wards. In there I met some nurses and we struck quite similar chords, for they were Aussies just like me with an accent just like mine, so it felt good to be in company with those still speaking strine. Because the language of the locals sort of takes some time to learn, and there are words still spoken that for us still twist and turn, so they must be spoken slower for their message to come through, and we all got into trouble when the scouse accent was true. It was not because our work is poor, for we had pulled our weight, and punctuality was not bought up because we’re never late. Our manners were impeccable but we were deemed as rude. They said that we took liberty with a patient’s unique food. But we were only saving money for our travelling overseas, and had gathered in the kitchen where we’d eat the awful teas that are provided for the patients, and of course us staff as well, though, some days a visitor would save us eating food from hell. It was their way of saying thanks for the caring that was done, for they saw me help the nurses when their need was on to run, and their loved ones had told them of the grub we’re forced to eat, so through the ill once getting well, we would get a special treat. But oh the gremlins got us in the kitchen there one night, when a lady fronted us with, what I’d say a lovely sight. She held a pork pie in her hands - the favoured food I love, and with a smile she said to me “Would you ‘eat this pie up ‘Guv’!” I placed it in the oven and arranged three plates as well. We didn’t waste one single crumb while taking in the wondrous smell. Then our benefactor walked back in; her scouse was very clear … when she looked in the oven - “Is me ‘usbands pie ‘ot yet m’dear?”
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