To traditionalists, it may sound bizarre. In the world of education, however, the following question is causing debate to rage.

Is it snobbish to expect our children to speak “proper” English?

In one camp, as we reported this week, there are the linguists who say we shouldn’t correct children when they use regional pronunciations – for example, by saying “aks” instead of “ask”, and “ain’t” instead of “aren’t”. To tell children this is bad English, they argue, is “accent prejudice”.

In the other camp, however, are those who believe that children should all learn to pronounce words the same way, because regional pronunciations such as “aks” and “ain’t” could prove a disadvantage in certain situations: for example, a job interview.

It’s tricky. Both arguments have their merits. So how can we keep everyone happy? Thankfully, I’ve come up with a perfect compromise.

We teach all our children to speak Geordie.

This solution should satisfy both sides. It means that all children will grow up pronouncing words the same way. And at the same time it tackles prejudice against regional accents. Because Geordie is a regional accent.

The reason to choose Geordie ahead of others is simple. In a survey last year, members of the public were asked to name their favourite accent, and Geordie came top. So let’s go with it. Democracy in action.

From now on, every school in Britain should teach Geordie vocabulary, Geordie syntax and the declension of Geordie verbs. Let the classrooms of Eton echo to the rote learning of Geordie conjugations. And woe betide any boy who hasn’t done his Geordie prep.

“I’m frightfully sorry, Sir. I was going to do it, but I forgot.”

“‘Going’, Twistleton-Smythe? The word is ‘gannin’. Stay behind after class.”

It’s only fair. After all, why should pupils in the northeast be expected to pronounce words the way well-heeled southerners do? Let’s make well-heeled southerners pronounce words the way pupils in the northeast do, instead. My plan will reverse centuries of linguistic discrimination.

Just wait. Soon, sharp-elbowed middle-class mothers will be overheard in public, scolding their children for failing to speak the Queen’s Geordie.

“Don’t say ‘don’t’, darling. Say ‘divven’t’. One doesn’t wish to sound a snob, but you won’t get anywhere in life unless you learn to speak reet proper, like.”

Urban scrawl

On Thursday I went on a very special railway journey across the south of England, which you will soon be able to read about in our Travel section. The view from the window was wonderful. Except in one small but hideous respect.

The graffiti.

You expect it in London. But it was disturbing to see so much of it in the countryside, too. Practically every available manmade surface alongside the track – every bridge, every tunnel, every wall – had been gaudily defaced. It’s hardly a new problem. But I don’t remember it ever being quite so bad outside the cities.

My son, who is eight, was on the journey with me, so he saw it all too. Naturally I told him in no uncertain terms that graffiti is very bad and that, when he’s a teenager, he must never do it. Then again, he probably won’t be able to even if he wants to, because by the time he’s a teenager, there’ll be no space. Every square inch of wall in Britain will already be covered.

I suppose his generation could always just graffiti over the existing graffiti. The risk is that the people who did the existing graffiti might get angry with them. “Clear off, you young vandals. You’ve ruined this beautiful wall. I can hardly read any of the swear words I sprayed on it now.”

It’s all terribly depressing. Still, there is hope for the future. In due course, I feel sure, graffiti will die out – for one very simple reason.

Thanks to this country’s rapidly plummeting birth rate, there will eventually be no teenagers left to do it.

Birdsong is driving me bonkers

According to a new study, birdsong may be good for your mental health. Listening to it, researchers say, can help to provide relief from stress and fatigue.

Frankly, I don’t believe a word of it. In my experience the truth is the opposite. Especially at this time of year, because the dawn chorus starts earlier and earlier every morning. And the inescapable shrieking din of it always wakes me up. Which means that I’m getting less and less sleep. So birdsong is actually worsening my fatigue, rather than relieving it.

I know I’m not alone in this view. In fact, it was shared by a previous author of this very column.

Back in the spring of 1990, Auberon Waugh composed a stirring 1,000-word broadside against the dawn chorus – arguing that it had done irreparable damage to countless British people’s mental health.

“At least half of all country and suburban dwellers must suffer from this persecution,” he wrote. “I have often observed how soon majors and other people who retire to live in the country go mad, but I always attributed it to the influence of loneliness, and listening to BBC radio. Now I think it is the result of being woke up every morning by the hideous cacophony of these warbling cretins.”

I am certain that a proper scientific study would prove him right. No doubt bird-lovers will roll their eyes and say I must be hysterical. Well of course I’m hysterical. I haven’t had enough sleep. Because I keep being woken up by infernal birds.

‘Way of the World’ is a twice-weekly satirical look at the headlines while aiming to mock the absurdities of the modern world. It is published at 7am every Tuesday and Saturday