Peter Rhodes on “trigger warnings,” irony in the Channel and the mixed joys of being read aloud

The writer Lucy Mangan has been agonising over the process of turning her novel into an audiobook. “No writer,” she laments, “wants to hear their own words out loud.” But there is one thing worse than dictating your own book into the recorder, and that is someone else doing it.

Some years ago I was approached by an organisation which wanted to turn some of my stuff into an audiobook. Immensely flattered, I agreed. A few weeks later the first extract arrived. I don't know what I expected but I certainly didn't expect to hear my words delivered in a rich rural accent. I was expecting Derek Jacobi. I got Eddie Grundy.

Regional accents shouldn't matter, but they do. An Afghan who found sanctuary in Glasgow a few years ago was telling TV viewers of the fears of those scrambling to get out of Kabul today. He was a reminder of the random, unpredictable nature of refugee life where, hopefully, you acquire a new home, employment and support. And possibly if you're extra lucky, a Scottish accent.

Meanwhile, hundreds of Afghans desperate to get to England in rubber boats look up wistfully from the Channel at RAF planes bringing hundreds of Afghans who, but for the Taliban, would much sooner stay in Afghanistan. “Ironic” doesn't begin to describe it.

A reader upbraids me for using the word “bloody,” claiming that it derives from “by Our Lady” and is blasphemous. But it doesn't and it isn't. Like so many things we are told in school, it sounds plausible but doesn't stand up to much research. According to my dictionary, the Our Lady connection is “most unlikely.”

In order to eliminate any possible trauma in these snowflake times, audiences at Shakespeare's Globe theatre in London are being issued with “trigger warnings” pointing out that Romeo & Juliet is just a play and nobody really gets hurt. Thus: “Juliet shoots herself. This is not real.”

How history repeats itself. In Shakespeare's comedy, A Midsummer Night's Dream, written in 1595. a group of tradesmen perform a play for the aristocracy and want to avoid scaring the ladies. So Bottom the weaver suggests writing a prologue to explain “we will do no harm with our swords.” The point, as Shakespeare buffs will know, is that the 16th century “trigger warning” actors in Midsummer Night's Dream are (how can we put this in a kindly, non-judgmental way?) dim.