Scanning stories this morning and read this first line of a story from The Guardian:
A two-year-old girl died after she and her eight-month-old brother fell into the sea in their double pushchair in Folkestone, Kent, yesterday afternoon.
But it immediately sent me back nearly 15 years to the time I cocked up the pronunciation of that city in Kent. It was in the course of planning my first trip to Europe, which included a Channel crossing from England to France. I'm not sure of this, but I think we had a choice of crossing from Dover or Folkestone — the latter of which I pronounced "Folk ee Stone ee".
Interesting that I can easily remember such embarrassing moments, as though I like to torture myself, and can't readily call to mind some of the incredibly wicked smart things I've said.