Panic on the 2nd floor

Posted on November 30, 2014 by Nigel Hurll

There are quite a lot of people who are pretty familiar with some quite intimate details about me – OCD after-wash sock-folding and the like – and I hesitate to provide a further insight into the murky depths of my life, not to mention further ammunition for certain people to extract the compost accelerator. Oh well, whatever.

Those of you who were at the Annual Dinner of the association that employs me at the annual conference in question will have seen – and no doubt admired from a distance (that location seemingly being preferable to some philistines) – the new snazzy waistcoat. I confess I like snazzy waistcoats, but there was a special reason for its last minute purchase the day before I travelled to Blackpool.

It’s my practice to try on the suit (yes, the suit: weddings, funerals, Annual Dinner) well before the trip, but I’d let things slip a bit – including a chunk of midriff as it turned out – and I hurriedly acquired some trouser waist extenders. I tried one on and soon realised that, even with a belt to cover up the buttonhole flap (aptly named as, unfettered, that’s what it did), the whole mechanism was untidy at best and unruly at worst, not to mention the zip problem. What? No, I said not to mention it. So, I had the brainwave of the snazzy waistcoat to cover the whole sorry mess up. I think I might have got away with it – until now, of course.

Anyway, to those few who were rather rude about it (“does your Mum know you nicked one of her tablecloths?”, “has someone been sick down your shirt?”, “why are you wearing a deck-chair?”) I would say that, sadly, style is obviously a concept entirely unfamiliar to them.

Oh yes, the panic. After stepping out of the shower about three quarters of an hour before going down to the wine reception, I realised I couldn’t find the very useful padded hinged box that I had brought as a convenient receptacle for a few small items. It took me thirty of those precious minutes to find it in the very safe place I had hidden it by which time I was very hot and bothered and my three-quarters-packed suitcase (forward planning – leaving the next morning) had reverted back to its empty state.

At first I thought the box had been stolen and I have to admit my fear was not for the loss of the solid gold matching cufflink and tie-clip set my Nan had given me for my 21st birthday, or the expensive gold neck chain Sheila had bought me for Christmas, but the trouser waist extender! Here’s a little tip: if you’ve got a memo facility on your phone, add things to it like seekrit hiding places, Chinese takeaway order numbers, PINs (disguised and hidden inside other characters), and items of shopping your wife asks you to get in Sainsbo’s while you’re in town. I know I can rely on you to keep these revelations to yourselves!

Cars and electrickery

Posted on November 30, 2014 by Nigel Hurll

I think there is too much of it in cars these days and our technological expertise seems to be running away from us; the more there is, the more it’s likely something will go wrong.

So it seemed to be with my 2002 Citroën Xsara Picasso with 52,000 miles on the (electronical) clock – genuine low mileage. I had decided that, because the mobility of my left leg continues to be in a state of flux and, in case it deteriorates to the extent I might find it difficult to operate the clutch pedal, I should look for an automatic. I commenced a trawl of the internet and local advertising media (the latter often containing columns in the classified ads headed “Citreon” and, in one instance “Citron” – just lemon-coloured cars in this one) finally deciding that, being part of a family of Citroën devotees, I quite fancied a C4. I found a couple quite quickly at a main agent nearby and took the Picasso (car, not painting) to let them assess its part‑exchange value and to view the aforementioned C4s. The red one was quickly dismissed (nothing red allowed in our household – surely, you don’t need to ask why) and the Arctic Grey was settled upon, 2007 1.6SX 5-door hatchback model, only one owner and 12,000 miles on the clock (electronical, obviously). The deal was struck and I arranged to collect it the following Friday.

Anyway, I cleaned the Picasso out on the Monday but, when I went to move it, it wouldn’t start (first time in eight years and it had to be this week). My friendly local mechanic, having decided it looked like an electrical fault, sent an auto‑electrician round (an expert in car electrics, not a robot), who spent some time with his diagnostic box plugged in, concluding that the fault lay with the BSI (something-or-other Systems Interface) unit which was causing the immobiliser to kick in for some reason. At this point, I must come clean and admit that, although I have had the car from new, I never knew that there was an immobiliser lurking within the vehicle’s circuitry; you learn something new every day.

So, nothing could be done to rectify the problem and, at 7.30 a.m. on the morning following the electrician’s visit, I was given a rigid tow to the garage by my life-saving mechanic so they could determine how much they could fleece me to morph the car into something that moved of its own accord. They have concluded that it needs a new fuel pump, cost £316.41, inc. VAT, fitted. So that was how much the part-ex has been reduced (well, they let me off the 41p – decent of them). In view of their ultimate diagnosis, though, I just wish I hadn’t given a chap there my confident summation of the problem that had produced a fault code on the electrician’s diagnostic unit thus making them aware of a potential new problem. See? Electrickery – it trips you up.

The situation was actually not quite as bad as it sounds – I had previously managed to get the salesman to give me an additional £250 in part-exchange than he offered originally, subject to the road tax remaining being part of the deal. A nice touch and, in the end, satisfaction all round.

It’s a shame that, less than two weeks later, some bastard drove into the back of it while it was parked in a car park in the centre of Malmesbury, Wilts. No note under the wipers, no CCTV, no response to my whingeing letter in the North Wilts Gazette &Herald. £225, thank you very much! That took care of my winter fuel allowance – I had to wear extra clothes after that.

Lege et Lacrima II

Posted on November 30, 2014 by Nigel Hurll

Vah! Denuone Latine loquebar? Me ineptum. Interdum modo elabitur – Oh! Was I speaking Latin again? Silly me. Sometimes it just sort of slips out.

I just wanted to remind you of the campaign I proposed a short while ago, in case you had forgotten about it. I’m still keen to revive the so-called dead language and you may remember my outlining the distinct advantages (and some pitfalls, unfortunately) of resurrecting its universal usage.

One of the unfortunate advantages (at least from the standpoint of the drive for awareness) is that, on the assumption that he/she is not fluent (as you are) you can be quite rude to or dismissive of someone without them realising. In fact, because, as I have mentioned before, however banal, surreal or outlandish the statement, Quid quid latine dictum sit, altum videtur – Anything said in Latin sounds profound.

For example – oops, e.g. – Verveces tui similes pro ientaculo mihi appositi sunt – I have twits like you for breakfast; Tua mater tam antiquior ut linguam latine loquatur – Your mother is so old she speaks Latin; Sic friatur crustum dulce – That’s the way the cookie crumbles. Nowhere is it more demonstrable then in phrases such as Ubi est mea anaticula cumminosa? – Where is my rubber duck? Semper ubi sub ubi ubique – Always wear underwear everywhere; Te audire non possum. Musa sapientum fixa est in aure – I can’t hear you. I have a banana in my ear; Oblitus sum perpolire clepsydras! – I forgot to polish the clocks! Omnes lagani pistrinae gelate male sapiunt – All frozen pizzas taste lousy; In dentibus anticis frustrum magnum spiniciae habes – You have a large piece of spinach in your front teeth; Loqueris excrementum – You are talking shit.

I have considerable support for the renaissance advocated, in the person of the great Roman poet Publius Ovidius Naso (20 March 43 BC – AD 17/18) – Ovid to you – who once said: Rident stolidi verba latina – Fools laugh at the Latin language – and everyone, but everyone, always used to listen to him. And they still do – you only have to look at any public school curriculum (see? You can’t get away from it).

In my earlier treatise, I suggested that the dialogue in films could be considerably romanticised by speaking them in Latin; I have found a few more examples to bolster this contention: Ire fortiter quo nemo ante iit – To boldly go where no man has gone before; Te capiam, cunicule sceleste! – I’ll get you, you wascally wabbit! Tu, rattus turpis! – You dirty rat! Re vera, cara mea, mea nil refert – Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn; Luke sum ipse patrem te – Luke, I am your father; Revelare pecunia! – Show me the money! Pistrix! Pistrix! – Shark! Shark! (shouted in Jaws, surely?); Farrago fatigans! – Suffering succotash! Latro! fremo! – Woof woof! Grrrr! (Lassie).

You may remember that jokes relying on the vagaries of the English language don’t work (remember I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream?); well, neither do tongue twisters: Quantum silvam modio picus si posset picus silvam modio? – How much wood would a woodpecker peck if a woodpecker could peck wood? Pietro Fistulator lectis modii capsicum conditaneum, ubi modii capsicum conditaneum quod lectis Petro Fistulator? – Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled pepper, where’s the peck of pickled pepper Peter Piper picked? Corio rubeus, corio flava, corio rubeus, corio flava… – Red leather, yellow leather, red leather, yellow leather… Vendit concha mare in litum marum – She sells seashells on the seashore; Vigilum publicorum Lethium nos dimitte – The Leith police dismisseth us. See? Almost ridiculously easy to enunciate, I think you’ll agree.

Well, there you are, keep practising the lingo (from the Latin lingua – tongue or language); It’s got a lot to answer for, hasn’t it?

Lege et Lacrima I

Posted on November 30, 2014 by Nigel Hurll

I would like to share with you some linguistical research I have been undertaking and talk to you about (and, at several junctures, in) Latin. I hold up my hands and admit that, although I am guilty of most of the English phrases, I am not responsible for the actual translations.

Some say it’s a dead language, but only its usage is dead and I think it should be revived by dragging it into the 21st Century. It’s all very well for people like René Descartes to come up with stuff like cogito ergo sum (I think therefore I am) and in probably quite a smug way, as if to say when people looked mystified, bene, cum Latine nescias, nolo manus meas in te maculare (well, if you don’t understand plain Latin, I’m not going to dirty my hands on you). Or even more ancient bores like Horace: aequam memento rebus in arduis servare mentem (remember when life’s path is steep to keep your mind even). What we should be doing is looking at ways to modernise Latin which, you have to agree, has a wonderfully profound feel to it no matter what its meaning: sic transit gloria mundi (so passes the glory of the world) looks and sounds as impressively romantic as sona si latine loqueris (honk if you speak Latin) or braccae illae virides cum subucula rosea et tunica caledoniaquam eleganter concinnatur! (those green trousers go really well with that pink shirt and plaid jacket!)

There will inevitably be some drawbacks to achieving the renaissance I am advocating and I think we’ll have to forget some of the jokes that rely on the idiosyncracies of the English language as they simpy don’t translate effectively: for example, clamo, clamatis, omnes clamamus pro glace lactis (I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream) – it’s a great shame! However, this sad state of affairs is rescued to a degree by the nature of some of the more bizarre insults I’ve come across in my research, apparently in common use in the ancient Roman culture: such as mater tua criceta fuit, et pater tuo redoluit bacarum sambucus (your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries); or ripostes to recalcitrant Roman teenagers: antiquis temporibus, nati tibi similes in rupibus ventosissimis exponebantur ad necem (in the good old days, children like you were left to perish on windswept crags).

It would be nice to be able to cover many of life’s modern eventualities with a choice Latin phrase; here is a selection of some common ones: Balaenae nobis conservandae sunt! (Save the whales!); Braccae tuae aperiuntur (Your flies are undone); Capillamentum? Haudquaquam conieci esse! (A wig? I never would have guessed!); Catapultam habeo. Nisi pecuniam omnem mihi dabis, ad caput tuum saxum immane mittam (I have a catapult. Give me all your money, or I will propel an enormous rock at your head); Da mihi sis bubulae frustrum assae, solana tuberosa in modo gallico fricta, ac quassum lactatum coagulatum crassum (Give me a hamburger, french fries, and a thick milk shake); Die dulci freure (Have a nice day); Ducator meus nihil agit sine lagunculae leynidae accedunt (My calculator does not work without batteries); Duco ergo sum (I calculate therefore I am); Cogito ergo doleo (I think therefore I am depressed); Veni vidi visa (I came, I saw, I shopped); Interdum feror cupidine partium magnarum europe vincendarum (Sometimes I get this urge to conquer large parts of Europe).

So why not join me in attempting to revive a flagging interest in the language and bring it into everyday conversation? When you need an excuse to leave, say Cum homine de cane debeo congredi (Excuse me, I’ve got to see a man about a dog); after you’ve tried to contact someone unsuccessfully: Sane ego te vocavi. Forsitan capedictum tuum desit (I did call. Maybe your answering machine is broken); when you want to make a wise pronouncement at a summer barbecue party with friends: Animadvertistine, ubicumque stes, fumum recta in faciem ferri? (Have you ever noticed how, wherever you stand, the smoke goes right into your face?); or just an introductory platitude (definitely not a chat-up line, though) Vidistine nuper imagines moventes bonas? (Seen any good movies lately?). On the subject of movies, wouldn’t it be much better if the dialogue was in Latin? “Certe, toto, sentio nos in kansate non iam adesse” (“You know, Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore”); Credidi me felem vidisse! (I tought I taw a puddy tat!); Me transmitte sursum, caledoni (Beam me up, Scotty).