There are few accents more delightful than Geordie, the accent - and dialect - of Newcastle. Newcastle, which I know well, is a vibrant city, where art and theatre flourish. It has its share of upwardly mobile people and house prices to match, but also some poor areas such as Jarrow and North Shields. Whitley Bay is as bracing as the English coast can get, but Newcastle men still prove how "hard" they are by bathing in the sea. The chilly air is matched by the warmth of the people, although even someone tuned in to northern speech, as I am, has to listen carefully to be sure of understanding what the locals are saying.

Newcastle is a place for primitive mating rituals. On Friday nights young men go out in packs to hunt for "birds", shirtless in the coldest of weather. Girls likewise go out on the pull, bare white legs in strappy sandals. Saturday night is "couples' night", when the relationship with Friday night's conquest - if it has lasted this long - is celebrated.

Until now, therefore, I would have said that Newcastle was untouched by the dead hand of political correctness. But now, it seems, a local council is hell bent on spoiling the fun, as only local councils can. From The Telegraph leader: 

In the decades before he was battered to death with a dog-shaped doorstop, "Dirty" Den Watts committed almost every crime going, much to the delight of viewers of EastEnders.

Now it turns out that even his most famous line - a growled " 'Ello, Princess" on his return from the dead - was offensive, at least to the delicate souls at Newcastle City Council. Endearments, they have decreed, are out. No more calling people "love", "sweetheart" or "darling", and especially not such horrific pieces of dialect as "pet" or "hinny".

Local government is rife with absurdity, but these rules take some beating for pointlessness - and, ironically, offensiveness. If "pet" was a term of affection within an ethnic minority, officials trying to suppress it would be decried.

Yet Geordies are an oppressed group, too: the Northumbrian and Viking elements of their tongue are besieged by the soft tones of the South. The canny move would be to leave this canny dialect alone.

The word "canny" is untranslatable. It embraces knowingness, warm-heartedness and decency, combined with streetwise humour.

The silliness of this local council should not be taken as representative of the whole population of Newcastle, however. Here is a comment from the Telegraph website from a "Geordie Bob". If he isn't a Geordie, he's doing a remarkably canny impression of one:

Howay ! Worlds gannin crackaz man, a divvent see why we cannat speak wor native tongue nee more, if I wanna gan call some wifey pet or hinny ne bugga doon the cooncil is ganna stop uz like. Was readin this story an a nearly fell of tha netty!! Ethnic minority me like, Should be protected an that, be stoppin us eatin ham n pease puddin stotties next, my message to them is hadaway an sh....

Here is my translation into Standard English:

Good heavens! The world is going mad. I don't see why we can't speak our native language anymore. If I want to call some woman "pet" or "hinny", no interfering council official is going to stop me. When I read this story, I nearly fell off my lavatory. You see, I'm an ethnic minority, and should be protected. Next they will be stopping us eating our local cuisine. My message to them is kindly leave us alone and mind your own business.