Today I remembered something that happened when I was away on my gap year that was really awkward at the time and now just seems sooo stupid. It's about the inability to say, 'Ok, I've got stuff to do so I'll just see you another day. Bye!'
I was on my gap year. I was 19. I was teaching in some of the local schools in the town where I lived. I was also running the town newspaper with a friend.
One day, I was working on an article for the newspaper deadline when the door bell went. It was one of my older students, I think she was about 14. I think her name was Jeanine. She wanted to come and just hang out. So I said, "Yeh, great. I've got to go out in about half an hour but stay until then." I didn't have anywhere to go but I thought that would just make her realise it was only a half hour visit.
The half an hour went by, we had a cup of tea, talked about whatever... and she didn't leave. I looked at my watch and said brightly, "O, is that the time?! I've got to go out now," implying that it was time for her to go.
Her response? "O ok, where do you need to go?"
"I'm meeting Lucy (the friend I ran the newspaper with), she's back from a trip out of town so I've got to go and meet her to help her with her bags." All lies. She wasn't due back until the next day. And she only had one bag.
Her response? "O great, I like Lucy. I'll come with you."
Ok, so now I've got nothing. I've got no reason to say, no don't come with me, cause all I'm doing is meeting a friend. Dammit, I should have said I had an important newspaper-related meeting with the town mayor or something.
I get my bag and we leave the house and we're walking in the general direction of the drop off point I said I was going to. I'm walking really slowly. My brain is in overdrive. How can I get out of this? We're going to arrive at said location and no-one's going to be there.
"I just need to pop into the shop," I say on the way, desperately trying to buy time. I pointlessly buy a bunch of bananas and then sure enough, we're on our way again. Then suddenly, I come up with something.
"O wait! I've just remembered she said she was going to call me when she got in as she doesn't definitely know what time she'll be here. Save me waiting for ages for her. I guess I'll go back home then." We're near Jeanine's house and I'm hoping she'll say 'ok, I'll go this way home, see you at school tomorrow!' But no! Is this the most thick skinned child ever? She just says, "OK, we'll go back to yours then." I nod meekly and we turn around.
When we get back to the house I realise I'm back at square 1. Nothing has been achieved. So I try the next get-out-of-jail card in my pack. I make a fake phone call. That's right. "I'll just give her a quick call," I say.
I go into the next room, pick up the phone and have a loud conversation which goes something like this - "Hi Lucy! Yeh, are you on your way back? O ok, you're almost here? Great! And they've invited you for lunch, have they? And I'm invited? That sounds lovely. O yeh I know, the big house on the other side of town. Great, that'll be nice, just a nice little quiet gathering. Lovely, see you in ten!"
So I grab my bag and tell Jeanine I've been invited for lunch so I quickly need to go out. She offers to walk with me. Dammit. Will this never end?! So we walk all the way there and thankfully, my fake lunch invite was at a house in a little compound so I just said a hurried goodbye outside the compound and ran to the house. I did actually knock on the door and invite myself in, explaining the situation and stayed for lunch anyway!
And almost missed that deadline I was trying to reach when she first turned up!
Saturday 31 March 2012
Friday 30 March 2012
A reader's requests
Today I'm going to take a little look at words or phrases one reader told me they get annoyed by. (I'm always open to requests, if you feel something needs proper examination. It's like a service I can provide for the frustrated vocabulary-user.)
The first of these, I am definitely guilty of. It's "to be honest..." or "if I'm being honest..." Which is a bit of a suspicious pretext to give your sentence. Like, 'It doesn't matter if I'm telling the truth the rest of the time, or if you think I'm telling the truth. No, that doesn't matter. I just need you to know that I'm being honest, now.' It also sounds a bit archaic, like you're about to make a statement of great wisdom which might be similar to "To be or not to be."
"To be honest... is a good thing to be."
I'm trying to think what it might really mean. Does it have a meaning or is it actually quite redundant when you examine it properly? If I say, "I'm really upset about that," does it because more serious or important or meaningful if I say, "To be honest, I'm really upset about that"? You know, I don't think it does mean anything apart from "To be honest," which is to say that the rest of my words and speech are said in frivolity, they might be true, they might not be, you'll never know... whatever.
"Don't get me wrong." That's another one. Firstly it's grammatically clumsy. It obviously means, "Don't misunderstand me" or "Don't perceive me wrong," so why am I saying 'get'? And also, how can you tell someone not to misunderstand you? If you are about to say something which doesn't have a clear meaning or could be misunderstood, surely you should explain what you are trying to say, not just tell the listener, don't misunderstand me but e.g. you look awful today. They're obviously going to misunderstand you unless you explain what you really mean.
"At the end of the day." Where did this concept of 'a day' start? "At the end of the day, we're all going to die," people say, or something similar. It makes it sound really doom-and-gloom-y. Like there's going to be an apocalypse at 9pm, everyone, get ready, because "at the end of the day, we're all going to die." Even if it doesn't literally mean, 'the day' it just means 'at some point', it's still not quite right, because we're not all going to die en masse, are we? If I were to make a law correcting this sentence, I would decree that people must say 'at the end of each person's life, they will die,' which is a lot more accurate. Another way it is commonly used it in e.g. concluding an argument, with "at the end of the day, it's not a problem." But it is a problem now? It actually means, 'in conclusion', doesn't it? There must be a better way of saying 'in conclusion' without saying 'at the end of the day,' which is quite silly, when you think about it?
Another phrase I use all the time has just occured to me, "By the way." By the where? The way? Where's the way? And why are we by it when really what you mean is 'also' or 'as an aside'. How silly. "By the way."
The first of these, I am definitely guilty of. It's "to be honest..." or "if I'm being honest..." Which is a bit of a suspicious pretext to give your sentence. Like, 'It doesn't matter if I'm telling the truth the rest of the time, or if you think I'm telling the truth. No, that doesn't matter. I just need you to know that I'm being honest, now.' It also sounds a bit archaic, like you're about to make a statement of great wisdom which might be similar to "To be or not to be."
"To be honest... is a good thing to be."
I'm trying to think what it might really mean. Does it have a meaning or is it actually quite redundant when you examine it properly? If I say, "I'm really upset about that," does it because more serious or important or meaningful if I say, "To be honest, I'm really upset about that"? You know, I don't think it does mean anything apart from "To be honest," which is to say that the rest of my words and speech are said in frivolity, they might be true, they might not be, you'll never know... whatever.
"Don't get me wrong." That's another one. Firstly it's grammatically clumsy. It obviously means, "Don't misunderstand me" or "Don't perceive me wrong," so why am I saying 'get'? And also, how can you tell someone not to misunderstand you? If you are about to say something which doesn't have a clear meaning or could be misunderstood, surely you should explain what you are trying to say, not just tell the listener, don't misunderstand me but e.g. you look awful today. They're obviously going to misunderstand you unless you explain what you really mean.
"At the end of the day." Where did this concept of 'a day' start? "At the end of the day, we're all going to die," people say, or something similar. It makes it sound really doom-and-gloom-y. Like there's going to be an apocalypse at 9pm, everyone, get ready, because "at the end of the day, we're all going to die." Even if it doesn't literally mean, 'the day' it just means 'at some point', it's still not quite right, because we're not all going to die en masse, are we? If I were to make a law correcting this sentence, I would decree that people must say 'at the end of each person's life, they will die,' which is a lot more accurate. Another way it is commonly used it in e.g. concluding an argument, with "at the end of the day, it's not a problem." But it is a problem now? It actually means, 'in conclusion', doesn't it? There must be a better way of saying 'in conclusion' without saying 'at the end of the day,' which is quite silly, when you think about it?
Another phrase I use all the time has just occured to me, "By the way." By the where? The way? Where's the way? And why are we by it when really what you mean is 'also' or 'as an aside'. How silly. "By the way."
Thursday 29 March 2012
The thing with names
As a person who's always thinking about words and how they sound, I quite naturally think about how names sound together.
Let's say there's a couple and they've got quite rhymey names, like John and Jean, or something. I'm not too keen but it's kind of ok. It's when they start having children that's the problem. The first child they call James, so that's ok, he's also rhymey. John, Jean, James. So they've got a nice little cutesy family unit, all beginning with J. Then they have another child and call him Colin. No! No, you can't do that! By the divine laws of naming, you're not allowed! Because now Colin is a total reject. It's like you've said to him, 'We're all best friends and really close and a great little family with our J names and you, you're the extra, you don't fit in, Colin.'
I know a family who the father and mother are 'G' and 'O' and the child is 'O'. So their names are GOO. And the dad is a bit out of things cause he's the G. This family's names upset me.
In my family, we've all got different first letters and different last letters. So that's fine. If all the family have the same sound at the end, apart from one, it's a bit mean, but not as bad. Like Hannah, Sarah, Gemma... and Bob.
Also if just two people in the family have the same letter, I feel it creates a closer relationship between them, to the exclusion of everyone else. So if there's a Jane, Bill, Emma and Julie. Jane and Julie are a bit closer to each other than in their relationships with the others, because of their name closeness.
That's mental isn't it? Is this the ramblings of a demented woman with word-OCD? I realise that obviously, people's relationships aren't based on the matchiness (yes, that's right, matchiness) of their names, but I can't help noticing it and thinking about it!
Ok, I think today I'm coming across like a psychopath. Hmm. Will try to appear more normal again tomorrow.
Let's say there's a couple and they've got quite rhymey names, like John and Jean, or something. I'm not too keen but it's kind of ok. It's when they start having children that's the problem. The first child they call James, so that's ok, he's also rhymey. John, Jean, James. So they've got a nice little cutesy family unit, all beginning with J. Then they have another child and call him Colin. No! No, you can't do that! By the divine laws of naming, you're not allowed! Because now Colin is a total reject. It's like you've said to him, 'We're all best friends and really close and a great little family with our J names and you, you're the extra, you don't fit in, Colin.'
I know a family who the father and mother are 'G' and 'O' and the child is 'O'. So their names are GOO. And the dad is a bit out of things cause he's the G. This family's names upset me.
In my family, we've all got different first letters and different last letters. So that's fine. If all the family have the same sound at the end, apart from one, it's a bit mean, but not as bad. Like Hannah, Sarah, Gemma... and Bob.
Also if just two people in the family have the same letter, I feel it creates a closer relationship between them, to the exclusion of everyone else. So if there's a Jane, Bill, Emma and Julie. Jane and Julie are a bit closer to each other than in their relationships with the others, because of their name closeness.
That's mental isn't it? Is this the ramblings of a demented woman with word-OCD? I realise that obviously, people's relationships aren't based on the matchiness (yes, that's right, matchiness) of their names, but I can't help noticing it and thinking about it!
Ok, I think today I'm coming across like a psychopath. Hmm. Will try to appear more normal again tomorrow.
Wednesday 28 March 2012
Can I have a word?
OK, today is a first for The Adventures of Danda and Yaya, a guest blog! A reader, known mysteriously as 'The Rambler' had the following to get off their chest, so I'll hand over to them now. (Feel free to send in a guest blog too, if you wish, and I'll put it up).
I’m sure you’ve heard "Can I have a word?" before and you know what it's a prelude to: you're going to getting a telling off something you’ve done wrong. But here's a less well-known phrase, which I will explain more fully as I go on.
Dixeris egregie notum si callida verbum
Reddiderit iunctura novum (Horace, 65BC-8BC)
I can see a few of you nodding your heads but for those who don’t know it translates to:
“You will have written exceptionally well if, by skilful arrangement of your words, you have made an ordinary one seem original”. All should become clear. Read on...
Have you ever read a book and come across words you don’t know the meaning of? I have - many times actually. Does that mean my vocabulary is bad or that the author’s is just very good? (Or are they just using a Thesaurus?) For some years now I have kept a notebook in which I write words I could not explain to someone else at the time I read them. I had imagined I might pick up a few words, to expand my own vocabulary, by those somewhat more erudite than myself. I never imagined how full that notebook would become in the space of just a few years.
However, sometimes you just wish authors had used a word you could understand. For instance there is an Irish travel writer, whose books I do enjoy, who tends to use a number of words not in everyday use. Maybe that’s part of being an author. I don’t know about you but reading of carmine, mellifluously & cordillera had me heading to the dictionary. Now, I know what they mean but will I ever use them myself – probably not. As words are about communication why not use a more common word. Some may feel good when they use more unusual words but they’re certainly not communicating very well are they? Here are some more examples from my notebook (which recently acquired its 700th entry):
1. In just the first 10 pages of a biography of Robert Louis Stevenson there were the following: picayune, panglossian, adumbrated, epigone, catopric & gallimaufry and, by the end of the book, (I’m not joking) just over another 100 I didn’t know! Hands up who got those six meanings right. If you’re interested you’ll have gone and looked them up but….. somehow I doubt it.
2. A biography of Whistler produced: peremptory, lucubrations, orpiment, alembic, cozened & another 50.
3. A book on the history of Liverpool gave me: autarky, chevroth, diorama, hegemonic, miscegenation, propinquity & many more.
4. Even the Daily Mail, over the past 12 months, came up with a few: pemmican, contumely, egregious, nary, palimpsest.
A word which I’ve come across a few times now, in different books, is sesquipedalian. (Pronounced sess-kwipi-day-lee-an). Any ideas?
It means tending to use long words or polysyllabic (dictionary.com). Do I detect the teensiest bit of irony there? Slip that one into your next conversation with friends and see how they marvel at your great knowledge! (Example: “I was talking with Bill/Sue the other day and he/she was just so sesquipedalian”; perhaps slip in a “like”, “boss” or “init” to sound a bit more streetwise).
Can I have a word? It looks like the authors’ answer is “Yes, you can and you can have lots of them and you won’t know what they all mean and some of them might be quite long!” (Unless you look them up in a dictionary these writers are not actually communicating with you are they? If you don’t understand what they’re saying what’s the point of using them?)
What’s going on here? Let me think (or contemplate, or cogitate, or ponder, or reflect) ….. I think that they think that writing like this is going to make people think they’re clever because they’re using big or unusual words. Now I’m not against a bit of improving your knowledge (otherwise I wouldn’t have that notebook would I?) or proposing that everyone should read elementary level books but I shouldn’t be having to stop and check words every few pages. That’s not communication – is it?
Let me put it another way - the legal speed limit, for a car, on the road in this country is 70mph and suppose there is a car which can reach 200mph what’s the point of that extra 130mph? You can’t use it. These writers may have a literary Ferrari, in terms of their word knowledge, but I reckon most of us are probably still a way short of the literary equivalent of the 70mph so... please can I have an ordinary word?
Perhaps it’s worth remembering the words of Samuel Johnson: “Don’t, Sir, accustom yourself to use big words for little matters” (from Boswell, Life of Johnson p.471). Well said, or should I say excellently elucidated!
I’m sure you’ve heard "Can I have a word?" before and you know what it's a prelude to: you're going to getting a telling off something you’ve done wrong. But here's a less well-known phrase, which I will explain more fully as I go on.
Dixeris egregie notum si callida verbum
Reddiderit iunctura novum (Horace, 65BC-8BC)
I can see a few of you nodding your heads but for those who don’t know it translates to:
“You will have written exceptionally well if, by skilful arrangement of your words, you have made an ordinary one seem original”. All should become clear. Read on...
Have you ever read a book and come across words you don’t know the meaning of? I have - many times actually. Does that mean my vocabulary is bad or that the author’s is just very good? (Or are they just using a Thesaurus?) For some years now I have kept a notebook in which I write words I could not explain to someone else at the time I read them. I had imagined I might pick up a few words, to expand my own vocabulary, by those somewhat more erudite than myself. I never imagined how full that notebook would become in the space of just a few years.
However, sometimes you just wish authors had used a word you could understand. For instance there is an Irish travel writer, whose books I do enjoy, who tends to use a number of words not in everyday use. Maybe that’s part of being an author. I don’t know about you but reading of carmine, mellifluously & cordillera had me heading to the dictionary. Now, I know what they mean but will I ever use them myself – probably not. As words are about communication why not use a more common word. Some may feel good when they use more unusual words but they’re certainly not communicating very well are they? Here are some more examples from my notebook (which recently acquired its 700th entry):
1. In just the first 10 pages of a biography of Robert Louis Stevenson there were the following: picayune, panglossian, adumbrated, epigone, catopric & gallimaufry and, by the end of the book, (I’m not joking) just over another 100 I didn’t know! Hands up who got those six meanings right. If you’re interested you’ll have gone and looked them up but….. somehow I doubt it.
2. A biography of Whistler produced: peremptory, lucubrations, orpiment, alembic, cozened & another 50.
3. A book on the history of Liverpool gave me: autarky, chevroth, diorama, hegemonic, miscegenation, propinquity & many more.
4. Even the Daily Mail, over the past 12 months, came up with a few: pemmican, contumely, egregious, nary, palimpsest.
A word which I’ve come across a few times now, in different books, is sesquipedalian. (Pronounced sess-kwipi-day-lee-an). Any ideas?
It means tending to use long words or polysyllabic (dictionary.com). Do I detect the teensiest bit of irony there? Slip that one into your next conversation with friends and see how they marvel at your great knowledge! (Example: “I was talking with Bill/Sue the other day and he/she was just so sesquipedalian”; perhaps slip in a “like”, “boss” or “init” to sound a bit more streetwise).
Can I have a word? It looks like the authors’ answer is “Yes, you can and you can have lots of them and you won’t know what they all mean and some of them might be quite long!” (Unless you look them up in a dictionary these writers are not actually communicating with you are they? If you don’t understand what they’re saying what’s the point of using them?)
What’s going on here? Let me think (or contemplate, or cogitate, or ponder, or reflect) ….. I think that they think that writing like this is going to make people think they’re clever because they’re using big or unusual words. Now I’m not against a bit of improving your knowledge (otherwise I wouldn’t have that notebook would I?) or proposing that everyone should read elementary level books but I shouldn’t be having to stop and check words every few pages. That’s not communication – is it?
Let me put it another way - the legal speed limit, for a car, on the road in this country is 70mph and suppose there is a car which can reach 200mph what’s the point of that extra 130mph? You can’t use it. These writers may have a literary Ferrari, in terms of their word knowledge, but I reckon most of us are probably still a way short of the literary equivalent of the 70mph so... please can I have an ordinary word?
Perhaps it’s worth remembering the words of Samuel Johnson: “Don’t, Sir, accustom yourself to use big words for little matters” (from Boswell, Life of Johnson p.471). Well said, or should I say excellently elucidated!
Tuesday 27 March 2012
Ten things I have learned
1. My tummy is never as big as I think it is (or rather, 'hope' as I look longingly at the last bit of cake).
2. Most people are a little bit bored by their jobs.
3. People like to shorten words (e.g. 'goss' or 'probs')
4. Taking a cold shower is horrible.
5. Steaming milk to make a cappuccino is a fine art.
6. Most people thrive off the drama in their lives that they moan about.
7. Walking makes you feel better.
8. Sometimes, discussing all your problems is the worst thing you can do.
9. Making your own chicken stock is more trouble than it's worth.
10. If you can't walk in them, don't wear them.
O! And one more...
11. Denying the existence of the muffin top doesn't mean it's not there.
2. Most people are a little bit bored by their jobs.
3. People like to shorten words (e.g. 'goss' or 'probs')
4. Taking a cold shower is horrible.
5. Steaming milk to make a cappuccino is a fine art.
6. Most people thrive off the drama in their lives that they moan about.
7. Walking makes you feel better.
8. Sometimes, discussing all your problems is the worst thing you can do.
9. Making your own chicken stock is more trouble than it's worth.
10. If you can't walk in them, don't wear them.
O! And one more...
11. Denying the existence of the muffin top doesn't mean it's not there.
Monday 26 March 2012
"Thanks Driver!"
"Thanks Driver!"
What is this about? I've always thought it was ridiculous. People getting off the bus, shouting their thanks by calling the driver by his job. Why just bus drivers? If I was in work and I made someone a coffee and they pottered off with it in their hands and said "Thanks Barista!" I definitely wouldn't be impressed. It's my job, not my name! I'm pleased to say that no-one has ever said that to me. I might try it actually, next time I'm in Paperchase, buying someone a birthday card or something, I'll leave the shop whilst shouting brightly, "Thanks cashier!" I'm pretty sure that'd be really annoying. It's kind of along the same lines as calling people 'gays,' like someone's entire being can be summed up by one facet of their life or personality.
It's totally nonsensical to specify, on a bus, who you're grateful to. It's not like if you were to just say 'Thanks', there might be some confusion as to who you were talking to, with fellow passengers thinking to themselves, "O, she must be talking to me because I was very helpful, sitting here in my seat looking out of the window, during her journey. Yeh, it's definitely me she means." You obviously mean the driver, he's the only person that's been helpful, by driving you, so just 'Thanks' is fine.
Phew, I've been thinking about that since I was about 12 when I used to get the bus home from school. It's good to finally get it off my chest.
What is this about? I've always thought it was ridiculous. People getting off the bus, shouting their thanks by calling the driver by his job. Why just bus drivers? If I was in work and I made someone a coffee and they pottered off with it in their hands and said "Thanks Barista!" I definitely wouldn't be impressed. It's my job, not my name! I'm pleased to say that no-one has ever said that to me. I might try it actually, next time I'm in Paperchase, buying someone a birthday card or something, I'll leave the shop whilst shouting brightly, "Thanks cashier!" I'm pretty sure that'd be really annoying. It's kind of along the same lines as calling people 'gays,' like someone's entire being can be summed up by one facet of their life or personality.
It's totally nonsensical to specify, on a bus, who you're grateful to. It's not like if you were to just say 'Thanks', there might be some confusion as to who you were talking to, with fellow passengers thinking to themselves, "O, she must be talking to me because I was very helpful, sitting here in my seat looking out of the window, during her journey. Yeh, it's definitely me she means." You obviously mean the driver, he's the only person that's been helpful, by driving you, so just 'Thanks' is fine.
Phew, I've been thinking about that since I was about 12 when I used to get the bus home from school. It's good to finally get it off my chest.
Sunday 25 March 2012
The smiking pope
Have you ever been caught up in an argument and said things you didn't mean? I don't mean the 'I hate you' type of thing. I mean literally saying things wrong. I don't argue often but when I do, I sometimes get a bit mixed up with my words in the heat of the moment.
My most memorable occasion was when I was having an argument with someone, I forget who now, a friend maybe, which was probably going something like this:
"No, you said I was your best friend and now I just heard someone saying that you told them they were your best friend." (Already you can see, I only argued when there was something really serious going on.)
"No, I was best friends with them but that was last week, because, right, you weren't speaking to me then because I didn't sit next to you in Biology."
"Yeh, you didn't sit next to me in Biology. I can't believe that." (Feeling a bit hard done by, evidently.)
"But that's cause you told Charlotte that she was your best friend so I was in a bad mood."
"No, I didn't! I don't even know where you got that from."
"I read in yours and Charlotte's letter book." (A letter book, for those who don't know, is just a book in which you and the other members of the letter book, each take the book home and write a letter. Its tends include subject matters such as boys or celebs you fancy, who you're not speaking to, what your new favourite song is, etc.)
And now, for the grand finale. I'd obviously learned this phrase recently and had been waiting for an opportunity to use it.
"I don't even have a letter book with Charlotte so that's lies. Put that in your pope and smike it!"
There was a pause, I realised I'd got it wrong but it was too late now. I still had a point to prove so couldn't laugh with said friend and make a joke. So I did the best thing I could in the situation.
"Yeah!" I said, meaningfully, then stormed off, turned a corner and burst out laughing. I never asked if the mistake was spotted but I've always remembered that moment where I was like, "O no, what do I do?" and just coming up with "Yeah!" and walking off.
In other news, I recently found out the origin of the word 'artichoke' (Blog no.3 'Artichoke and Celeriac'). It's an Arabic word, which started out as 'al-kharshuf' and was introduced during the reign of Henry VIII. Fair enough, it's a bit more of a legitimate word now, but I'm still never going to eat it.
My most memorable occasion was when I was having an argument with someone, I forget who now, a friend maybe, which was probably going something like this:
"No, you said I was your best friend and now I just heard someone saying that you told them they were your best friend." (Already you can see, I only argued when there was something really serious going on.)
"No, I was best friends with them but that was last week, because, right, you weren't speaking to me then because I didn't sit next to you in Biology."
"Yeh, you didn't sit next to me in Biology. I can't believe that." (Feeling a bit hard done by, evidently.)
"But that's cause you told Charlotte that she was your best friend so I was in a bad mood."
"No, I didn't! I don't even know where you got that from."
"I read in yours and Charlotte's letter book." (A letter book, for those who don't know, is just a book in which you and the other members of the letter book, each take the book home and write a letter. Its tends include subject matters such as boys or celebs you fancy, who you're not speaking to, what your new favourite song is, etc.)
And now, for the grand finale. I'd obviously learned this phrase recently and had been waiting for an opportunity to use it.
"I don't even have a letter book with Charlotte so that's lies. Put that in your pope and smike it!"
There was a pause, I realised I'd got it wrong but it was too late now. I still had a point to prove so couldn't laugh with said friend and make a joke. So I did the best thing I could in the situation.
"Yeah!" I said, meaningfully, then stormed off, turned a corner and burst out laughing. I never asked if the mistake was spotted but I've always remembered that moment where I was like, "O no, what do I do?" and just coming up with "Yeah!" and walking off.
In other news, I recently found out the origin of the word 'artichoke' (Blog no.3 'Artichoke and Celeriac'). It's an Arabic word, which started out as 'al-kharshuf' and was introduced during the reign of Henry VIII. Fair enough, it's a bit more of a legitimate word now, but I'm still never going to eat it.
Saturday 24 March 2012
The life I almost had - Part 2
Another of my childhood dreams was to be a writer.
I was always scribbling a little story. My early attempts were on one of those old computers with a black screen and the letters came up in illuminous green. I'd have the Bible open next to me (why the Bible, I'm not sure. Maybe because there was no 'author's' name on it so I thought it was ok) and would painstakingly, with one finger, copy out the story of Mary and Joseph and the birth of Jesus, word for word. Not seeing anything wrong with it, I told people I was 'writing a story on my Dad's computer.' The idea of copyright had yet to appear in my world, clearly.
I also distinctly remember writing out the Noah's ark story and drawing little pictures and showing it to my next door neighbour, telling her that I was going to be a writer and didn't she think I was good at it?!
Shortly after reading A Little Princess, I started writing a story about a poor girl who works in a big house and makes friends with the rich girl who lives there and they save money together. That's as far as I got with it, I think.
When I first fancied a boy at Youth Club, I wrote a story full of teenage angst and unrequited love. It was called "Just Fine!" (or was it "Just Great!"? I can't remember). It was planned as the first book of a trilogy. The second book was to be about them getting together and the third about her and the boy being separated and having to maintain their 'relationship' through letter writing. I'm honestly surprised no-one snapped that up. It's definitely the work of a genius. Similar to the Lord of The Rings trilogy, maybe.
When my parents separated, I wrote a story about a girl who's parents had separated. Inspired.
Anyway, soon after all this, I had to put my literary dreams on hold as I got caught up in the all-consuming business of planning my pop career.
I was always scribbling a little story. My early attempts were on one of those old computers with a black screen and the letters came up in illuminous green. I'd have the Bible open next to me (why the Bible, I'm not sure. Maybe because there was no 'author's' name on it so I thought it was ok) and would painstakingly, with one finger, copy out the story of Mary and Joseph and the birth of Jesus, word for word. Not seeing anything wrong with it, I told people I was 'writing a story on my Dad's computer.' The idea of copyright had yet to appear in my world, clearly.
I also distinctly remember writing out the Noah's ark story and drawing little pictures and showing it to my next door neighbour, telling her that I was going to be a writer and didn't she think I was good at it?!
Shortly after reading A Little Princess, I started writing a story about a poor girl who works in a big house and makes friends with the rich girl who lives there and they save money together. That's as far as I got with it, I think.
When I first fancied a boy at Youth Club, I wrote a story full of teenage angst and unrequited love. It was called "Just Fine!" (or was it "Just Great!"? I can't remember). It was planned as the first book of a trilogy. The second book was to be about them getting together and the third about her and the boy being separated and having to maintain their 'relationship' through letter writing. I'm honestly surprised no-one snapped that up. It's definitely the work of a genius. Similar to the Lord of The Rings trilogy, maybe.
When my parents separated, I wrote a story about a girl who's parents had separated. Inspired.
Anyway, soon after all this, I had to put my literary dreams on hold as I got caught up in the all-consuming business of planning my pop career.
Friday 23 March 2012
Life! Death! Prizes!
Ok, here it is finally, the next look into Chat magazine. I've found some good highlights for you all so get ready. The little slogan on the front says "Life! Death! Prizes!" so you just know it's going to be good. Probably after this, you'll take out a subscription to the magazine. Probably.
The first mental story is found inside the back page and is about a woman who hit her head in the bath and then thought she was Elvis. She bought a 'white, studded jumpsuit' and started travelling around the world in the outfit, calling herself Telvis. The photos show her in the jumpsuit and a quiff, on a camel or by a castle or surfing.
Eventually her boyfriend cleared off, telling her "If you go away again to pretend to be Elvis, then it's over." As heartbreaking as it was for her, she knew what she had to do, she chose Telvis. She has travelled the world as Telvis, and the locals love it apparently. I probably would, if I saw her. But definitely not because I thought she was way cool and wanted to be like her. She consoles herself by saying that she hopes she'll find a man who loves Telvis too. Unbelievable.
Now to the letters page. A woman writes in to say she had a one-night stand with someone but already has a boyfriend. Now she's got a real dilemma because "I can't believe two gorgeous men want me. How do I choose between two hunks?" Nonsense. She loves it. She gets a bit of a telling off from Auntie Ingrid, (who answers the letters) who berates her for "letting flattery loosen her knicker elastic"!
The spiritual section next and a woman with a haunted statue. She buys the statue in a charity shop and 'things' start happening around the house. The best of these is when her eldest son told her, "There's a black thing in my room, I thought it was a spider, but it's morphed into an orb." Great. An orb. It's morphed into an orb. I don't even know where to start with that.
Her kids are all telling her to get rid of the statue because they're terrified. "Never!" she vows. Why not? Because she is "a woman possessed - literally."
The health pages feature a woman who says she has bad teeth and awful breath but is scared of the dentist. The reply from Dr Martin? Go to the dentist.
I won't even mention the in-depth story about the 'pubic lipo'.
So there you have it. A good read or what?
And now a little follow up from yesterday's blog, my Dad said a friend of his was in a karaoke bar and one of the other people there told him he was going to sing "I'm a genie." Any guesses? It's not Christina Aguilera, if that's what you were thinking. No, it turned out to be John Lennon's "Imagine".
The first mental story is found inside the back page and is about a woman who hit her head in the bath and then thought she was Elvis. She bought a 'white, studded jumpsuit' and started travelling around the world in the outfit, calling herself Telvis. The photos show her in the jumpsuit and a quiff, on a camel or by a castle or surfing.
Eventually her boyfriend cleared off, telling her "If you go away again to pretend to be Elvis, then it's over." As heartbreaking as it was for her, she knew what she had to do, she chose Telvis. She has travelled the world as Telvis, and the locals love it apparently. I probably would, if I saw her. But definitely not because I thought she was way cool and wanted to be like her. She consoles herself by saying that she hopes she'll find a man who loves Telvis too. Unbelievable.
Now to the letters page. A woman writes in to say she had a one-night stand with someone but already has a boyfriend. Now she's got a real dilemma because "I can't believe two gorgeous men want me. How do I choose between two hunks?" Nonsense. She loves it. She gets a bit of a telling off from Auntie Ingrid, (who answers the letters) who berates her for "letting flattery loosen her knicker elastic"!
The spiritual section next and a woman with a haunted statue. She buys the statue in a charity shop and 'things' start happening around the house. The best of these is when her eldest son told her, "There's a black thing in my room, I thought it was a spider, but it's morphed into an orb." Great. An orb. It's morphed into an orb. I don't even know where to start with that.
Her kids are all telling her to get rid of the statue because they're terrified. "Never!" she vows. Why not? Because she is "a woman possessed - literally."
The health pages feature a woman who says she has bad teeth and awful breath but is scared of the dentist. The reply from Dr Martin? Go to the dentist.
I won't even mention the in-depth story about the 'pubic lipo'.
So there you have it. A good read or what?
And now a little follow up from yesterday's blog, my Dad said a friend of his was in a karaoke bar and one of the other people there told him he was going to sing "I'm a genie." Any guesses? It's not Christina Aguilera, if that's what you were thinking. No, it turned out to be John Lennon's "Imagine".
Thursday 22 March 2012
One loaf of granary breast, please!
Why can't people just say things properly, I often think. What is wrong with them? And then I come out with something ridiculous like 'fat-ee-goo,' which is how I thought 'fatigue' was pronounced when I was younger. Or 'die-nasty' instead of dynasty. The following is a collection of things that I've heard other people say to me or that I've said by accident on text messages because of that damned predictive text which inevitably catches us all out.
"Cappuccarno" = cappuccino. Had this woman been living in a cave? She must be the only person in the world who hasn't heard of, or doesn't know how to say cappuccino properly.
"Blonde" = blondie (for those of you unfamiliar with a blondie, it's a brownie, but made with white chocolate). The man asking for the "blonde" didn't seem to notice that he'd made our lovely friendly deli sound like a brothel.
"Pomegent" = pomegranate. As in "Can I get some of that lovely salad with the pomegent in it, please?" Madness. Had she been calling it that her whole life? Had no-one corrected her?
"Palaver" = pavlova. For example, "That looks nice. Is it a strawberry palaver?"
"Tan-geen-ee" = tagine. The man saying this had a self-assured I've-travelled-and-can-handle-foreign-pronunciation air about him, which was a shame and he was getting it drastically wrong.
"Beans" = bins. This happened at a coffee shop where I worked a few years ago. The new girl had been told to make sure she threw the 'bins' out each evening before she left her shift. It was almost a week later when we realised that she had been wholesale throwing away all the perfectly fine unused coffee 'beans' she could lay her hands on!
"Breast" = bread. This is a predictive text thing which happens to me quite often. More times than I care to remember, I've sent a text message to my manager telling her, "Need to order another sliced granary breast for tomorrow."
"Man" = Mum. I got in the habit of calling my Mum, "Mam" and occasionally I'd send a message without making sure I'd checked the word, so appearing to have adopted an American-esque cool-dude speak. "Hi Man, I'll be over in a few hours. See you then."
"U" when trying to say I. This always happens when I'm trying to say something about myself which is quite rude when accidentally directed at the receiver. "U look so tired and haggard today."
"Cappuccarno" = cappuccino. Had this woman been living in a cave? She must be the only person in the world who hasn't heard of, or doesn't know how to say cappuccino properly.
"Blonde" = blondie (for those of you unfamiliar with a blondie, it's a brownie, but made with white chocolate). The man asking for the "blonde" didn't seem to notice that he'd made our lovely friendly deli sound like a brothel.
"Pomegent" = pomegranate. As in "Can I get some of that lovely salad with the pomegent in it, please?" Madness. Had she been calling it that her whole life? Had no-one corrected her?
"Palaver" = pavlova. For example, "That looks nice. Is it a strawberry palaver?"
"Tan-geen-ee" = tagine. The man saying this had a self-assured I've-travelled-and-can-handle-foreign-pronunciation air about him, which was a shame and he was getting it drastically wrong.
"Beans" = bins. This happened at a coffee shop where I worked a few years ago. The new girl had been told to make sure she threw the 'bins' out each evening before she left her shift. It was almost a week later when we realised that she had been wholesale throwing away all the perfectly fine unused coffee 'beans' she could lay her hands on!
"Breast" = bread. This is a predictive text thing which happens to me quite often. More times than I care to remember, I've sent a text message to my manager telling her, "Need to order another sliced granary breast for tomorrow."
"Man" = Mum. I got in the habit of calling my Mum, "Mam" and occasionally I'd send a message without making sure I'd checked the word, so appearing to have adopted an American-esque cool-dude speak. "Hi Man, I'll be over in a few hours. See you then."
"U" when trying to say I. This always happens when I'm trying to say something about myself which is quite rude when accidentally directed at the receiver. "U look so tired and haggard today."
Wednesday 21 March 2012
The life I almost had
Over a cup of tea with friends last night, we got on to the subject of what we had wanted to be when we were younger. Predictably, most of the girls there had wanted to be pop stars. One friend, we'll call her Emma to preserve her anonymity (and dignity) was discovered, and filmed, in the front room, warbling away into one of those toy microphones which had an applause button on the base. For some unknown reason what she was singing was, "Lucy, Luuuucy, Lucyyyy, Lucy," and then pressing the applause button and saying in earnest to the imaginary crowd of adoring fans, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." The mystery of who "Lucy" is has never been solved.
Another friend made more solid steps towards stardom. Her and three friends made their own instruments and rehearsed songs they'd written. This friend, let's call her Kate, had five empty glass bottles which she filled to different levels with water and tapped with a stick to make 'music'. One of the other girls in her group had a cardboard box with elastic bands around it which she pinged. The song they sang went something along the lines of "if I wasn't a pop star, I would be a..." And each of them would sing a verse in which they revealed what they would be if they weren't otherwise engaged in their really successful pop careers.
What about you? I hear you asking. Didn't you have any pop star plans?
Well, my road to fame is different because obviously theirs are pipe dreams, whereas mine had real potential. I was in a group called Delana. It was an amalgamation of our stage names. That's right, we had stage names. We were pretty serious about it. My main contribution was as 'songwriter.' Obviously. As a big fan of PJ and Duncan, I was well versed in the world of the 'mid-song rap'. And I spent long hours at home, practising my lyrics in a deep voice. I got pretty good at the deep voiced rap, I must say.
I was obviously coveted by many record companies, who had heard about me through reputation. They were clambering to get at me. But I had to tell them, you know? I had to say, listen, I need to finish my schooling first. Becoming a worldwide sensation will affect my education and that's what comes first.
And that's the story of why my pop star dreams didn't happen. Honest.
Another friend made more solid steps towards stardom. Her and three friends made their own instruments and rehearsed songs they'd written. This friend, let's call her Kate, had five empty glass bottles which she filled to different levels with water and tapped with a stick to make 'music'. One of the other girls in her group had a cardboard box with elastic bands around it which she pinged. The song they sang went something along the lines of "if I wasn't a pop star, I would be a..." And each of them would sing a verse in which they revealed what they would be if they weren't otherwise engaged in their really successful pop careers.
What about you? I hear you asking. Didn't you have any pop star plans?
Well, my road to fame is different because obviously theirs are pipe dreams, whereas mine had real potential. I was in a group called Delana. It was an amalgamation of our stage names. That's right, we had stage names. We were pretty serious about it. My main contribution was as 'songwriter.' Obviously. As a big fan of PJ and Duncan, I was well versed in the world of the 'mid-song rap'. And I spent long hours at home, practising my lyrics in a deep voice. I got pretty good at the deep voiced rap, I must say.
I was obviously coveted by many record companies, who had heard about me through reputation. They were clambering to get at me. But I had to tell them, you know? I had to say, listen, I need to finish my schooling first. Becoming a worldwide sensation will affect my education and that's what comes first.
And that's the story of why my pop star dreams didn't happen. Honest.
Tuesday 20 March 2012
"Just a reg"
Another story from work today. (Yes, yes, I know you want to hear about this week's Chat magazine again but you'll just have to hold your horses. I'll get a copy today and give you some highlights soon, ok?)
I'm in work and a customer is paying for something, when in walks a certain someone from a certain programme where you all compete for a job with Lord someone.
There he is, hair swept back, slight tan giving the impression that he possibly leads quite a charmed existence, full of holidays and women. He strolls in, casually, in the knowledge that he is the picture of suave. He's quite tall and carries it well. His funny little moustachey thing could go, but overall he gives the impression of being very self-assured and 'cool'.
I pretend not to recognise him. "How can I help you?"
"Can I get a mocha please?" (There it is again, "Can I get?" Anyway....)
"Sure. What size would you like? Regular or large?"
And then it happens. The suaveness disappears. Mr. Cool is rapidly replaced by Mr. Dickhead. What he said next is a direct quote. It is burned into my memory with a branding iron.
"Just a reg."
A reg. That's honestly what he said. A reg. What on earth is a reg? I wanted to say, "I'm sorry, I'll ask again, regular or large? Because what you just said was nonsense. I need an answer to the question if you want this mocha." A reg. I was extremely close to just sending him out of the deli, empty handed, to think about what he'd done. If there was a naughty step, I would have sent him to it.
What actually happened was that I pretended to just double-check what he'd said by saying innocently, "Regular, you said?" He said yes, I pottered off to make it.
Another thing that people say, which I think they're doing to give the impression that they're regular coffee drinkers and, therefore, know the lingo, is "cap".
"I'd like a skinny cap, please," they say. The thing is, I've been making coffee for a living for more years than I care to count, and I have never, and I mean NEVER, said "cap" instead of cappuccino. The word cappuccino is not so long that it's really saving any time to say "cap" instead. What I really want to say is, "Actually, no, you can't get a cap here. I think you've come to the wrong place if that's what you need. This is a deli, we quite clearly don't sell headgear, do we? Pop into town, maybe you want to visit a sportswear shop instead?"
As a follow up from yesterday's blog, a friend told me that she's seen BNS written in recipes before. Have a guess what it might mean? Ready for the answer?
Butternut squash. Again, ridiculous.
I'm in work and a customer is paying for something, when in walks a certain someone from a certain programme where you all compete for a job with Lord someone.
There he is, hair swept back, slight tan giving the impression that he possibly leads quite a charmed existence, full of holidays and women. He strolls in, casually, in the knowledge that he is the picture of suave. He's quite tall and carries it well. His funny little moustachey thing could go, but overall he gives the impression of being very self-assured and 'cool'.
I pretend not to recognise him. "How can I help you?"
"Can I get a mocha please?" (There it is again, "Can I get?" Anyway....)
"Sure. What size would you like? Regular or large?"
And then it happens. The suaveness disappears. Mr. Cool is rapidly replaced by Mr. Dickhead. What he said next is a direct quote. It is burned into my memory with a branding iron.
"Just a reg."
A reg. That's honestly what he said. A reg. What on earth is a reg? I wanted to say, "I'm sorry, I'll ask again, regular or large? Because what you just said was nonsense. I need an answer to the question if you want this mocha." A reg. I was extremely close to just sending him out of the deli, empty handed, to think about what he'd done. If there was a naughty step, I would have sent him to it.
What actually happened was that I pretended to just double-check what he'd said by saying innocently, "Regular, you said?" He said yes, I pottered off to make it.
Another thing that people say, which I think they're doing to give the impression that they're regular coffee drinkers and, therefore, know the lingo, is "cap".
"I'd like a skinny cap, please," they say. The thing is, I've been making coffee for a living for more years than I care to count, and I have never, and I mean NEVER, said "cap" instead of cappuccino. The word cappuccino is not so long that it's really saving any time to say "cap" instead. What I really want to say is, "Actually, no, you can't get a cap here. I think you've come to the wrong place if that's what you need. This is a deli, we quite clearly don't sell headgear, do we? Pop into town, maybe you want to visit a sportswear shop instead?"
As a follow up from yesterday's blog, a friend told me that she's seen BNS written in recipes before. Have a guess what it might mean? Ready for the answer?
Butternut squash. Again, ridiculous.
Monday 19 March 2012
"P.S.B."
Imagine the scene.
It's lunchtime. You're in a restaurant with a friend, chatting happily. The waitress brings you a menu. It's exciting, what to have, what to have? The choice is immense. The steak? The chicken? The fish? O no!
Finally, you settle on something which looks quite nice. A goat's cheese salad. Mmm. You read the list of ingredients, getting exciting. "A goat's cheese salad," it says, "with beetroot, roasted red pepper, "P.S.B", toasted seeds and baby gem."
And your world falls apart. "P.S.B."? What can this mean? You like to think of yourself as a bit of a connoisseur when it comes to food. You eat out quite a bit, enjoy cooking. What is this "P.S.B." of which they speak?
It's written like that too. With quotation marks around it and full stops inbetween each letter. And in capitals. Like it's screaming at you. "P"! "S"! "B"! It becomes a chant in your mind, "P. S. B! P. S. B! P. S. B! P. S. B!"
What is it? Per Spoon and Bowl? Per Serving Bitesize? Passed Sell By? Pre Supper Binge? Please Stop Biting? Please Start Biting?
In your panic, you don't notice the arrival of the waitress to take your order. Your friend has already ordered and they are both looking at you, the silence grows and it's clear something is wrong.
Quietly you ask the waitress, as there's nothing else you can do, "Erm, what's P. S. B.?"
She looks at you as though speaking to an old deranged person who can't understand where 'outside' is.
"Purple sprouting broccoli," and it's clear she's also saying silently, "Obviously."
"O, I'll just have that then, yeh, the goat's cheese salad please," you say hurriedly and she departs.
"P. S. B."! Has the world gone insane? Since when did purple sprouting broccoli have it's own acronym? As though it's so universally recognised that it's ok to put it on menus now because it won't need explaining. As if it's up there with FIFA and OPEC in being letters that most people are familiar with.
"P. S. B.".... Ridiculous.
It's lunchtime. You're in a restaurant with a friend, chatting happily. The waitress brings you a menu. It's exciting, what to have, what to have? The choice is immense. The steak? The chicken? The fish? O no!
Finally, you settle on something which looks quite nice. A goat's cheese salad. Mmm. You read the list of ingredients, getting exciting. "A goat's cheese salad," it says, "with beetroot, roasted red pepper, "P.S.B", toasted seeds and baby gem."
And your world falls apart. "P.S.B."? What can this mean? You like to think of yourself as a bit of a connoisseur when it comes to food. You eat out quite a bit, enjoy cooking. What is this "P.S.B." of which they speak?
It's written like that too. With quotation marks around it and full stops inbetween each letter. And in capitals. Like it's screaming at you. "P"! "S"! "B"! It becomes a chant in your mind, "P. S. B! P. S. B! P. S. B! P. S. B!"
What is it? Per Spoon and Bowl? Per Serving Bitesize? Passed Sell By? Pre Supper Binge? Please Stop Biting? Please Start Biting?
In your panic, you don't notice the arrival of the waitress to take your order. Your friend has already ordered and they are both looking at you, the silence grows and it's clear something is wrong.
Quietly you ask the waitress, as there's nothing else you can do, "Erm, what's P. S. B.?"
She looks at you as though speaking to an old deranged person who can't understand where 'outside' is.
"Purple sprouting broccoli," and it's clear she's also saying silently, "Obviously."
"O, I'll just have that then, yeh, the goat's cheese salad please," you say hurriedly and she departs.
"P. S. B."! Has the world gone insane? Since when did purple sprouting broccoli have it's own acronym? As though it's so universally recognised that it's ok to put it on menus now because it won't need explaining. As if it's up there with FIFA and OPEC in being letters that most people are familiar with.
"P. S. B.".... Ridiculous.
Sunday 18 March 2012
The little boy with the big voice
Today, as it's Mother's Day, I'm going to tell you a story about a little boy and his mum.
I am in work, cleaning something or making a coffee usually, perhaps engaging in a bit of small talk with the customer waiting for the coffee, when....
CRASH! goes the beautiful, ornate (and quite delicate) door as the little boy throws it open and announces his arrival, "HOLA!" he shouts (he's Spanish) and ascends the stairs, chatting loudly. As I just used up all the Spanish I know, I'm going to write the things in English that I imagine he's probably saying.
"A CHAIR, MAMA! LOOK, A CHAIR, I'M GOING TO CLIMB ON IT, ARE YOU WATCHING ME, MAMA! LOOK! I'M STANDING UP ON THE CHAIR AND JUMPING. LOOK! LOOK AT ME!"
Mother joins child and parks up the pram. As she leaves the table to come and order something, it starts.
"MAMA!" the boy yells. She shushes him, to no effect. "MAAAMA!"
"Hiya, what can I get for you?" I ask.
"Yes, I'd like a..."
"MAMAAAAA!"
"...a ham and chee...
"MAMA! MAMA! MAMA!"
"Sorry, I didn't catch that..." I say.
"MAMA!
"...what sandwich was it?"
"MAAAAAMAAAAA!"
Mum is distracted, she's trying to shush him and her thoughts have become jumbled.
"Erm, a sandwich with...
"MAMA!" he demands, loudly. "MAMA!"
I wonder if it's ever going to stop.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," she tells him.
"MAAAAAAAAMA!"
"Ham and cheese, please," she gets out eventually before joining him at the table.
It continues at the same volume for their entire visit.
"MAMA, I LIKE COLOURING IN. LOOK AT ME COLOURING IN! NOW I'M JUMPING ON THE WINDOWSILL. OO! WHAT ARE THESE? PACKETS OF SUGAR. THEY LOOK SO GREAT OUT OF THE LITTLE BOWL AND ON THE FLOOR INSTEAD, LOOK MAMA, LOOK, I PUT THEM THERE! WHAT'S THIS? A SANDWICH? CAN I HAVE SOME? ME! ME! ME! MM, IT'S TASTY. I'M GOING TO COLOUR IN AGAIN. WHAT'S THIS? SOME SALT AND PEPPER GRINDERS? WOW, CAN I GRIND SALT AND PEPPER ALL OVER THE FLOOR? CAN I HAVE A DRINK NOW MAMA? LOOK I'M JUMPING ON MY CHAIR AGAIN. OOPS, NEARLY FELL. I'M GOING TO USE THE ORANGE PENCIL TO DO MY COLOURING NOW. I'M BORED OF COLOURING. WHAT CAN I PLAY WITH? O! A BOOK! READ IT TO ME! NO, I'LL READ IT. O IT'S DORA THE EXPLORER, I LOVE DORA. O LOOK, THEY'RE ON THE BEACH. I'M BORED OF THAT NOW. IS THERE ANYMORE SANDWICH?"
And the little boy's large voice goes on... and on.... and on... chattering at the highest volume he can reach, until they leave twenty minutes later. And everyone else's conversations resume where they left off.
I still haven't figured out whether it's cute or not. I'm intrigued. Why doesn't he have a sore throat yet? And when does he find time to eat? He barely takes a breath between sentences. And does he also talk in his sleep? Does he sleep? Or does he stay awake all the time, shouting everything that enters his mind?
I am in work, cleaning something or making a coffee usually, perhaps engaging in a bit of small talk with the customer waiting for the coffee, when....
CRASH! goes the beautiful, ornate (and quite delicate) door as the little boy throws it open and announces his arrival, "HOLA!" he shouts (he's Spanish) and ascends the stairs, chatting loudly. As I just used up all the Spanish I know, I'm going to write the things in English that I imagine he's probably saying.
"A CHAIR, MAMA! LOOK, A CHAIR, I'M GOING TO CLIMB ON IT, ARE YOU WATCHING ME, MAMA! LOOK! I'M STANDING UP ON THE CHAIR AND JUMPING. LOOK! LOOK AT ME!"
Mother joins child and parks up the pram. As she leaves the table to come and order something, it starts.
"MAMA!" the boy yells. She shushes him, to no effect. "MAAAMA!"
"Hiya, what can I get for you?" I ask.
"Yes, I'd like a..."
"MAMAAAAA!"
"...a ham and chee...
"MAMA! MAMA! MAMA!"
"Sorry, I didn't catch that..." I say.
"MAMA!
"...what sandwich was it?"
"MAAAAAMAAAAA!"
Mum is distracted, she's trying to shush him and her thoughts have become jumbled.
"Erm, a sandwich with...
"MAMA!" he demands, loudly. "MAMA!"
I wonder if it's ever going to stop.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," she tells him.
"MAAAAAAAAMA!"
"Ham and cheese, please," she gets out eventually before joining him at the table.
It continues at the same volume for their entire visit.
"MAMA, I LIKE COLOURING IN. LOOK AT ME COLOURING IN! NOW I'M JUMPING ON THE WINDOWSILL. OO! WHAT ARE THESE? PACKETS OF SUGAR. THEY LOOK SO GREAT OUT OF THE LITTLE BOWL AND ON THE FLOOR INSTEAD, LOOK MAMA, LOOK, I PUT THEM THERE! WHAT'S THIS? A SANDWICH? CAN I HAVE SOME? ME! ME! ME! MM, IT'S TASTY. I'M GOING TO COLOUR IN AGAIN. WHAT'S THIS? SOME SALT AND PEPPER GRINDERS? WOW, CAN I GRIND SALT AND PEPPER ALL OVER THE FLOOR? CAN I HAVE A DRINK NOW MAMA? LOOK I'M JUMPING ON MY CHAIR AGAIN. OOPS, NEARLY FELL. I'M GOING TO USE THE ORANGE PENCIL TO DO MY COLOURING NOW. I'M BORED OF COLOURING. WHAT CAN I PLAY WITH? O! A BOOK! READ IT TO ME! NO, I'LL READ IT. O IT'S DORA THE EXPLORER, I LOVE DORA. O LOOK, THEY'RE ON THE BEACH. I'M BORED OF THAT NOW. IS THERE ANYMORE SANDWICH?"
And the little boy's large voice goes on... and on.... and on... chattering at the highest volume he can reach, until they leave twenty minutes later. And everyone else's conversations resume where they left off.
I still haven't figured out whether it's cute or not. I'm intrigued. Why doesn't he have a sore throat yet? And when does he find time to eat? He barely takes a breath between sentences. And does he also talk in his sleep? Does he sleep? Or does he stay awake all the time, shouting everything that enters his mind?
Saturday 17 March 2012
"I'm afraid"
I say it all the time at work. "Sorry, I'm afraid we're out of skimmed milk." "I'm afraid there's no more carrot cake left." "I'm afraid we're closed now, sorry."
Why am I saying this? I'm not afraid, quite clearly I'm not. It's a bit flippant to use an expression which is about a strong emotion that I obviously don't feel. Where has it come from? When people first started saying it, were they afraid? And if they were, it's surely not a good idea to give it away to people so easily. If you were being confronted by a big burly tattoo-covered man, who was annoyed because you'd looked at his girlfriend, and you told him "I'm afraid I don't want to have a fight with you," then you've given the game away. You're scared, he's in charge, he's going to beat you to a pulp. Sometimes, it's best to play your cards a little closer to your chest.
I scoured Google for an explanation of why we use the word 'afraid' when we're not, so as to present a well informed discussion, but I couldn't find anything.
"Do you know what I mean?"
I say this a lot too. I'm not sure why as I can see all the things wrong with it. Let's say a neuro-physicist is explaining the intricacies of... wait a minute, what do they work with? Physics? Yeh, ok so they're explaining something complicated about physics to me and they say "Do you know what I mean?" There's a strong chance I need them to check as I probably don't know what they mean. If, however, someone says to me, "I just had an argument with my boyfriend. I'm really annoyed now. He's so unreasonable, do you know what I mean?"
Hm. Let me think. Do I know what you mean? I'm not sure, it sounds like a complex situation for me to understand... Your boyfriend?.. An argument?... He's unreasonable?... No, sorry, run that by me again because I don't think I know what you mean.
When I think about how I use it, I always attach it to the simplest of sentences, ones that it's impossible the other person doesn't 'know what I mean' unless they actually don't speak the same language as me.
"It was hectic in work today," I say to a friend, "Every time we thought it was quietening down, twenty more people came in. It was just constant, do you know I mean?"
Ridiculous.
"Can I get..."
I'm in work. A customer comes in. "Can I help you?" I ask. "Yeh, can I just get a latte please?"
Stop here! Can YOU get a latte? No, you can't actually. You can ask me for one and I'll make it for you but it's not self-service. The kitchen can't take more than two people at a time, you can't just go parading in there and helping yourself to all the sandwich ingredients and coffee. Besides, it's my job to make it. I'd be out of work if that's how you bought coffee.
"Can I get?" No!
In other news, Danda would like to say in his defence that the word 'can't' defeats my theory on elongating vowels unnecessarily (14th March post : In conversation with Danda). I say that that's different because of the 'n' after the 'a'. So there.
Why am I saying this? I'm not afraid, quite clearly I'm not. It's a bit flippant to use an expression which is about a strong emotion that I obviously don't feel. Where has it come from? When people first started saying it, were they afraid? And if they were, it's surely not a good idea to give it away to people so easily. If you were being confronted by a big burly tattoo-covered man, who was annoyed because you'd looked at his girlfriend, and you told him "I'm afraid I don't want to have a fight with you," then you've given the game away. You're scared, he's in charge, he's going to beat you to a pulp. Sometimes, it's best to play your cards a little closer to your chest.
I scoured Google for an explanation of why we use the word 'afraid' when we're not, so as to present a well informed discussion, but I couldn't find anything.
"Do you know what I mean?"
I say this a lot too. I'm not sure why as I can see all the things wrong with it. Let's say a neuro-physicist is explaining the intricacies of... wait a minute, what do they work with? Physics? Yeh, ok so they're explaining something complicated about physics to me and they say "Do you know what I mean?" There's a strong chance I need them to check as I probably don't know what they mean. If, however, someone says to me, "I just had an argument with my boyfriend. I'm really annoyed now. He's so unreasonable, do you know what I mean?"
Hm. Let me think. Do I know what you mean? I'm not sure, it sounds like a complex situation for me to understand... Your boyfriend?.. An argument?... He's unreasonable?... No, sorry, run that by me again because I don't think I know what you mean.
When I think about how I use it, I always attach it to the simplest of sentences, ones that it's impossible the other person doesn't 'know what I mean' unless they actually don't speak the same language as me.
"It was hectic in work today," I say to a friend, "Every time we thought it was quietening down, twenty more people came in. It was just constant, do you know I mean?"
Ridiculous.
"Can I get..."
I'm in work. A customer comes in. "Can I help you?" I ask. "Yeh, can I just get a latte please?"
Stop here! Can YOU get a latte? No, you can't actually. You can ask me for one and I'll make it for you but it's not self-service. The kitchen can't take more than two people at a time, you can't just go parading in there and helping yourself to all the sandwich ingredients and coffee. Besides, it's my job to make it. I'd be out of work if that's how you bought coffee.
"Can I get?" No!
In other news, Danda would like to say in his defence that the word 'can't' defeats my theory on elongating vowels unnecessarily (14th March post : In conversation with Danda). I say that that's different because of the 'n' after the 'a'. So there.
Friday 16 March 2012
What are you singing about?!
Now I don't mean to be disrespectful toward whoever sang this song but something has been puzzling me for years. It is the lyrics "Silence is golden, but my eyes still see." I feel it is finally time to give it some proper examination.
"Hello, songwriters," I say, in my imagination, "What is this nonsense about still seeing?"
"Hi Laura." (They love it when I pop over for a chat.) "Well, you know, it's from that saying, speech is silver, silence is golden."
"Ok, so it means sometimes silence is better. I'm on board with that. That's alright. And then the bit about your eyes still seeing?"
"Well, yeh, obviously it's because even if people aren't saying something, it can still be seen."
"Right, so are we presuming that where there is no silence, people are blind? How are the two linked? It seems like you're saying, 'when I don't speak I see, but when I'm speaking my vision is impaired.' That's not how senses work, you know," I tell them, "It's not one or the other. You usually have access to all of them at once."
"Alright, Laura, no need to pick holes in everything," they say, grumpily herding me towards the door.
"Just saying," I tell them, huffily, like a teenager, before slamming the door behind me.
A more recent song now. Cheryl Cole. Good old Cheryl. Fight For This Love. I won't mention the part where she says 'love ain't no walk in the paaAAaark,' as it's too silly for words. No. I want to skip to later when she says, "We just need to slow down, And just rooOOOOoooolll."
She needs to what? Roll? She needs to roll? I fail to see how a relationship in crisis could benefit from 'rolling'. In my mind, there are two people, having an argument, they're getting really frustrated as the other person won't listen, they don't know whether they should be together anymore, and then one of them says, "Wait, darling! Let's stop all this arguing. Don't you remember what Cheryl told us to do in moments like this?" "Yes, I do," says the man, we'll call him Bob. "Quick, Sue, help me move the furniture!" Puffing and panting, they push all the furniture to the outer edges of the room and clear a large space on the floor. They look at each other, eyes gleaming, they have figured out a solution, they love each other, it will all be ok. They get down on the floor, lying in a straight line, holding hands and they roll the full length of the room. And back again. There is a quiet moment, where they look into each other's eyes and realise that love is all you need. "Thanks Chezza," they whisper under their breaths. "You've saved us."
And now, for some lyrical comedy gold from a group of schoolgirls. Either playground ditties have got a bit mental since I was a kid, or they've always been mental and I didn't realise it cause I was a kid myself, but yesterday, to the tune of We Will Rock You, I heard some girls singing "I'm a! Li-ttle! TEAPOT!!" and clapping their hands in time. Then something like, Coca Cola went to town, Pepsi shot him down, Dr Pepper fixed him up, now we're all drinking 7up. And back to I'm a! Li-ttle! TEAPOT! I didn't stop laughing for about half an hour. Another adapted tune was 'O Tom the Toad, O Tom the Toad! Why are you lying in the road?' to the tune of O Christmas Tree! (As the song progresses, it turns out that Tom is lying in the road because he got hit by a car and is dead.)
"Hello, songwriters," I say, in my imagination, "What is this nonsense about still seeing?"
"Hi Laura." (They love it when I pop over for a chat.) "Well, you know, it's from that saying, speech is silver, silence is golden."
"Ok, so it means sometimes silence is better. I'm on board with that. That's alright. And then the bit about your eyes still seeing?"
"Well, yeh, obviously it's because even if people aren't saying something, it can still be seen."
"Right, so are we presuming that where there is no silence, people are blind? How are the two linked? It seems like you're saying, 'when I don't speak I see, but when I'm speaking my vision is impaired.' That's not how senses work, you know," I tell them, "It's not one or the other. You usually have access to all of them at once."
"Alright, Laura, no need to pick holes in everything," they say, grumpily herding me towards the door.
"Just saying," I tell them, huffily, like a teenager, before slamming the door behind me.
A more recent song now. Cheryl Cole. Good old Cheryl. Fight For This Love. I won't mention the part where she says 'love ain't no walk in the paaAAaark,' as it's too silly for words. No. I want to skip to later when she says, "We just need to slow down, And just rooOOOOoooolll."
She needs to what? Roll? She needs to roll? I fail to see how a relationship in crisis could benefit from 'rolling'. In my mind, there are two people, having an argument, they're getting really frustrated as the other person won't listen, they don't know whether they should be together anymore, and then one of them says, "Wait, darling! Let's stop all this arguing. Don't you remember what Cheryl told us to do in moments like this?" "Yes, I do," says the man, we'll call him Bob. "Quick, Sue, help me move the furniture!" Puffing and panting, they push all the furniture to the outer edges of the room and clear a large space on the floor. They look at each other, eyes gleaming, they have figured out a solution, they love each other, it will all be ok. They get down on the floor, lying in a straight line, holding hands and they roll the full length of the room. And back again. There is a quiet moment, where they look into each other's eyes and realise that love is all you need. "Thanks Chezza," they whisper under their breaths. "You've saved us."
And now, for some lyrical comedy gold from a group of schoolgirls. Either playground ditties have got a bit mental since I was a kid, or they've always been mental and I didn't realise it cause I was a kid myself, but yesterday, to the tune of We Will Rock You, I heard some girls singing "I'm a! Li-ttle! TEAPOT!!" and clapping their hands in time. Then something like, Coca Cola went to town, Pepsi shot him down, Dr Pepper fixed him up, now we're all drinking 7up. And back to I'm a! Li-ttle! TEAPOT! I didn't stop laughing for about half an hour. Another adapted tune was 'O Tom the Toad, O Tom the Toad! Why are you lying in the road?' to the tune of O Christmas Tree! (As the song progresses, it turns out that Tom is lying in the road because he got hit by a car and is dead.)
Thursday 15 March 2012
In conversation with Yaya
Yaya: "Excuse me Auwa."
(Now I've always believed that the correct response to 'Excuse me' is 'You are excused,' or even 'What do I need to excuse you for? Have you broken wind?' but despite my best efforts it hasn't caught on. As Yaya is a three year old boy, I resist the temptation to have this discussion with him. So I revert to the traditional - but incorrect - response.)
Me: "Yes?"
Yaya: "Have you been at your job today?"
Me: "Yes I have, Yaya. Since very early this morning, I'm quite tired now."
Yaya: "At your cafe?"
(Again, it's a deli, I would like to say to him, which is infinitely cooler. And makes me sound a bit more refined. But again, I decide not to press the finer points of this distinction with a toddler.)
Me: "Yes."
Yaya: "I been there once, Auwa."
Me: "Yes you have, I remember. It was a nice surprise. And then we went to your house, didn't we? And...."
Yaya, impatiently: "No, Auwa. Talk about your cafe."
Me: "Erm, ok then. Well, at my... cafe... there's lots of things, there's chocolate cake and there's sandwiches and broccoli (he loves green food at the moment) and ice cream. Lots of things!"
Yaya: "Excuse me, Auwa. Do you have mont in your cafe?"
Translation = "milk"
Me, really getting into it: "Yes we have lots of mont. And do you know what else we have?....
Yaya, cutting me short: "Ok Auwa can I play on your phone now? The running jumping game?"
Me: "Yeh sure. Let me just set it up for you."
Yaya, entranced by the running jumping game: "Auwa?"
Me: "Yes?"
Yaya: "Are you botching me? I'm good at this one. Are you botching? Botch!"
Translation = "watch"
Me: "Oo, good one! You are good at this game. Remember to watch out for the..."
Yaya: "Shh, Auwa. I'm trying to con-chen-trate."
(At this point I obediently quieten down so he doesn't lose concentration and get eaten by the baddy. He discreetly slips his hand into mine and leans his head on my shoulder. Today's interaction has pleased him, I presume.)
(Now I've always believed that the correct response to 'Excuse me' is 'You are excused,' or even 'What do I need to excuse you for? Have you broken wind?' but despite my best efforts it hasn't caught on. As Yaya is a three year old boy, I resist the temptation to have this discussion with him. So I revert to the traditional - but incorrect - response.)
Me: "Yes?"
Yaya: "Have you been at your job today?"
Me: "Yes I have, Yaya. Since very early this morning, I'm quite tired now."
Yaya: "At your cafe?"
(Again, it's a deli, I would like to say to him, which is infinitely cooler. And makes me sound a bit more refined. But again, I decide not to press the finer points of this distinction with a toddler.)
Me: "Yes."
Yaya: "I been there once, Auwa."
Me: "Yes you have, I remember. It was a nice surprise. And then we went to your house, didn't we? And...."
Yaya, impatiently: "No, Auwa. Talk about your cafe."
Me: "Erm, ok then. Well, at my... cafe... there's lots of things, there's chocolate cake and there's sandwiches and broccoli (he loves green food at the moment) and ice cream. Lots of things!"
Yaya: "Excuse me, Auwa. Do you have mont in your cafe?"
Translation = "milk"
Me, really getting into it: "Yes we have lots of mont. And do you know what else we have?....
Yaya, cutting me short: "Ok Auwa can I play on your phone now? The running jumping game?"
Me: "Yeh sure. Let me just set it up for you."
Yaya, entranced by the running jumping game: "Auwa?"
Me: "Yes?"
Yaya: "Are you botching me? I'm good at this one. Are you botching? Botch!"
Translation = "watch"
Me: "Oo, good one! You are good at this game. Remember to watch out for the..."
Yaya: "Shh, Auwa. I'm trying to con-chen-trate."
(At this point I obediently quieten down so he doesn't lose concentration and get eaten by the baddy. He discreetly slips his hand into mine and leans his head on my shoulder. Today's interaction has pleased him, I presume.)
Wednesday 14 March 2012
In conversation with Danda
Me: "Look, the weather is getting a bit warmer, the grass is growing again."
Danda: "Grass? You don't pronounce it like that. You say graarss."
Me: "But that doesn't make sense. If the language inventors had wanted us to say grass with a long 'a' they would have added another 'r' in after the 'a'."
Danda: "No, no, no. That's how it's pronounced. Trust me."
Me: "Wait a minute, you say 'fat' with a short 'a', yes?"
Danda: "Yes...."
Me: "But then 'fast' as though it has an 'r' in it. Farst. That's illogical, why one and not the other?"
Danda: "It's erm, well it's because, obviously, it's because there's an 's' after the 'a', so you say it differently."
Me: "There's not always an 's' though. What about 'handbag', why isn't it 'harndbarg'? But then it is 'arfternoon'?"
Danda, floundering slightly: "That's different. That's because of the, erm, the 'n' and the 'g' in 'handbag'."
Me: "It doesn't make a lot of sense really does it, when you think about it?"
Danda: "Yeh, it does. Marybe you just don't arppreciate the finer quarlities of the English larnguarge."
Me: "Thart's probably it. I'll marke more of arn effort to speak properly from now on."
Danda: "Grass? You don't pronounce it like that. You say graarss."
Me: "But that doesn't make sense. If the language inventors had wanted us to say grass with a long 'a' they would have added another 'r' in after the 'a'."
Danda: "No, no, no. That's how it's pronounced. Trust me."
Me: "Wait a minute, you say 'fat' with a short 'a', yes?"
Danda: "Yes...."
Me: "But then 'fast' as though it has an 'r' in it. Farst. That's illogical, why one and not the other?"
Danda: "It's erm, well it's because, obviously, it's because there's an 's' after the 'a', so you say it differently."
Me: "There's not always an 's' though. What about 'handbag', why isn't it 'harndbarg'? But then it is 'arfternoon'?"
Danda, floundering slightly: "That's different. That's because of the, erm, the 'n' and the 'g' in 'handbag'."
Me: "It doesn't make a lot of sense really does it, when you think about it?"
Danda: "Yeh, it does. Marybe you just don't arppreciate the finer quarlities of the English larnguarge."
Me: "Thart's probably it. I'll marke more of arn effort to speak properly from now on."
Tuesday 13 March 2012
Artichoke and celeriac
After writing yesterday's post, I was thinking about words, about how my perception of them sometimes affects my behaviour.
I understand that this will make me sound like an odd grumpy child, but I've never eaten an artichoke, because I think the word 'artichoke' is silly. It's like someone just found any two words - 'art' and 'choke' - and added a sound inbetween to join them together = 'art' ee 'choke'. If I discovered a new something, and small bug in my back garden, perhaps, and I was honoured with being able to name this new bug, and I said, "Oo, let me think of two words... 'shoe' and 'pen'. They're good words, I'll make a sound inbetween to join them together. Shoe-ee-pen." And I called up the bug people, David Attenborough answers, "Hi David," I say, quite casual, as if we're old acquaintances, "I've thought of a name for the bug." "That's great, Laura," says David, always pleased to hear from his favourite friend, "What is it?" "Shoe-ee-pen," I tell him. "I think it's pretty catchy, don't you?"
Now I don't want to put words in David's mouth but if I paraphrase what I imagine he'd say, it would go something like this - "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. Thinking up new names is clearly your weak point. Get off the phone, I'll think of one."
But no, when the vegetable discoverer called up and presented the name 'artichoke,' it somehow got through. It's a silly silly word, it's too clumsy and I don't like it.
You've probably guessed what's coming next. My annoyance over the word 'celeriac'. Celery. Ack. Celery. Ack. Is it celery? Then just call it celery. No, it's something different. It's the root, or something. I don't know and I don't care, I've never researched what a celeriac is because I don't understand why they didn't just give it a whole new name. Nutmeg and blade mace are the same plant, but they're not called 'nutmeg' and 'nutmeg-ac'.
So that's why I've never eaten, and will never eat, artichoke or celeriac.
A point of observation. Since starting this blog I have realised that I spend quite a lot of time thinking about words, and I like having imaginary conversations.
I understand that this will make me sound like an odd grumpy child, but I've never eaten an artichoke, because I think the word 'artichoke' is silly. It's like someone just found any two words - 'art' and 'choke' - and added a sound inbetween to join them together = 'art' ee 'choke'. If I discovered a new something, and small bug in my back garden, perhaps, and I was honoured with being able to name this new bug, and I said, "Oo, let me think of two words... 'shoe' and 'pen'. They're good words, I'll make a sound inbetween to join them together. Shoe-ee-pen." And I called up the bug people, David Attenborough answers, "Hi David," I say, quite casual, as if we're old acquaintances, "I've thought of a name for the bug." "That's great, Laura," says David, always pleased to hear from his favourite friend, "What is it?" "Shoe-ee-pen," I tell him. "I think it's pretty catchy, don't you?"
Now I don't want to put words in David's mouth but if I paraphrase what I imagine he'd say, it would go something like this - "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. Thinking up new names is clearly your weak point. Get off the phone, I'll think of one."
But no, when the vegetable discoverer called up and presented the name 'artichoke,' it somehow got through. It's a silly silly word, it's too clumsy and I don't like it.
You've probably guessed what's coming next. My annoyance over the word 'celeriac'. Celery. Ack. Celery. Ack. Is it celery? Then just call it celery. No, it's something different. It's the root, or something. I don't know and I don't care, I've never researched what a celeriac is because I don't understand why they didn't just give it a whole new name. Nutmeg and blade mace are the same plant, but they're not called 'nutmeg' and 'nutmeg-ac'.
So that's why I've never eaten, and will never eat, artichoke or celeriac.
A point of observation. Since starting this blog I have realised that I spend quite a lot of time thinking about words, and I like having imaginary conversations.
Monday 12 March 2012
Lucky? Really?
Ok, so I can't promise that my blogs are going to be especially high brow. My excuse is that my degree is full of serious things so I should be allowed time off for frivolity. Today's thoughts are very much frivolous.
I often imagine what I'd say to people I read about, I imagine the conversation which may arise. This happened today as I was nonchalantly flicking through this week's Chat magazine (right, don't mock, there's some real gems in there, as you will see). I was in the 'spiritual' section, and there is a photo of a key and a small caption, instructing me to put my finger on the key. As evidence that this is a good thing to do, there are little stories about what has happened to previous people who've touched the key. One woman says she tripped while running and almost broke her ankle, fortunately it was just a sprain. 'Phew!' says the woman.
I'm sorry! Phew? She said 'Phew'? She touched the key then fell over and sprained her ankle and said 'Phew'? And this is considered good evidence that I should follow suit? "What are you talking about?" I imagine myself saying to her. "What are you actually talking about? One of two things is going on here. Either, the key is a load of bollocks and you just fell over. No connection. In other words, it's just a picture of a key. Or, the key works and once you touched it, you sustained a relatively serious injury. You probably couldn't walk on it for a few days? Or maybe you just had to wear a big bandage and hobble? As you were hobbling onto the bus, say, to get to work, there's no seats so you have to stand on the painful ankle, you're wincing, everything hurts, you just want to sit down... did you then think, I'm so glad I touched that key because what luck I've had!"
The 'lucky' label, that's another thing I puzzle over. "O, that was lucky" people say, when avoiding potential disaster. Was it? Was almost dying 'lucky'? Maybe my standards are set too high, but 'luck' in my world is something a bit different, winning the lottery might be lucky, or a great job opportunity that you've happened upon by accident, or all the lights being on green when you're in a rush.
Deciding to go by bike instead of the tube for once, and then the tube being blown up by terrorists, is not 'lucky' as such, is it? If someone read your life story and saw that one day the tube you took was blown up by terrorists and you had decided not to take it that day, they'd think you'd had a narrow escape, surely? Not that you were 'lucky'?
Maybe I need to look up the dictionary definition of lucky? Or maybe I need to take figures of speech as they come, not think about why we say things that aren't really the case.
Another day I'll share my thoughts on the expression "I'm afraid...." as in "I'm afraid I don't have any change for a £20." (The main arguments in this case are that I feel no fear at all, and why should I? I'm just telling a customer I don't have any pound coins left?)
I often imagine what I'd say to people I read about, I imagine the conversation which may arise. This happened today as I was nonchalantly flicking through this week's Chat magazine (right, don't mock, there's some real gems in there, as you will see). I was in the 'spiritual' section, and there is a photo of a key and a small caption, instructing me to put my finger on the key. As evidence that this is a good thing to do, there are little stories about what has happened to previous people who've touched the key. One woman says she tripped while running and almost broke her ankle, fortunately it was just a sprain. 'Phew!' says the woman.
I'm sorry! Phew? She said 'Phew'? She touched the key then fell over and sprained her ankle and said 'Phew'? And this is considered good evidence that I should follow suit? "What are you talking about?" I imagine myself saying to her. "What are you actually talking about? One of two things is going on here. Either, the key is a load of bollocks and you just fell over. No connection. In other words, it's just a picture of a key. Or, the key works and once you touched it, you sustained a relatively serious injury. You probably couldn't walk on it for a few days? Or maybe you just had to wear a big bandage and hobble? As you were hobbling onto the bus, say, to get to work, there's no seats so you have to stand on the painful ankle, you're wincing, everything hurts, you just want to sit down... did you then think, I'm so glad I touched that key because what luck I've had!"
The 'lucky' label, that's another thing I puzzle over. "O, that was lucky" people say, when avoiding potential disaster. Was it? Was almost dying 'lucky'? Maybe my standards are set too high, but 'luck' in my world is something a bit different, winning the lottery might be lucky, or a great job opportunity that you've happened upon by accident, or all the lights being on green when you're in a rush.
Deciding to go by bike instead of the tube for once, and then the tube being blown up by terrorists, is not 'lucky' as such, is it? If someone read your life story and saw that one day the tube you took was blown up by terrorists and you had decided not to take it that day, they'd think you'd had a narrow escape, surely? Not that you were 'lucky'?
Maybe I need to look up the dictionary definition of lucky? Or maybe I need to take figures of speech as they come, not think about why we say things that aren't really the case.
Another day I'll share my thoughts on the expression "I'm afraid...." as in "I'm afraid I don't have any change for a £20." (The main arguments in this case are that I feel no fear at all, and why should I? I'm just telling a customer I don't have any pound coins left?)
Yes, it's decaf, alright?
Woman: "Can I have a decaf cappuccino please?"
Me: "Yes, I'll bring it out to you."
Me, arriving with the drink: "Here's your drink."
Woman: "Is it decaf?"
Me: "Yes."
Woman, narrowing her eyes: "Is it definitely decaf?"
Me: "Yep."
Ok, what on earth was that about? What did she expect my response to her last question to be? "O I'm sorry, you're asking if it's DEFINITELY decaf? Well then no, it's not." After the first time you've asked, if I haven't checked back with you what it was, it means I've got it, just the one time is fine. You may be desperately allergic to caffeinated coffee, fair enough, but the severity of your allergy does not mean the level of my ability to retain information has gone down.
So, what have I started this blog for? To rant about the public? Surprisingly, no. I like more people than I dislike. The reason at the moment is that I'm not sure. A few things are different and new at the moment so this is one of those things I've thought about so have decided I'm going to give it a try. And there's no time like the present, which is why I'm doing it on my phone at 11.40pm at a friend's house.
Who are Danda and Yaya? My friend's granddaughter calls him Danda and her older brother Yaya. But like Laszlo from the book Grace, Tamar and Laszlo, they will not be the main features. The main feature will probably include food, coffee, and any good books I'm reading, although don't hold me to that. Tomorrow I may ruminate on the welfare state, so watch out (!). No, Danda and Yaya sound fun, they sound different, foreign, exciting. Their adventures could involve pirates, deadly snakes, a fight for a beautiful princess. Yet coffee, textbooks and a cooking obsession sound quite ordinary. And who wants ordinary? Danda and Yaya are my inspiration for at least making this corner of my life, this blog, something adventurous and new, a way to explore a new world in my head, to explore more possibilities. This blog could be a non starter or it could be really great fun. An adventure. I'm intrigued to see what will happen. Here goes!
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