Not From Round 'ere

Not quite wildling North, but norther than here.

Where accents fight like cats in an alley way; squealing to be heard, a herd.
Darlo, Geordie, Bora, Mackam, versus Durham, Gateshead and "the north".

A lifetime, a planet, a public bus apart.
An adventure to get there, desperate to depart.

Fifty miles south: heady Yorkshire.
We're all just exhibition Geordies. Asked to repeat "moor" and "door".

Seventy miles west: Londoners comment "I knew you were a Manc from your accent...".
You don't dissent.

Americans, Israelis, Indians: Their eyes see you're related to the King.
Quickly delaying the pause in the talk, subtly playing the English card.
History, politics, culture: the soft power, power play, from a slow telephone voice.

Potatoe, Pot-ar-toe. Personae.
The delivery never changed.
The receivers deceived.
By themselves, telling you everything you needed to know.

That you're not from round 'ere.