When I moved to London at the age of 17, my accent baffled people. It was half French, which made sense as I had grown up in France, and half cockney, which made no sense at all. I was asked, again and again, how I had come to sound the way I did, and it took me a while to realise what had happened.
The year was 2009 and I had spent my formative years glued to The Mighty Boosh, the silly and surreal BBC show. Like a sponge, I’d absorbed some of its accents without meaning to.
Twelve years on, I can report that my accent is now (regrettably?) a lot less puzzling. Still, it remains amusing to think of those months and the people I confused along the way.
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