I dun boobed...

When it works the postal system is a wondrous thing.

I arrived home tonight after a badly fluffed attempt to meet drjohnsilence (of which more later), to find my box set of Stargate SG-1 season 9 awaiting me, together with the replacement copy of The Beatles Live at the BBC, a nice new watch courtesy of Amex reward points and, for Furtle, the new Queen Live in Montreal CD. Prezzies all round, hurrah! I am now just waiting for my copy of NWO Transylvania to turn up, though I suspect that ity is lost for ever in the great chasm that was the postal strike. Not sure what, if anything, I can do about that...

Furtle and I were late home. We met up outside Victoria Station and disappeared off the The Willow Walk for a pint and a meal while I awaited a phone call from drjohnsilence so we could meet him for a BEER or two ahead of his flight back to the States tomorrow.

Well, that was what was happening in the caddyman world anyway. The real world re-established contact with me around 8pm as we were on the Tube heading north, just outside Woodside Park station. The phone rang and a puzzled voice said that he thought we were supposed to meet up for a drink... "Ah, says I, but you didn't call me to say where we should meet!". "We arranged the Royal Oak at around 6.30" says he. And as I am denying it and he is asserting the truth of it, that old dusty memory kicks in and that familiar sinking feeling accompanies it. He's right, I am wrong. And it's too late and too far away to do anything about it.

Sometime on Wednesday I shall have to make a phone call Stateside and describe the size and taste of the portion of humble pie I shall be eating... It's not as if we're in the same hemisphere very often, let alone the same country, much less the same city.

What a pratt. But not deliberately so.

I dun boobed...

When it works the postal system is a wondrous thing.

I arrived home tonight after a badly fluffed attempt to meet drjohnsilence (of which more later), to find my box set of Stargate SG-1 season 9 awaiting me, together with the replacement copy of The Beatles Live at the BBC, a nice new watch courtesy of Amex reward points and, for Furtle, the new Queen Live in Montreal CD. Prezzies all round, hurrah! I am now just waiting for my copy of NWO Transylvania to turn up, though I suspect that ity is lost for ever in the great chasm that was the postal strike. Not sure what, if anything, I can do about that...

Furtle and I were late home. We met up outside Victoria Station and disappeared off the The Willow Walk for a pint and a meal while I awaited a phone call from drjohnsilence so we could meet him for a BEER or two ahead of his flight back to the States tomorrow.

Well, that was what was happening in the caddyman world anyway. The real world re-established contact with me around 8pm as we were on the Tube heading north, just outside Woodside Park station. The phone rang and a puzzled voice said that he thought we were supposed to meet up for a drink... "Ah, says I, but you didn't call me to say where we should meet!". "We arranged the Royal Oak at around 6.30" says he. And as I am denying it and he is asserting the truth of it, that old dusty memory kicks in and that familiar sinking feeling accompanies it. He's right, I am wrong. And it's too late and too far away to do anything about it.

Sometime on Wednesday I shall have to make a phone call Stateside and describe the size and taste of the portion of humble pie I shall be eating... It's not as if we're in the same hemisphere very often, let alone the same country, much less the same city.

What a pratt. But not deliberately so.

Wonderful World

On a lighter note, there was an excellent article in yesterday’s Times concerning the imminent publication of a book with the snappy title, Toujours Tingo: literally “always borrowing from a neighbour until there is nothing left” from the French and Pascuense (Easter Island). The author, who rejoices in the equally snappy name of Adam Jacot de Boinod is a former researcher for Stephen Fry’s BBC” TV show QI. The book is a list of words in foreign languages for which there is no direct English equivalent.

Apparently this will be the revised volume. Originally there were such words as the Japanese bakushan, (a woman who looks better from behind) and the Farsi nakhur (a camel that won’t give milk until its nose is tickled). To these choice mosels, he has added the German tantenverfuhrer which describes a man whose excessively good intentions suggest suspicious motives (we used to have the word poodle-faker, but it has dropped out of use, sadly). The Finns have the word poronkusema to describe the distance a reindeer can travel without taking a “comfort break”. The denizens of the Gilbert Islands have a phrase for the brother-in-law who comes around rather too frequently: butika roka, while the Portuguese have pesamentiero to describe someone who habitually attends funerals to get at the free refreshments.

Other goodies include:

Gwarlingo (Welsh): The rushing sound of a grandfather clock as it limbers up to strike the hour;
Chapponer (Gallo dialect of French): to stick your finger up a chicken’s jacksie to see if it is going to lay an egg;
Oka-shete (Ndonga language, Namibia): difficulties in peeing caused by eating frogs out of season;
Pisan zapra (Malay): the time needed to eat a banana;

And my personal favourite, which is in some ways a reversal of the trend, where English has the word, the ever-reliable Tok Pisin creole of New Guinea, which describes a helicopter as magimiks belong Yesus.

Wonderful World

On a lighter note, there was an excellent article in yesterday’s Times concerning the imminent publication of a book with the snappy title, Toujours Tingo: literally “always borrowing from a neighbour until there is nothing left” from the French and Pascuense (Easter Island). The author, who rejoices in the equally snappy name of Adam Jacot de Boinod is a former researcher for Stephen Fry’s BBC” TV show QI. The book is a list of words in foreign languages for which there is no direct English equivalent.

Apparently this will be the revised volume. Originally there were such words as the Japanese bakushan, (a woman who looks better from behind) and the Farsi nakhur (a camel that won’t give milk until its nose is tickled). To these choice mosels, he has added the German tantenverfuhrer which describes a man whose excessively good intentions suggest suspicious motives (we used to have the word poodle-faker, but it has dropped out of use, sadly). The Finns have the word poronkusema to describe the distance a reindeer can travel without taking a “comfort break”. The denizens of the Gilbert Islands have a phrase for the brother-in-law who comes around rather too frequently: butika roka, while the Portuguese have pesamentiero to describe someone who habitually attends funerals to get at the free refreshments.

Other goodies include:

Gwarlingo (Welsh): The rushing sound of a grandfather clock as it limbers up to strike the hour;
Chapponer (Gallo dialect of French): to stick your finger up a chicken’s jacksie to see if it is going to lay an egg;
Oka-shete (Ndonga language, Namibia): difficulties in peeing caused by eating frogs out of season;
Pisan zapra (Malay): the time needed to eat a banana;

And my personal favourite, which is in some ways a reversal of the trend, where English has the word, the ever-reliable Tok Pisin creole of New Guinea, which describes a helicopter as magimiks belong Yesus.