ehBeth wrote:stories
we want stories
To tell you the truth -- no really! -- we're a bit short on stories. Unfortunately, nobody made a fool of himself, nobody slipped on a banana, nobody got lost, or anything like that. In this dimension, and
only in this, the get-together was fairly boring. For example, the most heated arguments I heard were about who was to pay for whose drink. Willing inviters were too plentiful, willing invitees in too short supply, and the staff at Penderel's Oak too honest to let any drink be paid more than once. Such was the pitiful scope of the disagreements I witnessed.
The harshest insult I heard was "cheese-eating surrender-monkey", spoken by Dys to Francis on the underground platform when we were headed home. Francis answered with French retorts that I was unable to grasp with my limited French, and which perhaps are best left untranslated anyway. Dys and Francis both had wide grins on their faces as they traded American barbs for French, but they did get a few worried looks from a few London bystanders. And it seemed to me that Diane was just beginning to pretend she had never seen Dys before when the train finally arrived.
The most interesting political point I heard was made by one of the Americans, I think Diane, by way of explaining the gun debate to one of the English, I think FionaB. "In principle, I think gun control is a good idea. But to the farmers here in the West, guns are tools -- they need them, and you can't just take the guns away from the farmers. The problem is those terrible gangs on the East Coast. They can't shoot straight, see. They shoot at each others, but they miss, and so they hit innocent children instead. What we need in this country is mandatory target practice for stupid gangs -- that would make sure that they do hit each other when they shoot." I can't wait tp see her discuss the suggestion with McGentrix.
Two random observations about English English: (1) I was surprised to learn that there are parts of the world where "Flats to let" is a meaningful English sentence. With effort, I can understand what 'flat' means when it's a noun, not an adjective. But "to let"? To let
what? None of the signs on those houses would tell me, and it took a while until I noticed that 'to let' can mean 'for rent'. (2) The upperclass London accent does not mix well at all with hip-hop. As I was walking from Paddington station to my hotel, a nice-looking, well-dressed, 16-year-old, white native Londoner with a walkman crossed my way, enthusiastically singing along with some really tough musik with some really tough text. My reflexes immediately wanted to yell at him: "Nonono, it's
'biiaatch': Long 'i', long 'a'! And while the m-f word sounds bad enough from an authentic Harlemer with a real bad attitude, "
muthafucka" in upper-class English accent is just too much. It feels like long fingernails screetching over a piece of styrofoam. It's the stuff that makes an authentic, bad-attituded Harlemer's toenails curl up. Fortunately, the experience lasted for only a minute.
Finally, I want to announce that when I gave Clary dictatorial power over my Saturday evening schedule, that was the best decision I made on this trip. The restaurant she chose was a modern but comfortable Italian restaurant with gourmet. She couldn't have chosen a better dinner place for this get-together. McTag and Tara, who chose
Penderel's Oak for Saturday afternoon and Sunday lunchtime, also made a very good choice.
Thanks to you all for a very, very wonderful weekend!
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