Al azar.....

Since the summer last year, at the invitation of a great women's association here in Alcala, I've been giving Zentangle classes on a Friday evening. I think we have around 25 people, mainly women, who come regularly, either to the beginners or the advanced classes, I often leave the house feeling quite tired after a long week, but invariably, I am rejuvenated when I arrive home a few hours later.

Al azar is a 'Spanish' phrase which I recently discovered and which has made my Friday evening's teaching SO much easier all of a sudden. 'Azar' is not originally a Spanish word, as you may imagine. It seems to originate in Persia, is found in Arabic (which is probably how it entered Spanish) and is quite common in Hebrew too. It can mean chance, fate, bad luck, 'Al azar', however, means randomly, frivolously or by chance. This is the meaning I need in my classes.

The point being that I became ridiculously excited when I discovered this phrase, because my alternative was a very long word that I could never remember...aleatoriamente ....but which I need to use very often during the classes to explain - 'make random dots on the paper'. Random is one of my favourite words - and indeed, concepts. Doing or thinking things 'at random' sparks my imagination and can set me on a wonderful path of discovery - finding something by chance is so exciting. It's one of the things I love in teaching and in my drawing. You never know where you'll end up or what you'll end up with.

It's how writing my blogposts go. I sit down with an intention in mind but many of my posts take a direction of their own at the production of a random word that triggers a set of thoughts.
I'm labouring the point. I'll stop.

I was on my way home today from taking Romy to a friend's birthday celebration. It has been raining quite a lot in the past couple of days so I was quite surprised to see a neighbour out and walking up the hill, still at some distance from her house. I stopped and asked if she wanted me to take her home, but she grinned and said no, she liked walking in the rain. She was wearing her dressing gown. Couldn't see her feet. But she did look very happy! Just thought I'd share.

A couple of weeks ago now, the wife of Edward Bond died. Edward is FR's guide, mentor and friend and he knew Elisabeth personally. At random, he opened a book of Bond's poetry a few days later, only to find the poem, 'She died'. FR was genuinely moved by this chance occurrence.

Strange random things sometimes encourage us to look for patterns in life. I'm not saying we always find them but there is a sense of reassurance for me that today - 4th March - is the birthdate of my great grandmother and FR's father. And that both our sets of parents got married on the 10th June - which is also the birthday of my oldest and closest friend. They make little links in our lives. Randomly, of course.

This is the pattern that sparked my need for the word 'random' in Spanish. It starts off with a set of random dots on the page which are then joined together with five lines. So simple and so effective - I use it sometimes with my English students if I ever get on to the subject of tanglin...by chance, of course!

Random questions make great conversation topics in my English classes. It's incredible how an unexpected question or statement can spark several memories or thoughts in people's heads. No need to worry about a language barrier if people really want to speak. Recently one of the best random questions was 'How would the world be different if animals could speak?....It really got my 13 year old students talking and made many of them think deeply about eating meat, visiting zoos and protecting the environment.

Quite out of the blue, I got a message last night from my nephew, Will. Several years ago, I bought him a wooden box for his birthday. It had a dragon on it and it caught my attention for him as he often uses the name 'Wishdragon' when online - a lovely name in itself - so the box seemed perfect. Being Will, I suspect he was a tad bemused at receiving an empty box but it made him think how he could put it to use. I am so delighted with what he came up with...a musical box, complete with the roll and beautiful tune he composed himself. Hope you enjoy this.






I will randomly end at this point, stopping only to say - do share any random thoughts or ideas you might have at this moment!

Thank you!
Axxx

Humerus mistakes

Language is such a wonderful thing. And I love it when it comes out a bit wrong and a new word is made, a new image created or an unintended moment of hilarity enjoyed.

I bought Mateo a t-shirt like this -

 and I laugh every time I see it!

I remember a family dinner - must be about twelve years ago because it was summer and I was heavily pregnant with Ruy - he'll be twelve in a month's time. We ate outside with my parents and my sister and her family at our little terraced house.  Knowing my mother spoke a little Spanish and having the habit of speaking it to my sister - who doesn't - after the plates had been cleaned the first time, FR asked 'Quieres mas?' - to which my mother with some enthusiasm answered 'Oh yes, please!'  Judy's face was a picture of shock and horror for a moment before she started laughing. She had no idea what FR had said but presumed it wasn't what she'd heard - which was Kiss my ass? - and my mum had meant something completely different with her Yes please! No need to explain our sometime unusual offer of seconds!

Last night, we had a lovely evening with friends and we drank rather more than either FR or I are used to. Sam is English and Dave is from Glasgow originally and we'd been talking about making mistakes in Spanish - and we've all made some howlers! Around midnight, we saw a headlamp (and I mean a lamp on a headband) at the gate and recognised it as Sergio with his dogs and a nephew in tow, so FR jumped up and went to greet him, shouting in English - 'Would you like a drink?' A chorus followed him from the table in the garden that he was speaking in English...whereupon FR switched to Spanish but didn't quite get it right. 'Quieres un vaso' is what he meant to ask...and remember in Spanish, the 'v' is pronounced exactly like 'b'...and this means 'do you want a glass (of something)'.

However, this is not quite what he said. He asked Sergio if he'd like a 'beso' - which is a kiss! And Sergio, without missing a beat, wiped the back of both his hands across his mouth in an exaggerated gesture of preparation - for a kiss. Beautiful timing! We did laugh.

And then, later on, just before going to bed, I read a comment left by Janice (in Caunes or is she now somewhere else?) in which she'd made a simple typing error. But it was one that had me pondering for ages! Remember I had been drinking Cava and Oporto -  rather than my usual cup of tea - before coming to this - and I quote:

The beetles, cigales, and toads have visited us in their hoards this year. We think it might be the same toad who keeps coming back to join us at dinner under the pergola....perhaps we should drop a bit of paintonto him to see if it really is him making return visits, after we carefully take him back to the far end of the garden.

It was the word 'paintonto' that confused me. I read it as some special sort of bread used for marking toads. Not so daft on my part as I know 'pain' is French for bread - and Janice is in France...and 'tonto' is a Spanish word for 'silly or daft' but could also be French or Italian... OK, silly pain, I am! It may be quite obvious to everyone else that there is a space missing between 'paint' and 'onto'.

Oh dear, and now it's got me started - thinking about other little mistakes and how a letter here or there can make all the difference. Possibly my very favourite one is absolutely true and a mistake that I made myself in a letter to all 191 Primary School secretaries back in the 1990s. We had just been putting computers into schools for administrative purposes and in those days, we had to send updates out on a floppy 'disk or disc' in an envelope though the snail mail. I remember typing a little note to go out with these things but being momentarily undecided whether to type 'disk' or 'disc'. I obviously couldn't properly decide but my unconscious 'solution' was quite outrageous... the letter eventually went out included the following line:

"Please find enclosed a 3" floppy dick with full instructions for use..."

I should have recorded some of the responses for posterity...especially as some of the secretaries at this time were the blue-rinse dragons of days gone by!

Any good howlers to share??

More words...

Courtesy of the Plain English Campaign

Have you noticed a greater intrusion from spammers recently? More is making its way onto my blog, rather than being sidelined by Blogger's excellent 'Spam' detector.  I've got away very lightly compared to some, but it is so annoying when a spam comment gets through.
I shall have to have a dig around to check that I haven't left a crucial box unchecked...






There's a sort of fascination for me in such gobbledegook though; I like to imagine the blog-owner actually typing this stuff into my comment box...

"You actually mаke it appeаr геally easу with youг presentation but I find thiѕ matter to be actually one thing that I feel I'd by no means understand. It seems too complicated and very extensive for me. I am taking a look ahead to your subsequent submit, I'll attemρt tο get the gгasp of it! Take a look at my homepage: "

Almost worthy of a politician!!

It seems like such a lot of trouble to go to to encourage new visitors. Is anyone else vaguely tempted to visit the webpage suggested and leave an equally ridiculous/mysterious/obscure (delete as appropriate or add your own!) message?

Hmmm....just me then?

Words with special powers...

Yes, the Great Wall of China. It's a 'b' word...

Remember Maria in 'The Sound of Music'?

When the going got tough, she thought about her favourite things - seemed to cheer her up no end.

It's a common psychological technique. If you're feeling hot, think about ice-cream and penguins. And if you're cold, think about curry and lying on a beach - or lying on a beach eating curry if that helps. Words, and the images they conjure up are very powerful, are they not?

It also is said to help that if you're a bit down,  you should think about the highs of your life. I hasten to add that at this moment in time, I'm not down - no, this springs in a roundabout sort of way from some discussions with my students. We've been talking about about opposites and attraction and about happy holidays and miserable times. It's been really good fun. Not only have we shared some pretty silly stories but we've really talked, really started to use the English language - and the thing that generated the most conversation was talking about our phobias;  how we enjoyed talking about the things we DIDN'T like.

I don't intend divulging any of their secrets - we did find out some rather strange things about some people - but I was put in mind of some of the non-verbal language that came out on the day...you know, shudders and lip-curls and a waving-of-hands-in-horror sort of thing - when I said a word to FR.

Innocently. I had no idea of the effect it would have on him.

I said I would be loathe to do something. That's all. And at the word 'loathe' he started twitching and said he really didn't like that word...and then as it took hold of his brain, he started shaking his hands and feet and saying 'eurgh' and 'aargh' and 'yuk' and other such sounds of disgust. He stood up and paced back and forth in obvious distress. I was utterly amazed - I don't think I've ever seen such a violent reaction to a word in anyone before.

Other than in myself...

When I was 10, my teacher, a keen musician, had us sing songs on a Friday afternoon. One of the songs, which was written on a huge piece of card high on the classroom wall, THANKFULLY behind my back where I couldn't see it on a daily basis, had a most beautiful tune, one that could send shivers down my spine. However, it contained a word I could not bring myself to say and one that, as we approached it in the song, brought different shivers to my young body. Those of fear and (dare I say it) loathing! The song was 'God Bless the Prince of Wales' - yes, rather an odd choice, I admit but I suspect the teacher liked the tune. The word....well, I think I can tell you ...bulwarks.  There, said it. (Wrote it - easier!) Part of the problem was I didn't know what it meant - and olive branches twined round them - but I thought it was such an ugly and unpleasant word. I never, in all the times we had to sing it, managed to include that word in my own rendition and was always mightily glad when we'd got safely past it. The Great Wall of China is one. Ships have them too, apparently...


I felt equally strongly about the word 'Bletchley' - what a horrid name for any place. However, unlike the other 'b' word, which I couldn't bring myself to say then and still don't like to now, I took great delight in saying 'Bletchley' in an exaggeratedly disgusting way when younger. I don't say it too often these days but if I did, I know I would make the place sound very ugly. It may be a nice place, I don't know. I shall never, ever go anywhere near it. Sounds like a word being vomited to me.
Interesting then, that Bletchley Park, a lovely old house, was the focus for so much work on words and letters and the very special power and information contained therein - in code of course!

And a word that I used as a teenager to cheer myself up - glum! I found if I said 'glum' often enough, it would make me laugh. There's something very comic about it. Glum, glum, glum...still makes me smile!

I must also share an image that has been with me since I was about eight years old when I enjoyed reading the stories of Tove Jansson - 'The Finn Family Moomintroll'. In fact, I still love these stories and if you've never read them, do try and get hold of a copy. They're beautifully written and highly inventive, full of the most wonderful characters - my favourite was the miserable old Hemulen, who always wore his aunt's dress and collected stamps - (and I always suspected that I WAS Little My, the Mymble's daughter...her glare was the one my mother used to plead with me not to use on people.)

In one of the stories, Moomintroll has found the Hobgoblin's magic hat and discovered that anything put inside the hat is transformed. Egg shells turn into clouds that can be ridden around the house, for example. That was good enough but Tove Jansson became my hero when she allowed her characters to throw a 'Dictionary of Outlandish Words' into the hat - and the words come to life as little creatures that escape and crawl over the floor, up the walls and onto the ceiling! What a brilliant, outrageous, uninhibited idea - I absolutely love it.

I am on a quest to see if FR has any other strong reactions to specific words and have discovered one as I write that he likes - SERENDIPITY - indeed, he is muttering it to himself as he walks around the house. Sweet.

Do you have favourite words, or least favourite words?
Which ones can you say with pleasure and which leave you a jibbering wreck?

What's in a name?

My sister and I exchanged emails this morning. We try to speak regularly on SKYPE and whilst we could probably speak more often, once we get going, we can easily while away an hour or so without drawing breath. It's good to talk. I miss my sister.

In her email this morning, as well as telling me she was suffering with the cold that hit my mother - I knew it wasn't a Spanish bug - she told me she's off to London for a couple of days tomorrow with some friends. This in itself was no great shock - my sister has a wide circle of friends and is always off somewhere or other with them. What did make my eyebrows shoot up was the fact that she said she hasn't been to London since she came to visit me when I worked at Waterstone's - at a time when Tim W. was still very much in charge, (he interviewed me and gave me the job, making me responsible for the music department in the Charing Cross Road store and for which I will be forever grateful) - and when it still had its apostrophe! The dropping of the apostrophe caused quite a stir at the beginning of the year - though the name remains and Tim has long gone.

As I often do, I'd like you to bear with me on a short detour from the main theme of this post. I'd like to concur with the line in Wikipedia that states that Tim set up a new kind of bookshop, that 'employed a highly literate staff'...the people I worked with at this period were absolutely fascinating and some have gone on to develop further the areas they were interested in during their time at the shop. Jonathan Rich ran the fiction department and went on to write himself, including episodes of 'The Bill' and 'Casualty' and also a drama-documentary for the BBC on Egypt. I have just discovered he is also a voice over artist which doesn't surprise me at all as I remember his wonderful melodic voice very well indeed and having just listened to some of his recordings, I'm blasted back to the past when we worked briefly together on the same floor of the store. Jonathan was a joy to work with, funny, clever, a big softie (hugs on the hour, every hour) with a wicked wit and a real love of music - it's been such a treat to listen to his voice again, even if it's to hear him advertising software solutions and estate agents! I also remember being very fond of a serious chap called Ray Monk, whom I once accompanied to a rendezvous at St. Paul's Cathedral for him to buy a saxophone. Ray ran the philosophy department and is now a Professor of Philosophy at Southampton University with a string of prizes and books to his name - mainly on his abiding interest, Wittgenstein. Elizabeth, who ran the Travel department left to go to Zimbabwe,  Colin, who ran the Health department had been a psychiatric nurse, the 'Saturday' boy was the son of the author Hunter Davies...it was an interesting place to work. (I ran a pretty good music section too.)

Back on track now. At the time, I lived in a place which has also changed its name.  In 1985, Staines-upon-Thames was simply Staines and it was sometime during this year that my sister came to visit. I remember very little about what we did but it must have involved walking into the town centre along Gresham Road several times. I know this because on the last day of her visit, my sister slowed down as we passed one of the buildings on this road and then started to laugh. She laughed so much, she had to sit down on the pavement. She laughed so infectiously that I started to laugh too without having the slightest idea why. When we laugh, we laugh til we cry. So there we were - sitting on the kerb - tears rolling down our faces, unable to speak. Behind us was a building and my sister kept turning round and pointing to the sign, trying to explain why she was laughing but every time she looked at it, she'd start laughing again.

The sign?

THE 

NATIONAL 

DYSLEXIA 

INSTITUTE

Why the hysteria? My sister is only mildly dyslexic (undiagnosed) but all week, as we walked past the building, she had been struggling to decipher the words. On our last trip, she worked it out....

If ever an institute needed to change its name - this has to be it!

The 'P' Spot

This also works.....

 
A strange thing happened to me this week. I nipped onto one of my favourite blogs, Knitsofacto, where there is always so much to enjoy in the form of words, pictures and lovely ideas. On this particualar day, the post was about "wool, flax, cotton, steel" and the most beautiful little bit of embroidery I've ever seen. (Do come back again, won't you?)  And as I was looking at it, the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck began to stand on end and I felt tears pricking my eyes and a lump coming to my throat.

And thanks to Annie on Knitsofacto, I have finally been able to name the thing I've always known I had but didn't know what it was called. It is, as you may have guessed from the title of this post - my 'P' Spot. Annie - your beautiful piece of embroidery on that wonderful material and the immaculate photograph you published was......PERFECT. You hit my 'perfect' spot!

I've always had a tendency to moments of strong emotion, mainly when listening to music. So many pieces set me a tingle all over - too many to mention all of them - though I did mention a few in an earlier blog, where I called my reaction a 'frisson'.

This same rush of a sensation - a physical sensation - I remember feeling from a very early age. It can be brought on by any number of things...( and yes, I think I'm very lucky!)

At one of my primary schools, I sat next to a girl, who had the strange name of Jane Graves, who was, as I remember, rather prim and unfriendly but who had the most perfect handwriting - I would sit and watch her making letters and words with absolute fascination. It may be that she would have been friendly to me if I hadn't watched her writing so obsessively. Jane's writing made me tingle.

By happy coincidence, as I reached secondary school, my best friend was an excellent artist - indeed, she now makes the most amazing works of art in the form of cakes - check her cakes at Scattercake - and I was able to take my penmanship-worship to a higher stage. Just to see her pick up a pen, pencil or brush set me off - she held her instrument of work in a way that was just right. Touched the 'P' spot for me every time.

Other things that have, in their time, been judged as perfect according to my in-built system include the sight of Torvill and Dean skating the Paso Doble at the 1984 Olympics. As I was neither very patriotic nor into ice dancing, I can only assume they too hit my 'P' spot as I found myself in tears every time I saw them in this particular performance - and checking it out on YouTube, it still has the same effect!




Looking out across the Sierra Nevada does it to me too - you may have noticed how I love these mountains from previous posts - they are perfect. The film, 'A Room with a View' is positively stuffed with little 'P' spots ('p') for me - the images of Florence and Tuscany and Kent, the sound of Kiri Te Kanawa's beautiful singing and the immaculate timing of many of the lines - particularly Daniel Defoe's cringeworthy Cecil! I adore watching the film and it never fails to deliver the expected quota of tingles.

And of course, music. From Mozart's Requiem, which, in it's entirety probably has the most 'P' spot hits for me; to the third of Richard Strauss's 'Four Last Songs'; to the amazing chord progression that David Willcocks puts in the last verse of 'Oh, Come All Ye Faithful' (chords leading up to 'Word of the Father'...) - I have a whole catalogue of pieces, tunes, chords and moments that sum up what the word 'perfection' means to me. Most of them are, like the Willcocks piece, just a short series of chord progressions or a change of key or a particularly well-hit note.

Here are just a very few moments in no particular order any more would be pure indulgence: I hope you enjoy them too.

'Beim Schlafengeh' - from 'Four Last Songs' by Richard Strauss, sung by Gundula Janowitz

'Prelude and Fugue No.1 in C Major ' by J.S Bach, played by Friedrich Gulda

'Cello Suite No.1' by J.S. Bach, played by Yo Yo Ma (don't listen beyond the music!)

'Caruso (Te voglio bene assai)' by Lucio Dalla, sung by Pavarotti (and basically anything this man sings sets me off but this is just amazing.)

'Misereri' by Gregori Allegri, sung by the University of Nottingham Music Society with a divine solo soprano


And I think you might listen to this too 'Perfect Day' with Lou Reed and co. Listen out for Heather Small at 1'34 and 3'15, Courtney Pine at 2'40 and Tom Jones at 3'26 and think of me! (Beware, there are some awful noises at the very beginning...)



Hope there are a few 'P' spotters out there.  Do share - let's set the world wide web a-tremble.

Dangerous free radical?

I have had a request from my husband. He wants me to remove his name and all pictures of him from my blog. This is going to be a big task and I'm equally sure that once I start, he'll have a rethink and decide it really isn't a problem after all. However, he has asked me to do it and I will respect his wishes. I will therefore refer to him as FR from now on. All will be clear.

These past few months have been very important for my FR as he has been working in Granada at the wonderful theatre space at the foot of the Alhambra that has been made available to him by the Junta (or local goverment) of Andalucia. He's been running a course designed for actors, based on the theory, philosophy and writings of Edward Bond, arguably Britain's greatest living playwright. It was surprisingly well-attended (considering FR is an unknown teacher and his subject was a somewhat controversial British author) and it has been extremely well-received, with some wonderful feedback that must have really warmed FR's cockles and other parts. They warmed mine.

FR can say his wife does not understand him. It's not entirely true, of course, but at times it's a close description of our relationship. We have overcome the language barrier to a greater or lesser extent - though now the boot is on the other foot and it's me that at times appears to be a bit deaf; who forgets an instruction; who can't seem to grasp a vital bit of information; who can't write a telephone number down accurately. All of which was FR when we lived in England. It's a language thing. There are times when no matter how good a command of a language a 'foreigner' might have, there are some things that just don't go in. I have accused FR of not listening to me on many an occasion in the past as he would fail to do something I'd specifically asked, or he'd ask me a question about something I'd just finished providing an answer for - as if he was trying to be funny or something. Which he wasn't. The children laughed from time to time as he did this so often.

Now it's me that has cloth ears and sometimes just can't quite get what is being asked of me or what I am being told. It's me who is slow on the uptake when we're out with a crowd or family group.  And I'll have to accept that it might always be a bit like this. It's frustrating and explains a lot about some of FR's reactions in the past.

Why FR? Well, one thing about my husband is that he is not exactly the predictable type - apart from knowing that you will never quite know what he will do in any given situation. This definitely makes life fun/exhausting/maddening/exciting (depending on the time of the month, I find) and certainly never boring.  He's a revolutionary at heart and almost always has a radical solution to propose for any problem - and I love the definitions available in the The Free Dictionary for the word 'radical':

1. Arising from or going to a root or source; basic: proposed a radical solution to the problem.

2. Departing markedly from the usual or customary; extreme: radical opinions on education.

3. Favoring or effecting fundamental or revolutionary changes in current practices, conditions, or institutions: radical political views.

4. Linguistics Of or being a root: a radical form.

5. Botany Arising from the root or its crown: radical leaves.

6. Slang Excellent; wonderful.

He's radical. And definitely free as in a free thinker. 

And free radicals are crucial, combustible atoms or molecules that are vitally important to our chemical makeup but which equally can be dangerous or harmful - and whilst FR is not usually either of these things, I do like to think of him as a 'dangerous free radical' - a term which caught my attention many years ago (in connection with some night cream, I think) as a particularly good one for the somewhat fierce, charged, attractive man  I have married. Of whom I am inordinately proud despite - and in spite of - our occasional verbal misunderstandings. And as we are told, between two people, around 60% of communication is non-verbal anyway. Which is nice to know. 

So goodbye to photos containing my lovely FR husband, I shall be removing them slowly but surely over the coming days. And when I've managed to establish why this is necessary - through verbal or other means - I'll let you know. Though I probably know why already.

What's in a name?

I was thinking about my friend, Jenny - musician, nurse, baker, card-maker, creator and inspirer inspirator .. (inspiring person doesn't do it but you know what I mean - was IS the word?) a person with much 'can do' about her. I was thinking about the very first day we met, which was at a band rehearsal in Leeds many years ago. It was the day I joined the band and Jenny came in with a brand new bass clarinet of which she was very proud. Jenny always calls a spade a spade and she introduced me to her new instrument by calling it 'the dog's bollocks of bass clarinets' - by which, by her tone of voice, I assumed she meant something good. Anyway, from that moment on, we were friends and the bass was always called 'DB'.

In more recent years, Jenny has moved on to playing saxophone - progressively bigger ones. Now she's playing a new and rather special baritone saxophone*. 'DB' would be a pretty good name for this monster but for some reason Jenny requested her friends to think of a name for it. The name needed to be.. and I quote - something 'French and trollopy'. I felt game for the challenge and put my mind to work but nothing right would come. I didn't like any of the names that others thought of either. So I tried to forget about it. And isn't it strange how the mind keeps on working in the background? Just before I went to bed that evening, like a lightbulb going on, it came to me - unsummoned unsummonsed  (why today of all days can't I find the right words??) without being summoned .. and I was so pleased, I can't tell you! I giggled my way to Facebook and ignoring the other suggestions, such as Emmanuelle, Fifi and Annette von Parpsalot (which is funny but not very French) proudly announced the name of the new sax - Bari Antoinette!! It is perfect and I'm still pleased and I know Jenny likes it.

And this thought led me on to other cherished memories relating to words and names. Around the time I met Jenny - a musical, single, indulgent time - I had a friend who was planning on opening a music shop and I was charged with the task of selecting a name. On a visit to my sister's, I broached the subject with my brother-in-law, Rob - who loves words, puns, verbal images and the like - and we sat down together to try and think of something. It took him less than 30 seconds once he had the brief - a name for a shop that sells woodwind instruments. How could anyone not think of 'Windstruments'? Perfect. And now, confession time, when I went back to my friend and presented the name - I never actually said that Rob had thought of it. The name proved so popular with everyone and they all thought I was so clever that I forgot to mention where it really came from. Sorry Rob!

In deference to Rob's wit, can I share another memorable wordy exchange I had with him one day. Rob's a keen cook and bakes delicious, exciting bread - yes, exciting! This particular day's cooking involved some mozzarella cheese. The exchange went something like this :  

Rob: Bloody expensive, this mozzarella.
Me: It's probably bufalo.
Rob: Buffalo! Don't fancy milking one of those. Didn't think there were buffalo in Italy.
Me: Yes - bufalo - only one 'f' in bufalo  - in Italy.

Rob......(just a moments pause) No wonder it's so effin' expensive.


His timing was perfect and the conversation is captured in my mind like an excellent comedy sketch forever. Thanks Rob.

And on the subject of words and things that make me laugh about words - when I first met Cesar, his command of the English language was still in development, though boy, was he game to practice and try out what little he had! He was enthusiastic and confident and wholly unembarrassed which resulted in some wonderful little moments. The first day we met, he and another friend of mine came back to my flat and we were talking music and Cesar got onto the subject of Beethoven. He was describing how when he listened to Beethoven's 9th he imagined " being in a chariot being pulled along by six black whores" - an image I found quite stunning - but had to ask... 'why black?'
After a little further questioning, turns out he actually meant black horses....................

He had some famous struggles with some words, such as 'crisps' and 'wasps' but my personal favourite was unbelievable, which always came out as 'unveliebavle'. And as we lay in bed last night, I was thinking about all these things and I asked him if there were any words he still struggled with in English. There was a very long pause and I thought he'd fallen asleep or couldn't be bothered to answer... then he came out with one! It was:
Supercalafragelisticexpialadotious. I laughed a lot!!


Editor's note:
* got my story wrong and put 'bass' saxophone first draft - Jen soon noticed and put me right - see comment below. Thanks Jen!