Fulton Cackle.


For some unfathomable reason, I seem to have adopted Mr Mackay from the sitcom Porridge’s laugh.


(For reference, start the video 39 seconds in)

This change came about in recent months. What was once a girly falsetto giggle is now a gravelly, raspy grunt. I blame my asbestos cupboard; that and my forty-a-day cigar habit. I’d fully expected my voice to lose range with age; I just didn’t foresee it taking on the tone and timbre of a deceased Scottish actor in the process.

It took me a while to identify whom I sounded like. I’d catch myself laughing and try to place it. Was it someone I knew? No, of course not; it was an actor I’ve watched countless times on DVD (usually while compiling my tax return) and subconsciously taken their cackle as my own. Thank God I didn't also start wearing the uniform.

I suppose it could be worse. At least I haven’t grown a moustache. Give it time, though. Give it time.

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