Down into glorious North Wales today, in beautiful weather that contrasted sharply with that which shrouded - but never obliterated - yesterday's magnificent flotilla on the river Thames. Wales was where I spent most of my childhood holidays and it was good to see again all those place names with a 5:1 ratio of consonants to vowels. Llanrydd is just one good example, especially as you have to remember that the first L of a double L is pronounced as a C. More or less. A true Celtic tongue. Though, of course, it has to deal with modernisms as best it can, without duplicating the English. So gêr is Welsh for gear, for example.
Watching Kylie Minogue perform at the Buckingham Palace concert tonight, I commented to my mother that she was 35. “They say she's dying?” she asked. Which was one of the better quizzical responses of the day.
Returning to the lounge from my bedroom, I found Elton John was on the TV and my mother emptying the rubbish bin in the kitchen. When I asked why she hadn't left that to me, she answered: “I didn't want to stay while he was on.” Not sure what she's got against him but didn't ask.
Still on my mother . . .I asked her this morning where I could throw an empty orange juice carton. “No. Leave it next to the microwave,” she said. “I have to rinse it out”. “Why?” I asked. “Because it says you have to on the side.” “No, it doesn't. It just says it's recyclable.” “Well, I like to rinse them out”. . . . . Is she the only person in the world who does this? Not to mention the jam jars and the sauce bottles.
More importantly, what on earth is a 'skinny latte' and would I want to drink in a place which gives such fancy names to its drinks?