Speaking in Tongues

It's been a while I know but what can one do when the Muse does not speak? I am writing this with the morning sun in my eyes which is a bit trying but anything is better than winter darkness.
Now on to the matter at hand. I was puzzling over speech forms one morning and started to think on various phrases that mean so much to me and so little to anyone else or perhaps a very few. I was remembering my Mother when she was a much younger woman and how she used to bend English to suit herself. Suiting herself was a large part of her personality come to think of it. One of the classics came forth as my sister and I were pulling each other's hair.
"Stop that you two, hawling like a pair of brooligans!" It did. We weren't at all sure what she had said but the meaning was very clear. Her other beaut was the infamous "truggling rag" with which she struggled one day to lay flat in the back seat of the car. Then her piece de resistance[ imagine the` accent]" piddle pashers" which she felt were not at all flattering to my teenage figure. She was right . I had unfortunately inherited her Queen Anne legs, a topic never to be mentioned as when I did she informed me that I had lovely legs. No wonder I have such a light grip on the way the world works. There might be more of these things lurking in the recesses but it's awfully early and that is all that come to mind. They are like mushrooms these things. You have to leave them alone in the dark and let them grow.