Mistakes

We've been in London visiting Daughter 2 and family, taking with us Big Grandson so that he could ride around on London's transport. No accounting for tastes... . Anyway, he and Mr Life did this on Saturday, Monday and Tuesday. On Sunday, we all went to the Post Office Museum (which includes a post-train ride), and on Monday and Tuesday I looked after Littlest Granddaughter while her parents worked. 

We had a busy time. She tried five times to teach me how to assemble her toy aeroplane. I got better at it, but never entirely succeeded without help - there must be about fifteen bits. She's 6 and I'm 73. I'm not mechanically minded. I confess I wasn't really trying at the beginning, but started to concentrate once I realised that I was probably going to have to keep doing it till I succeeded. It turned out that even my full concentration wasn't enough. 

And now we're home and it's amaryllis time again, and today was beautiful and I got some gardening done, hurray. 

I'm learning things I didn't know about American English through Duolingo, which requires one to translate from the French and German which I'm brushing up. It marks one wrong when one doesn't guess what it wants one to say. For example, when I translated from its French, "I didn't wash before work because I got up late", it wanted me to say, "I didn't wash up before work because I woke up late." Do you really say this, Americans? Here, washing up refers to doing the dishes. And it doesn't allow you to say "football" when it wants "soccer" (I mean, "fussball", Duolingo!), and objects to your saying "in my break" when it wants "on my break". It's interesting, though, if a bit frustrating. 

I'd try some Scottish English on it (we say, for example, "amn't" as in "I'm right, amn't I?") but you only get five mistakes ("mistakes") and then you have to buy more credit, so I don't think I will... . English people would say "aren't I?", which sounds odd to me. We don't say, "I are", after all. How about Americans? Australians? New Zealanders? Are you of the "aren't I?" persuasion. 

Lockdown loosening walk - Saturday

Mr Life, who pays attention to what he reads in the paper, knew (unlike me) that the Carrick Knowe golf course doesn't reopen till Thursday, so we set off in the heat of the afternoon to walk there. It was very quiet, with few walkers, so presumably other people didn't know either.

Lots of empty space.

It's buttercup time - so pretty.

However, we can across a couple of groups of golfers who had similarly not read the news ...

so at that stage we left the golf course and walked along the track by the railway and tramway. Several depressingly empty trains and trams passed.

The ox-eye daisies are coming out nicely.

2.8 miles.

Then when we got home, Daughter 2 video-called with Littlest Granddaughter. Littlest has taken against wearing clothes. Daughter 2 dresses her and Littlest immediately undresses herself. Because of the warm weather this doesn't matter in the house, but Daughter 2 draws the line at going out in public with a naked toddler. Anyway, we had a nice naked (her, not us) chat.

While it was absolutely lovely to see two of the grandchildren yesterday, it did bring home how much I miss them and the others. And I don't suppose there's any chance at all of seeing any of the others any time soon.

It's been strange, this lockdown time. For parents of children, it's been difficult in various degrees. For a lot of people, it's been very difficult indeed in different ways. But for us - it's been like a strange sort of holiday: no commitments, no entertaining, so no cooking to speak of - I do cook for Mr L but my standard vegetarian meal for myself is a one-egg omelette - and no driving or child-minding. Lots of walks, reading and in my case, quilt-making. Just pleasing ourselves on the whole - but missing the family so much.

Before the Edinburgh family came yesterday I opened up the sandpit and filled the paddling pool. At one point, Big Grandson said to me, "It was nice to arrive and find that you'd prepared for us." In fact I'd prepared much less than I usually do, since there was no cooking involved - they brought their own picnic lunch, according to Government instructions. Presumably Grandson just thinks that meals arrive on the table by magic at Granny's! So sweet.

"Peely wally", an Scottish expression I used in yesterday's blog, means "pale", by the way, Margaret, with a suggestion often of unusually pale, ill-looking, eg "He's looking a wee bit peely wally - I'm gonie phone the doctor." Here I just meant pale and unsuited to the sun, as opposed to tanned.

Lockdown week 7, Sunday

Today we went down to Daughter 2's Edinburgh flat because we wanted some joinery work done. (Or "doing", as English people would say.)The joiner wanted to look at the job, reasonably enough, and suggested 9.30am. So we got a taxi there (Daughter 1 and SIL 1 have our car at the moment). It was very worth while because the joiner was extremely helpful and just did the job on the spot, for less than he'd quoted in advance - how often does that happen? We were in separate rooms while he worked, by the way.

And then we walked home, mainly along the river.

Can you see the Castle on the horizon? It's visible from lots of places in the city because it's high on a rock. (Americans say "a rock" when we would say "a stone", I think. Here, rocks are bigger than stones. But I suppose we'd normally say that what the Castle stands on is a hill... but then, it's not a grassy hill, it's a big rocky one. And it's always called "The Castle Rock". I do love language and its permutations. Currently, our newspaper, The Scotsman - read also by women - has an advert that says, "If you're wanting to place an announcement in the paper...". That's a very Scottish expression - "if you're wanting".)

At this point we came up into the street

and then down again,

on these rather fancy steps.

And up again. I like the look of cobbles but there are fewer and fewer in the city now, because they're not good for cycles - or, probably, cars - and also expensive to maintain. But I love the different colours in the stones.

And down again and then, presently, home. 5.2 miles.

The weather was colder today but the sun shone in the afternoon. SIL 1 came round on his bike and sat in the garden, chatting to us at a distance, for a short while. The purpose of his visit was to collect some banana cake (we have surplus; I wonder why?) and to get some exercise. It was lovely to see him.

Later: hand-quilting and some television.

Very restful. But, like everyone else, I wish I could see an end to this. Boris Johnson is slackening the restrictions in England but our First Minister, Nicola Sturgeon, is not. Well, apart from allowing us to go outside for more than an hour, and twice instead of once. I fear we've been ignoring the hour thing, since our walks usually take us longer, but I think some common sense has to come into it. I don't think an hour and a half in a big empty space is going to make any difference. The sad thing is that she's not going to allow grandparents to see their grandchildren or garden centres to open, but on the other hand, I expect this means that she won't allow golf courses to open for golfers either. So that's something - depending on one's point of view.

Descendants

 

 

The other day, Grandson took a toy that his sister was holding out and gave her a different one. Then he said to her, "This is a quid pro quo."

 

Daughter 1, startled, said to him, "Do you know what that means?"

 

And he said, "Yes, it's when someone gives something to you and you find something for them."

 

I recount this not to suggest that he's a genius but partly because it made us laugh and partly to marvel at the way children - all children - learn language. None of us can remember using this phrase in his presence, but someone must have, and he remembered it just like any other phrase that comes his way. Children have this amazing capacity to learn words, whether it be a little snatch of Latin or a bit of equally difficult English: it's all language to them.

 

I often thought, when teaching, how impressive it was that even students with moderate learning difficulties could chat away to each other with fluency - and yet it's so difficult to learn a foreign language when you're older and have only an hour or two a week to spend on it. Sit on a bus and listen to a language with which you're unfamiliar - Finnish or Mandarin - and you can't even make out where one word ends and the next begins. And yet, within a couple of years, children are saying everything they need to.

 

Son visited today. Granddaughter wouldn't come to him for a cuddle at first. "Who is this bearded stranger?" she enquired. Well, she didn't. But you could see her thinking it.

We had just had a plumber to the house, who, in the manner of all plumbers, disapproved of the way the previous chap had tried to fix the blockage in the pipe to a bedroom radiator. Son listened to our tale of their conflicting diagnoses and remedies and nodded. "Much like GPs," he said.

Another pretty picture

This is Basel. We were standing on the bridge over the Rhine, generally admiring the scene and particularly admiring the tiles on the church roof, when we noticed some people swimming. 

Can you see them? Little heads bobbing about in this fast-flowing river which has big ships forging their way up it? This - presumably - very cold river?

We were surprised.

The Swiss are amazing linguists, which is just as well because if you've ever heard Swiss German, you'll know that it doesn't sound anything like the German one learnt at school. And then in some places the language is French (fairly normal-sounding French) or, occasionally, Rumantsch. So I'm in awe of the ability of everyone - from the ticket collectors to the chaps selling you a sandwich - to speak good English.

Well, almost everyone. Maybe not the person who wrote this for one of our hotels:

Welcome at the hotel Holiday. You are our guest! About you is going everything. The whole year. See the region of the Lake Thun in all its beauty, enrich cultural or just enjoy. Because we know, the most beautiful moments results not by random.

It is possible for the washing and ironing of the guest laundry.

Little sew we finish off patching's within 24 hours - price after expense.

I'm not really criticising this person because his/her English is about as good as my German. (I may be flattering myself.) But if I were going to write a notice in German and put it in every hotel room, I think I might just get someone to check it.

You can do it!

Granddaughter is at the stage of not quite being able to crawl, but managing to move around in a sprawl/squirm sort of way.

The other day, Grandson was watching her with interest as she struggled to push herself towards a toy.

"Go on, [Granddaughter]," he said encouragingly. "You can do it!"

Let's hope that he's always such a supportive big brother - such as in (I'd estimate) about two weeks' time when she hurls herself at his Brio train layout and grabs handfuls of it.

As for "through in the west" - I wonder if we say that because Scotland is a little country. It's only about sixty-five miles from Edinburgh in the east to Glasgow in the west so you go "through" to the west just like you'd go through the house. Or, to add another element, you might go "ben the hoose", as some people still say. A but and ben is a two-roomed cottage, the "but" being the first room you come to and the "ben" being the bedroom beyond. So going "ben" means going further into the house. "Come ben," a Scots speaker might say whatever size of house they lived in - just meaning to come into the main part of the house.

These aren't words that I'd normally use but my pupils in the comprehensive school I taught in during the 1970s in a mining village near Edinburgh did say "ben" quite a lot. And of course also "ken", which means "know" or "you know". So: "Ken that homework you wanted us to do? Well, the dog ate it."

The afghan and the woobie

It was cold yesterday, so Daughter 1 dressed up Granddaughter as a Arctic teddy bear ...

... and we went off to the museum.

Grandson knows where he's going now.

The trains! Come on, you two, he urges.

It's such a serious thing: you have to press the buttons...

... and watch...

... the wheels go round. And then press them again and again and again and again.

I wondered the other day, as I wrote that I could "reach the catch fine", whether "fine" in this sentence was a particularly Scottish usage. Probably. I thought about language again today at the supermarket when I passed the frozen aisle which was offering "jackets": potatoes baked in their skins (and frozen - though I can't quite see why anyone would buy these - it's not exactly difficult to bake a potato). This "jackets" expression is not one we'd use here - the potatoes were packaged by an English firm. In fact we realise that we're in England when we get down the motorway to a service station where these delicacies referred to by the staff as "jackets" rather than what we'd say, which is "baked potatoes". Since I'm a vegetarian, a baked potato is often what I'll choose in such an establishment and I'm always amused by being asked, "Do you want cheese on your jacket?"

Daughter 2, in London, was surprised recently to find that English people don't use the phrase "the back of (eg) nine", as in "I'll be there the back of nine". She conducted a minor Twitter survey as to her friends' interpretation of this. As any Scot would know, it means "just after nine o'clock" - aiming for nine but probably arriving a few minutes after.

One word that I don't use myself, but my granny often did, is "forenoon" - for the morning. I wonder why that's died out in even Scottish standard English, when "afternoon" remains? I wonder this too about "sennight" (week), which you find in Shakespeare but I've never heard in modern use, though British people say "fortnight" all the time. I believe Americans don't, though. Do Australians?

And then there's "woobie". Dianne of "A Month of Sundays" http://whatisstarbucking.blogspot.co.uk/  has extremely kindly made a woobie for Granddaughter and it's on its way to me. I had to ask for a translation. (Is it just me?) Meanwhile, Granddaughter is snuggled under, in the top picture here, the afghan (again, not what we'd call it) that Dianne equally kindly sent to Grandson - and she also sent a lovely green and blue cot quilt (not shown).

Ah, the mysteries of language. It's amazing how any of us manages to learn it. But we do!

Precious furry friends

Ah, the subjectivity of pet owners. Our cats are obviously lovely: furry, cuddly, highly intelligent and ... loyal. All right, perhaps the "loyal" bit is going too far. But they're happy to live with us, eat the cat biscuits that we buy and sprawl on our furniture. And we love them.

I suspect that our neighbours, keen gardeners and bird feeders, may not view our fluffy friends with quite the enthusiasm that we do. They never say this - they're nice people. But they never admire Cassie and Sirius either.

And I passed this notice in a shop near the hospital. It has a certain tone, don't you think?

The quality of mercy is not strained...

My nephew and his friend have set up a Twitter account (http://twitter.com/#!/IambYourFather)
to retell the plot of Star Wars in blank verse, as used by Shakespeare and others. You will remember that blank verse involves iambic pentameter, the rhythm of which goes de DUM de DUM de DUM de DUM de DUM - ie 5 de DUMs).

Once you get this particular beat into your head…

It’s hard get iambics off your brain.
It’s getting late and I must go to bed,
Though first I’d like to eat a piece of toast
But – woe! - I am already fat enough.
I wish I could be skinny like my mum.
I wonder why I look more like my dad?

Blank verse is easy - since it doesn’t rhyme.
No wonder Shakespeare churned out such a lot,
Though unlike me, he made his language soar.
(He also wrote of envy, lust and death,
Which added to the drama, I suppose,
But I have no desire to do the same).

The Bard did put rhymes, sometimes, at the end
Of scenes, which on the whole I can commend.

Being not fat

I was listening, while working around the house, to a radio programme discussing what one should put on one’s internet dating profile. (Not that I'm planning to have one.)

“Well,” said one girl, “I start with the positive: I’m not fat.”

(Now, if she’s not fat, then that’s not really positive, is it? Nice, yes. Satisfactory, yes. But ... . Ok, I'm a pedant. )

Stolen from Fran

Isn't this wonderful? I saw it on the hilarious Fran's blog, Being Me.

(Look, Ali Honey - I've done the linky thing!!!! Though I had to get Daughter 1 to explain the technical terms over the phone. But Ali gave me the incentive. Thank you!)

Speaking and understanding

Language is infinitely fascinating. I've been thinking of our ability to understand our own accent or dialect, filling in the bits that aren't actually said but just exist in our heads.

For example, one day recently in the supermarket I heard one assistant saying to another, "Nyoff?" and I knew immediately that she'd said, "When are you off?" meaning "What time do you finish this evening?"

And yesterday one student remarked to another, "Lay eeay i'." To translate: "I'll hae to hae it" or "I'll have to have it".

No wonder I didn't understand every word I heard in Berlin if the Germans were speaking like this.

Cat language is much simpler. Feed me, let me in, let me out, stroke me, put me down.

Invigilators

A random kitten picture taken nearly two years ago.

Who knew? - well, lots of you, clearly, but not me - that "invigilator" wasn't the word used by English speakers worldwide for "grumpy person employed by educational establishments to sit glaring at students while they sit a national exam"? Various commenters have declared themselves unfamiliar with this expression. It has a verb form too: "to invigilate".

What do the rest of you call such a person?

It’s a standard English word, I think; not particularly Scottish. But we do have lots of Scots words, so I thought I'd make up a little Scots-flavoured story for a change. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin.




It was a dreich evening. A snell wind blew a few leaves around. Mary had a bit of a hoast and so decided to stay in the house and do some knitting. She made a cup of tea and settled down. However, she’d been gardening the previous day and had a skelf in her finger, which made it difficult. After a while, her wool got into a bit of a fankle. “Ach!” she cried, getting into a stooshie, “I canna be fashed with this!” And she went off to bed, cooried down under the covers and went off to sleep. In the morning, things seemed less scunnersome and she was able to keep a calm sooch.

Need a translation?

It was a dreary, damp evening. A bitter wind blew a few leaves around. Mary had a bit of a cough and so decided to stay in the house and do some knitting. She made a cup of tea and settled down. However, she’d been gardening the previous day and had a splinter in her finger, which made it difficult. After a while, her wool got into a bit of a tangle. “Oh!” she cried, getting worked up, “I can’t be bothered with this!” And she went off to bed, cuddled down under the covers and went off to sleep. In the morning, things seemed less trying and she was able to keep a calm demeanour.

Like to tell me some words local to your neck of the woods?

(Edited to add: these are all traditional Scottish words, as used by my granny's generation and, to a lesser extent, my mother's and mine. Scots dialect isn't used nearly so much by the young. Which is a pity, I feel. Another word for "splinter" is "spail", now I come to think of it. Wood must have been rough in the past, I suppose, since they needed two words for this.)

Communication

Our son, newly back from New Zealand, kindly offered to go to the supermarket for me.

He did four years of German at school (up to 2000); I did three (up to 1967). As a family, we occasionally converse in what we know is bad German, French, Latin, Spanish or whatever. In German especially, we tend to elide the endings and other hard bits.

Needing money to do the shopping, he said to me, “Habst du Monat?”

“Monat?” I translated mockingly. “Have I month?”

“Ach,” he said. “Geld, then, habst du Geld?”

“Ja,” I said. “In mein Handtusch.”

“Ah, gut,” he said, picking up my handbag (or purse, in American English). Even though, as I realised after a moment, I’d just told him that I had money in my handtowel. I think what I meant to say was "Handtasche".

You might have to know a little German to understand the above, though I think a genuine German person would have some difficulty. Still, my boy and I knew what we meant.

Connotations

This was a Roman shop we passed one day. I just love the way that words don't necessarily translate just as one might think: I assume that the owners were hoping to give a classy impression, but somehow a shop called "Expensive!" (or "E!" for short) doesn't really tempt me inside.

There was another shop called "Jolly Jolly Jolly" - again, this misses the sophisticated air that I imagine was intended.

I am so tired! so busy! and so sorry that I haven't been blogvisiting the last few days. And all you NaBlowhateveritis people will have been writing reams, all good stuff no doubt. I shall return.