Gotta love a Scouser

My lovely husband isn’t a Scouser. He’s from West Lancs don’t you know. He’s currently contracting for a firm of reputable house builders, working with some lovely Liverpool lads.

I’d like to relate to you our conversation on his return one evening.

Him. I had a very confusing day today.
Me. Hmm?
Him. Yeah, they asked me to sort out the Battenberg boxes.
Me. um hmm.
Him. Only I didn’t know what they were.
Me. Battenberg boxes?
Him. Yes.
Me. So, you mean, like the cake made out of squares of sponge, with marzipan (yak, hate it) all over it?
Him. Yes
Me. So am guessing it would be something like squared cable conduit in banks of four, that just look like Battenberg cake?
Him. Yes, that’s what I thought. I spent ages researching but couldn’t find anything that matched.
Me. Hmmm
Him. Turns out it wasn’t conduit for cabling
Me. (thinking, this is ruddy fascinating – I’d rather be having root canal surgery), Hmmm. (Also, thinking, on the great British Bake Off Battenberg was one of Mary Berry’s technical challenges. I don’t like marzipan though – still – so while admiring the skill, sort of, I was still appalled by the whole thing).
Him. I asked the bloke again for some help but he just kept saying it louder. He’s got quite a thick Scouse accent.
Me. Right
Him. Then he said Bat – And – Bird – Boxes. They put them up on the houses.
Me. So not little square cake slices then, stale ones for birds to eat? (I did think that might be a bit specific even for quite a trendy housebuilder)
Him. No
Me. Oh.

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