Fucking Fair/Fear

Originally writing at 2nd Oct








The most obviously post for tonight was supposed to be about the Goose Fair (a kind of Play Centre Park which is the focus of the city now) if I didn’t have this American accent which keep me make fall in tricks language. Just tonight, Aga, my Polish friend, couldn’t understand what I was saying because of my accent.

“Can’t” is not “KENT”, it is “KANT”.

“BUS” is not “Bʌs”, it’s BAS”.

So after an exciting and fun night at the Goose Fair, I run to take the last bus of the night and go home. As I got the bus station, I saw I bus stopped there and the driver outside having a fag. So, I asked him: “Is it the ‘tʌrty five’?”. And he answered emphasizing: “Thʌrty” .




“Again” – I thought – “someone is correcting my accent. I wish it was what was happening. The driver was not correcting my pronunciation, he was telling me that that bus was the 30, not the 35. And I just figured it out 15 minutes later when I realized I have never been in those streets before.



So, I came to him and asked about the Lenton Boulervard. “Lenton Boulevard? Ow...”. My stomach came to the top of my head. And he looked to my lost-scared face and ask just to stay in the bus. He kept driving in this dark raining night and when he got the last stop he looked to the corridor and said: “Ok, it’s just you here”.

Oh oh oh!!!!

And my friends were scared about the rides at the fair!!! They have no idea about what fear means. Would the driver dive me to the Sherwood Forest and kill me there? Would Robin Hood listen to my screams and save my life? Not this time. This lovely driver took another route and drove me home.

Goodness sometimes is more scaring than a rollercoaster.

(the phonetic symbols are not exactly the ones used in the dictionaries).