Archived entries for Sunday

One word, two syllables

How to mime a root vegetable? Recently, I’ve been doing our regular Sunday market shop by myself, armed with a list, written by Zoe, of all the fresh fruit and veg for the week ahead.

Now, most of what’s on the list is perfectly legible, but sometimes there’ll be a word which looks like it’s written in a certain way but is in fact spelt and pronounced slightly differently. Oh, and it’s all in French, of course.

So there I am, at the market fruit and veg stall, and because I’m on autopilot I’ll just be asking for things directly from this list. Which is fine until we get to the point where the word written down as I read it…makes no sense to the man – let’s call him Bernard – on the market stall:

“I’ll have some…parnasse as well, please.”
(A confused silence.)
“Parnasse?”
“Yep, just a small one.”
“Parnasse? What’s that?”
“You know, parnasse, it’s er, quite small and yellow and…”

How on earth do I describe it?

“…and you put it with carrots as a side dish.”

Now I’m miming chopping a vegetable.

Does it work? Of course not, it could be any vegetable I’m miming. I don’t consider myself to be that bad an actor but he’s looking at me as if I’d just pretended it’s something I need to add to get the lawnmower started.

In fact, it’s starting to get a bit embarrassing as he turns to his fellow stall holder:

“Eh! Georges! What’s parnasse? This lad’s asking for some…”
“Never heard of it…oi, mate, can you see it anywhere here?”
(It’s at this point that I’m suddenly all too aware that a delighted audience has been watching our little drama. Why didn’t I just say something else quickly?)

“Er…”

Got it. After what feels like several weeks I finally spot what I need, and point it out to Georges, Bernard and the rest of the people waiting in the queue.

“Ah! Panais!” declares Bernard, triumphantly.

What I was after was a parsnip. I had in fact been asking the poor man at the market if I could have a Nineteenth Century French literary tradition.

Waterloo market

The Sunday market at Waterloo

Towards my thousand-yard-stare

Apologies for the lack of entries of late, I’ve been doing a bit of travelling, most of the visits for the first time. Some photos, if you’re interested, can be seen in the picture gallery.
Of course, in an ideal world I’d be sitting here with a full-length beard, several battle scars from my daring encounters with the darker side of human nature and a glass of strong whisky to take the edge off the flashbacks. Alas, we can’t all be Indy, which I suppose is why my “scars” comes from a Gillette razor and I’m sipping a cup of mint tea. I can see it now: Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Ginger Nuts.

I went to Slovenia, to an awards ceremony (European inventor of the year) in Ljubljana, the capital, where I interviewed a man who invented what he called “telepresence” surgery. The is essentially a robotic machine guided by a surgeon, with the robot arms capable of performing incredibly precise operations and even, to my amazement, able to cancel out tremors in the surgeons hands. I also spent a good 15 minutes trying to explain what a flapjack was to a poor shopkeeper who clearly didn’t have any, had probably never heard of them in his life.
“OK, so you get oats, and…oats, you know, like the farmer grows in his field. Farmer…the one who has the fields and the sheep and drives a combine harveste…do you know what? A Mars bar will be fine.”

I went to Ireland, for a wedding, which was held in this gorgeous castle near Warrenpoint. I’d never been to Ireland or Northern Ireland, so it was an extra treat to spend a day in Dublin and then take a bus over the border. Gorgeous country. We had to sleep in Dublin airport, though, which wasn’t too much fun, but hey, we saw the sun come up. Well, Zoe just sort of watched it sleepily but of course I had to take some photos. OK, in hindsight perhaps I didn’t to take quite so many arty shots of, er, the luggage trolleys bathed in golden orange or, um, the nicely lit airport stairs. Yes, OK, we were a tiny bit late (“Look, there it is! Check in…check in for Brussels, yep…is now closed.”) but it’s part of the adventure really, running for the plane. I could even hear the Indy theme tune as we sprinted past gate 5, looking for gate 42.

Then to Bath, to visit my brother, a BBQ (someone had a BBQ, I mean; I didn’t go and visit one) a chat with his friends, and a chance to relive students days. Long summer nights lazily cooking sausages and talking about the girls on the psychology course. Piles and piles of notes, textbooks with carefully constructed but essentially pointless bookmarks, look at all the colour highlighters I’ve got! That night last week, what were we drinking, was it two for one on lighter fluid? D’you remember, we all go so wasted we all ended up sharing a bin outside the police station, waiting for Spar to open.

Also to Oxford, more student days, a visit to my sister who’s finished her first year. Watching the posh students celebrate graduation or, in some cases, trying to absorb the shock of that truth (universally known) that it’s possible to have too much of a good time:
“I mean, yars, OK, vomiting onto old Perkins during class wasn’t the most frightfully clever thing, but I mean, come orn, they’ve gorn and shown a jolly good sense of humour failure with this “you are forthwith suspended” nonsense. Tell them they can’t, Father!”

Last night I was in Germany, a quick trip over the border to watch the Euro 2008 final between Germany and Spain. It was great fun (despite Germany losing to Spain) trying to order things in rusty Anglo-German (“Now vee vould like der bill, bitte”) and struggling to lift, let alone drink, huge tankards of Kolsch beer. For my first visit to the country it was certainly a memorable experience, watching a football final accompanied by the surround sound of loud Germanic chanting and the constant presence of those red, yellow and black flags.

Four new countries, three months, catching up with two siblings and recalling it all in one blog entry. Less Indy, more “Mint Tea”, but it’s still been a fast-paced few months.

Shopping’s not that simple

new_appart.jpg

An appropriate end to my first year in Brussels, marked in the same way it began with a party hosted by the Welsh assembly to mark St David’s Day. After twelve months here, it seems fitting to embark on my first serious move to new accommodation, and this weekend Zoë and I installed ourselves into our new home for the next twelve months. The flat is lovely; it’s got a decent kitchen, wooden floors, and a terrace. It’s similar to the previous flat I lived in that I find myself once more above a dentist’s surgery, which is probably good for things like securing a reliable electricity supply: “I’m terribly sorry, Monsieur Redon, but we’ll have to finish the root canal operation another time. We’ve been a bit naughty, you see, and forgotten to pay the electrics this month, what with going away and everything; we’re still in holiday mood! What’s that, sorry sir? Painful? It is, isn’t it? Coming back from holiday, back to the same old routine of work, imagining that this time last week you were…ah, right, er, I’ll just try and find you something. Try not to bleed onto the carpet.”


While we’re on the subject of change (glad you’ve still with me), the European commission has put up yet another of its vague banners onto the side of the Berlaymont building.

ec_consumer_banner.jpg

This time, it’s supposed to be about consumer rights, but personally I find the choice of imagery a bit strange. I mean, promoting better consumer protection is all very well, and I’d imagine a picture of, say, a happy shopper and a happy till assistant, smiling because of course your average Sunday shopper always walks into the supermarket in the full knowledge of the latest EU initiative geared towards the consumer. Just like the lad that packs the bags for you was briefed only that very morning on the latest proposals. Happy vibes all round then, courtesy of Santa. Sorry, I meant that other well known bringer of goodwill, Maglena Kuneva. Easy to get the two mixed up, isn’t it?

Anyway, the image the EC has chosen isn’t remotely like this at all. It’s a female shopper with, yep, a bag over her head. The slogan is: “Know your Rights. Use your Rights”. Now, maybe it’s just me, but personally when I see that image, all I can think of is, well, the sort of situation where you have a bag over your head. Such as when you’re being interrogated. By an anti-terrorist squad or something. The slogan just adds to the confusion because it implies that the woman with the bag over her head hasn’t got a clue, not only about what on earth’s going on outside the interior of the paper bag, but what rights she’s entitled to. So, to recap, she’s being interrogated and doesn’t have access to a lawyer. She might, in fact, not even be allowed to have access to a lawyer at all, because when she was captured and had a bag put on her head, maybe they decided that she no longer had legal status. Otherwise she’d get a lawyer, just like people without bags on their heads. When you come to thing about it, there are loads of us without bags on our heads that don’t have a clue what rights we have or don’t have, that’s why we employ lawyers in the first place. As you can see, this poster might very well lead to mass confusion where the average Sunday shopper suddenly becomes very agitated because the EC has announced that if you didn’t know that you’re paying too much for those frozen peas, well, you might find yourself woken up at four in the morning and the next thing you know, they’ve got you on tape saying that yes, you’re very pleased about the great value that the European commission gives to the well-being of European consumers and could you please go home now.

I can’t wait for the next banner.



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