Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Monday, 19 May 2014
£50 if you can say 'colloquial'
Yet again I am sitting at home, waiting for a phone call to tell me that the Volvo is fixed and ready to pick up, but the difference is that it's not my Volvo. I lent mine to the man who had to get to Bristol by 7.00 am, but that's another story.
The other day, I was standing next to the street with my little 5 year-old girlfriend, A, when we saw a man running as fast as he could in the middle of the road. He was not dressed as a runner, so the visual effect was somewhat incongruous, and we watched him legging it into the distance as if his life depended on it.
After he had run out of sight, little A turned to me with a puzzled expression on her face, and said in a sweet voice, "Why is he running in the fucking road?"
She didn't learn this sort of language from me, let me assure you, but I wish I had recorded it. At the risk of telling tales, I told this story to her father and - thankfully - he found it as funny as I did. He explained that when she first started at nursery school when she was about 3, she came home with a stern note from the teacher.
It seems that every time she made a mistake, tripped up or suffered some sort of minor mishap, she would exclaim, "Bollocks!", and the teacher rightly worried that this would become standard practice with the rest of the nursery.
As you may have guessed, her father works with his hands and quite often painfully misses with a hammer blow, etc.
I have a friend (now moved to Spain) who is Japanese, and although very stereotypical of her country in one way, she is extremely good at instantly taking on the traits and colloquial idioms of whatever country she is living in at any time. For instance, she can now swear in Catalan, so I am told.
We were playing cards one night, and there was a period of quiet reflection as the players assessed the value of their hands. She was obviously not pleased with the one she had been dealt, and broke the silence by saying so.