When I think of all the years I wasted in school learning the fair English language, I could cry. I hear you asking, for why? Because it’s totally unnecessary, that’s why! Vocabulary is highly overrated, I tell ye! I just got back from the pub. I’ll tell you what I witnessed there and if at the end of this story, you still persist in your obstinacy, I shall eat my hat!
I came in and nodded at Bill. How do I know that the publican is called Bill? Because his name-tag says so! I held my hands half a foot apart and he gave me a pint, with a nod.
A guy came in and went over to, what I presume was a mate of his and says: “Hey!” The mate responded: “Ha!”, pointed at Bill with his thumb and held his hands half a foot apart. The guy that just came in nods, Bill saw and brought over a pint. Were you able to follow this sequence of events so far?
The newcomer spots an attractive brunette and makes wavy motions with his hands and raises one eyebrow to Matey, who goes: “Whoaw!” Now, you must understand that I am not talking about some members of a native tribe in the middle of nowhere that have never in a thousand years heard an English speaking person. For all I know, these guys may have gone to college, they may even have a PhD in paleonthology!
The brunette had noticed the goings-on out of the corner of her eye, turned around and exclaimed: “Fi!” which is of course the upper class equivalent of “Phah!” and in her case executed without the middle finger.
I have actually lived in a cave in Granada and was surrounded by some ruffians. But these, I can assure you, could hold a reasonable conversation in the Queen’s English, even the ones who did not have English as their mother tongue.
Shall we return to the pub? Next a female acquaintance of Miss Fi came in and started screeching in greeting. Miss Fi reciprocated and both started air kissing. This latest newcomer could possibly have been Bertha Butt, one of the Butt sisters (thank you Jimmy Castor)! With exquisite timing, the long awaited soccer match came on the telly, accompanied by loud grunting and lots of “Haahhh!-“s. That is when I finished my beer, shook my head in despair and left the bar. So, what about it? Do I have to eat my hat?
Now that I think about it, all these titillating and witty conversations have made me a tad peckish.
- Immi-grunts and Assimilation (behind2ndlook.wordpress.com)
- Clock Ticks For Phobos-Grunt Mars Mission – Scientific American (scientificamerican.com)
- A Trip to the Pub on Memory Lane (nytimes.com)