Post by tigerlily on Jul 27, 2008 15:05:28 GMT
Somewhere in Scotland are three baby boys who rejoice in the name of A, I and J.
True story.
I wonder what their parents were thinking, when they went off to register the birth of their son? What sort of reaction will other people have to a child named I, for example?
This could cause serious confusion to a German. 'Ich heisse I'. 'Your name is Egg?' 'No, I!' (The German for 'egg' being 'Ei').
Then again, this is the language of confusion. Witness the man who trotted off to buy perfume from a German pharmacy as a present for his wife. 'Ich wünsche Gift für meine Frau kaufen'. In translation back into English, this would mean 'I wish to buy poison for my wife'.
Yes indeed, it pays to be certain of what you're saying when you attempt to speak another language. Or indeed, if you wish to advertise your product outside of the English-speaking parts of the world. However, the apocryphal tale of 'Coca-Cola' meaning 'Bite the wax tadpole' in China is not quite correct.
Life teaches some of us that there is humour to be found in the strangest places. One of the funniest things I ever witnessed came about when Dad, my brother and me were driving from Ullapool to Birmingham with Granny's ashes. This is a long drive, and it wasn't the happiest of circumstances. I travelled in the back of the car, something I hate doing, with the urn containing the ashes tucked into the footwell behind the driver's seat.
We stopped overnight at Charnock Richard services. It was around tea time, so we agreed that after a short rest we would meet in the bar and then have dinner.
It was an hour or so later, and already dark. Dad always complained that there wasn't enough coffee or sugar in hotel rooms and so had packed a carrier bag with coffee, sugar and creamer. He'd left it in the back of the car, so sent my brother out to fetch it while we waited for him in the bar.
Dad had just commented that my brother had been an awful long time out at the car, when he came staggering into the bar, white faced and trembling with carrier bag in hand.
'You utter, utter ba****d!', he exclaimed to Dad.
(Dad dutifully looked confused).
I asked what on earth was wrong, and the sorriest tale of woe you will ever hear unfolded.
'Well, I went out to the car like Dad asked. I opened the back door and the interior light wouldn't come on, so I was trying to find the bag with the coffee and sugar in the dark. I knew Dad had put it somewhere on the back seat but I couldn't find it.
'So, I looked on the floor. I moved a couple of bags but still couldn't find the right one. I put my hand down on the floor while I tried to look under the driver's seat, and there was all this gritty stuff everywhere.
'I was desperately trying to scoop it up and stuffing it into an empty bag I'd found, thinking it was Granny's ashes that had spilled all over the car, until I realised that actually it was Dad's bag of sugar.'
I am afraid to say that Dad and I were laughing so hard for so long that we were both bent double and gasping for breath. I don't know whether, some six years later, my brother has yet seen the funny side of it.
It's just the kind of thing that would happen in our family, though, you see.
The funniest thing that happened to me in the last couple of weeks? There's this couple who I've known since I started working where I do now about two and a half years ago. They have four children now, but when I first knew them they had two and a third on the way, and were in the middle of care proceedings. The older two boys were in foster care.
Fast-forward almost a year later, and the older two boys are ordered to live with their grandfather while their baby brother is allowed to stay with mum and dad, under close watch for twelve months. This was extended by a further three months, because baby number four arrived in March this year.
Mum and dad came in to see me a few weeks later, to tell me how well everything is going and to show off the new baby. They are desperate to get the older two boys back home, and they were told by a senior social worker that given a couple of years or so this might be okay.
So, I've been beavering away, trying to sort this out for them. The social worker in question was concerned that four children would be too many for them to cope with; they'd not managed to cope with just the oldest two in the past. Things have changed dramatically in the last three years, though, so perhaps...but not for a while yet, it has only been 18 months since the case finished and he'd said at least a couple of years till they should think about applying for orders to get the older boys home.
Now, mum and dad had a lot of problems back then. They've resolved those problems, and they're both doing brilliantly well. Dad had the harder road to tread but he has managed and actually defied all expectations of him. (Except for mine: I knew how sanguineous-minded he could be and, once he was put right on a couple of points and told what he had to do, he did it).
I really like both of them. They're daft as brushes, both of them, very funny and actually - now - pretty good parents. They can be hard work, though, at times.
About three weeks ago, I got a call from mum. 'Er...will it make any difference, do you think, if social services find out I'm pregnant again?' Well...given that the senior social worker already thinks you should wait a while longer, at least till the beginning of next year, and has concerns you won't be able to cope with all four children - yes?
(I was right).
I impressed upon them both very strongly that the decision as to what they should do was theirs to make and theirs alone. I don't want the responsibility of telling them what they should or should not do. The upshot was that they decided that they would concentrate on the children they have, so an appointment at the hospital was made.
I came back upstairs from seeing someone last week. My secretary called me through to her room to warn me there was a note in my chair that I needed to read. She wouldn't say what it was about or who it was from, just that she'd sit where she was and wait for my reaction.
Five minutes later, I was still sitting with my back against the wall where I'd landed on the floor, still laughing so hard I could hardly breathe.
"It's twins. What do we do now?"
Name them A and B, probably!
True story.
I wonder what their parents were thinking, when they went off to register the birth of their son? What sort of reaction will other people have to a child named I, for example?
This could cause serious confusion to a German. 'Ich heisse I'. 'Your name is Egg?' 'No, I!' (The German for 'egg' being 'Ei').
Then again, this is the language of confusion. Witness the man who trotted off to buy perfume from a German pharmacy as a present for his wife. 'Ich wünsche Gift für meine Frau kaufen'. In translation back into English, this would mean 'I wish to buy poison for my wife'.
Yes indeed, it pays to be certain of what you're saying when you attempt to speak another language. Or indeed, if you wish to advertise your product outside of the English-speaking parts of the world. However, the apocryphal tale of 'Coca-Cola' meaning 'Bite the wax tadpole' in China is not quite correct.
Life teaches some of us that there is humour to be found in the strangest places. One of the funniest things I ever witnessed came about when Dad, my brother and me were driving from Ullapool to Birmingham with Granny's ashes. This is a long drive, and it wasn't the happiest of circumstances. I travelled in the back of the car, something I hate doing, with the urn containing the ashes tucked into the footwell behind the driver's seat.
We stopped overnight at Charnock Richard services. It was around tea time, so we agreed that after a short rest we would meet in the bar and then have dinner.
It was an hour or so later, and already dark. Dad always complained that there wasn't enough coffee or sugar in hotel rooms and so had packed a carrier bag with coffee, sugar and creamer. He'd left it in the back of the car, so sent my brother out to fetch it while we waited for him in the bar.
Dad had just commented that my brother had been an awful long time out at the car, when he came staggering into the bar, white faced and trembling with carrier bag in hand.
'You utter, utter ba****d!', he exclaimed to Dad.
(Dad dutifully looked confused).
I asked what on earth was wrong, and the sorriest tale of woe you will ever hear unfolded.
'Well, I went out to the car like Dad asked. I opened the back door and the interior light wouldn't come on, so I was trying to find the bag with the coffee and sugar in the dark. I knew Dad had put it somewhere on the back seat but I couldn't find it.
'So, I looked on the floor. I moved a couple of bags but still couldn't find the right one. I put my hand down on the floor while I tried to look under the driver's seat, and there was all this gritty stuff everywhere.
'I was desperately trying to scoop it up and stuffing it into an empty bag I'd found, thinking it was Granny's ashes that had spilled all over the car, until I realised that actually it was Dad's bag of sugar.'
I am afraid to say that Dad and I were laughing so hard for so long that we were both bent double and gasping for breath. I don't know whether, some six years later, my brother has yet seen the funny side of it.
It's just the kind of thing that would happen in our family, though, you see.
The funniest thing that happened to me in the last couple of weeks? There's this couple who I've known since I started working where I do now about two and a half years ago. They have four children now, but when I first knew them they had two and a third on the way, and were in the middle of care proceedings. The older two boys were in foster care.
Fast-forward almost a year later, and the older two boys are ordered to live with their grandfather while their baby brother is allowed to stay with mum and dad, under close watch for twelve months. This was extended by a further three months, because baby number four arrived in March this year.
Mum and dad came in to see me a few weeks later, to tell me how well everything is going and to show off the new baby. They are desperate to get the older two boys back home, and they were told by a senior social worker that given a couple of years or so this might be okay.
So, I've been beavering away, trying to sort this out for them. The social worker in question was concerned that four children would be too many for them to cope with; they'd not managed to cope with just the oldest two in the past. Things have changed dramatically in the last three years, though, so perhaps...but not for a while yet, it has only been 18 months since the case finished and he'd said at least a couple of years till they should think about applying for orders to get the older boys home.
Now, mum and dad had a lot of problems back then. They've resolved those problems, and they're both doing brilliantly well. Dad had the harder road to tread but he has managed and actually defied all expectations of him. (Except for mine: I knew how sanguineous-minded he could be and, once he was put right on a couple of points and told what he had to do, he did it).
I really like both of them. They're daft as brushes, both of them, very funny and actually - now - pretty good parents. They can be hard work, though, at times.
About three weeks ago, I got a call from mum. 'Er...will it make any difference, do you think, if social services find out I'm pregnant again?' Well...given that the senior social worker already thinks you should wait a while longer, at least till the beginning of next year, and has concerns you won't be able to cope with all four children - yes?
(I was right).
I impressed upon them both very strongly that the decision as to what they should do was theirs to make and theirs alone. I don't want the responsibility of telling them what they should or should not do. The upshot was that they decided that they would concentrate on the children they have, so an appointment at the hospital was made.
I came back upstairs from seeing someone last week. My secretary called me through to her room to warn me there was a note in my chair that I needed to read. She wouldn't say what it was about or who it was from, just that she'd sit where she was and wait for my reaction.
Five minutes later, I was still sitting with my back against the wall where I'd landed on the floor, still laughing so hard I could hardly breathe.
"It's twins. What do we do now?"
Name them A and B, probably!