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?
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