Rishi Sunak speaks in cock-er-ney now. The former Chancellor, and self-described “underdog” in the dismal circus that is the ongoing Conservative Party leadership election, launched his new accent seemingly to celebrate his admission into the final stage of the latest scramble for Number 10. 

It gives the eye-wateringly wealthy Old Wykehamist a certain Trotters Independent Traders’ tang. And, cringing though it may be, some market stall badinage may at least liven up the hustings. “I’ll deport fifty illegals per vote, how ‘bout dat? What about you, Missus? Chuck your vote my way and there’ll be fifty of ‘em on a plane to Kigali faster than you can say knife. Alright, sixty! Sixty per vote — now you can’t say fairer than that.” 

Only really, really top drawer politicians tweak their accents

One can only imagine, as the farce which is Politics These Days unfolds, what the newly confected Del Boy Sunak says to his wife each evening. “Don’t worry, darlin’; vis time next year we’ll be biwwionaires!”

Perhaps I should refrain from bringing Akshata Murthy — who, by all accounts, is a pleasant and clever woman — into this. The last thing I need is my phone ringing in the dead of night, and an unmistakable voice rasping down the line, “Stay away from my faaaamily.” Happily, Mr. Sunak doesn’t drink, and nor do I, so he can’t tell me to get out of his pub.

The truth is only really, really top drawer politicians tweak their accents in the way Sunak has. David Cameron did it, subtly. George Osborne did it, ridiculously — waking up one morning in 2013 and suddenly pronouncing “British” “Briddish”. Tony Blair, who went to Fettes and Oxford, also did major surgery on his speaking voice: but this surgery was largely done whilst a Shadow minister. 

Boris Johnson and Jacob Rees-Mogg are exceptions to the usual rule, embracing rather than rejecting their public school accents — though neither, in fact, are as blue-blooded as Cameron or Osborne, or anywhere near as rich as Sunak. As a marvellously snooty old judge once told me, after his seventh or eighth tankard — yes, tankard — of champagne, Rees-Mogg is the “lucky son of a cunning paperboy”. Meow.

Clipped ‘Queen’s English’ is still favoured in pilots

My own accent, refined by seven years in a minor private school, has largely been useful to me. In America, people seem to find it charming. “You sound like Monty Python,” a pretty waitress once beamed. In Manchester, where I live now, it is at least tolerated. There are plenty of Southerners here, anyway, as the city attracts endless young(ish) urbanites — doctors, lawyers, (oh God) “creatives” — seeking a London lifestyle at Northern prices. Locals, who I tend to get on better with, seem to like it. I think some difference in background, which an accent readily evidences, can actually make human relations easier. But then I try, despite my natural reservation and misanthropy, to be friendly: and the stereotype that Mancunians are generally friendlier in response to a smile or quip than Londoners I have found to be true.

The real problem I have is with emulation. If I’m talking to a Welsh person, I have to resist slipping into their dialect. Ditto Glaswegian or Scouse. Jamaican creates similar temptations and, potentially, even greater faux pas. That said, if Gary Lineker can seriously claim he was a victim of racism, maybe I can claim I was born in Accompong. “Look, I identify as Jamaican, okay; stop denying my reality.”

There have been numerous pieces of research done into which accents we respond best to in particular circumstances. Clipped “Queen’s English” is still favoured in pilots, though personally I’m not bothered as long as they don’t scream “oh, please God, no” — which, you will no doubt agree, could not be made more reassuring by cut glass pronunciation. French is still considered the language of love, and the French accent romantic (its secrets elude me, alas: I’m thirty-four and yet to successfully roll my tongue around a French person’s Rs). 

Switch a French accent for German and an otherwise erotic verse swiftly transforms from seductive to terrifying. Cheerful Australian accents — along, curiously, with dour Northern ones — are the best vectors for blue jokes. Try it for yourself: “Two nuns on a bike. One of them says, ‘I’ve never come this way before.’ And the other says, ‘That’ll be the cobbles.’” …see what I mean?

But which accent works best for a politician? Sunak, Osborne, Cameron and all the other graduates of Blair School clearly have their ideas. What really matters, though, is authenticity. Rishi Sunak is a classic public schoolboy and he would be much better off just being that, rather than trying to sound like he’ll be round next Tuesday to re-tarmac your drive.

I want to live in a meritocracy. We won’t live in a meritocracy until everyone, including the prime minister, feels they can stop pretending to be what they are not.