Would that be a short back and sides and a shave, sir?
- Credit: Archant
I am beginning to worry about myself. And I’m not the only one.
Three times now I have taken part in one of those Q&A things on Facebook and three times the results have been discouaging.
It seems that far from being the domestic goddess I imagined myself to be, I am, in fact, an anally retentive, vengeful killer from somewhere in Kent.
The first survey said it would determine my geographical origins based on my use of language. As I have two Suffolk grandparents and two Norfolk grandparents, it looked like a no-brainer. How could I be anything but East Anglian (or, as the spell check liked to call it, East Angolan or East Anglican)?
It wasn’t too sophisticated as these surveys go but even then, I was surprised to be declared a native of the south-east. Two holidays in Margate and one in Brighton hardly qualify as residency.
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And, anyway, in 1967, I came back from a week in sunny Margate with a Wolverhampton accent having adopted it from a lad from the Midlands who was staying in the same guest house.
Just because I don’t say “ee bah gum”; speak like Vernon Kay (Family Fortunes: “Name a type of ‘paul’” Answer “swimming”), or the famous Geordie presenter Antendec doesn’t mean I must come from south of the M25.
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Then my husband read out the one about musicals. My answers would indicate my perfect stage role.
It would have to be Sarah Brown in Guys and Dolls, I thought. She’s the Salvation Army sergeant who falls for the gambler Sky Masterson. A clean living woman of enormous moral fibre and reforming zeal.
And what was my ideal part? Who else but Sweeney Todd, the demon barber of Fleet Street?
Are these Q&As exposing a hitherto hidden and ugly part of me? If someone upsets me, do I plan bloody and remorseless retribution? And am I a man? Not yet, though if I get many more hairs growing on my chin incipient manhood is a distinct possibility.
“Do you want to do this one?” asked my husband, who, by the way, found out his perfect musical would be Wicked.
“What is it?” I asked
“What food matches your personality,” he said. This would obviously provide vital new information that could change my life.
“Go on, then.” It’s the sort of thing we south-easterners feel compelled to do.
We ploughed through the questions, googling terms we didn’t understand (yolo = you only live once; pda = public displays of affection)
“Well,” said my husband encouragingly as he scrolled through the results.
“Yes?” I said, fully expecting to be something stodgy.
“You’re a sandwich.”
How can you not like being a sandwich? Brilliant. After the hurt of finding out I don’t talk like an East Anglian and most resemble a character whose small business enterprise is a cover for serial killing, a sandwich seemed like a good deal... especially if it comes with a packet of crisps and a drink.
But then came the final indignity; the Star Wars quiz - which of the iconic characters would I turn out to be?
I had my heart set on Princess Leia. The worm cast plaits, the white frock, the feisty attitude and the chance to snog Han Solo (as performed by Harrison Ford). Failing that, I wouldn’t have minded being fearless, sardonic Han Solo or, indeed, anyone with a lightsaber except Luke. Obi Wan Kenobi would be great but then Darth Vader matches up pretty well with Sweeney Todd: both had issues. Both turned to the dark side. And, with Darth, you get James Earl Jones to do your voice so your south-eastern accent doesn’t show.
This time, I was ultra-careful with my answers; what, I thought, would Princess Leia say. So, having delivered, in my considered opinion, a perfectly judged set of answers, I was quietly confident as my husband prepared to deliver the verdict.
“You are,” he paused for effect.... “C3PO.”
Star Warriors will know that this is the prissy protocol robot. I would say he was anally retentive but, unfamiliar with the anatomy of cyborgs, it’s probably more accurate to say 3-in-1 retentive.
But at least I wasn’t the Wookie.