Stockholm. July 2009
15 years ago
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Welke Taal Spreek Je?...Origins of Dutch
We return today to our friends who invented the Dutch language. This was way before they started to get sloppy with words. As I have previously pointed out, the last object to be named was hand shoes or gloves as we call them in English. It may interest you to know that the second to last word was pindakaas or peanut cheese. In English we call it peanut butter because it spreads like butter...
"Your attention please gentlemen," said the chairman.
Everyone in the room turned their attention to the chairman.
" Yesterday, we established 2 words for there,"he paused as he looked at his notes,"er and daar,well done on that, by the way."
The men in the room all smiled and nodded at each other in a smug way and returned their attention to the chairman.
"Today we need to invent a word to describe a specific thing"
"What do you mean?"asked one of the men.
"Well, in English you would say the door or the cat and what we need is our version of the,"replied the chairman.
"Can we use 2 words again, sir?" asked one smart arse.
The chairman sucked thoughtfully on his quill.
"Well, wouldn't it be a lot less confusing to have just one?" he said.
The smart arse looked so dejected that the chairman asked him to explain what he had in mind.
"Well sir, I was thinking of calling them het and de, and you use them in specific situations...here sir, I've written it down." he handed the chairman a sheet of paper.
The chairman adjusted his spectacles and squinted down at the what was written on the paper.
DE - used for all plural nouns, nouns denoting male or female persons will be de words most of the time...but not always.
HET - used for all diminutives, for example het meisje. Words that end in isme can also be het words.
Written roughly at the bottom of the page were the words: ...erm, I thought maybe we could just use het and de for every other word not covered in the above. Sort of random. No apparent reason for doing so.
"I say, do we have a lot of words ending in isme?" asked the chairman.
"No sir," came the reply.
The chairman grimaced and looked at the smart arse.
"It all seems a bit...complicated...how about just using de for everything?"
"Oh come on sir, you let us have er and daar".
The chairman sucked vigorously on his quill again, unaware of the giggles coming from the men in the room as his mouth became black with ink.
"Very well, accepted," he said.
"Oh there's just one other little thing,"said the smart arse.
The chairman raised an enquiring eyebrow.
" How about we change words according to how they are written in a sentence?"
"I'm not sure what you mean"
"For example: de dure auto would become de auto is duur," the smart arse gave a smug smart arsey grin.
Heated conversation broke out in the room. Not because of the revolutionary idea but because no one knew what an auto was, they wouldn't be invented for many hundreds of years! Sadly, the chairman, who also hadn't a clue as to what an auto might be, thought that the people in the room were talking about what a visionary the smart arse was and so cleared his throat and said:
"Accepted!"
"There's more sir. Would you like to hear?" the smart arse said earnestly.
"No," replied the chairman who was beginning to feel a bit light headed, which was brought on in part from lead poisoning.
"It wont take me long to explain,sir. It's a bit complicated..."
"Oh really, you do surprise me."
"...but I think it will compliment my other ideas."
We leave our linguists to their own devices for now. The chairman went for a lay down in a darkened room. That's how I feel sometimes. Just when you think it can't get anymore complicated they come up with something else. My notes read thus:
de dure auto - always + e
het grote huis
plurals + e
een dure auto
een groot huis
de auto is duur
Essentially the sentence is the same. the expensive car, the big house, an expensive car, a big house and finally the car is expensive. So why mess around with changing letters in the sentence? WHY? WHY? WHY?
The letters are changed depending on whether it is accompanied by a het, de or een. Also, if it is a plural or not. So het grote huis becomes de grote huizen, or does it? I don't know...I'm confused!
I am very interested in history and I have often wondered why some empires were successful and some not. Let's face it, for a period of time, the Dutch were probably the most powerful nation on the planet with the spice routes under their control. They could have gone on to forge an empire as great as the British if only people could of understood their language!
Even today, British people use the same methods of communication with non-English speaking peoples as our fore fathers did. That is of course to speak VERY LOUDLY and very slooowly in English. It worked for Captain Cook and Dr Livingstone, I presume (admittedly Cook couldn't make himself understood when he said "please don't eat me").
In English we have an expression - double Dutch.
It comes from around the period of time of the spice trade and my big fat Collins Dictionary describes it as follows:
incomprehensible talk, gibberish.
I rest my case.
"Your attention please gentlemen," said the chairman.
Everyone in the room turned their attention to the chairman.
" Yesterday, we established 2 words for there,"he paused as he looked at his notes,"er and daar,well done on that, by the way."
The men in the room all smiled and nodded at each other in a smug way and returned their attention to the chairman.
"Today we need to invent a word to describe a specific thing"
"What do you mean?"asked one of the men.
"Well, in English you would say the door or the cat and what we need is our version of the,"replied the chairman.
"Can we use 2 words again, sir?" asked one smart arse.
The chairman sucked thoughtfully on his quill.
"Well, wouldn't it be a lot less confusing to have just one?" he said.
The smart arse looked so dejected that the chairman asked him to explain what he had in mind.
"Well sir, I was thinking of calling them het and de, and you use them in specific situations...here sir, I've written it down." he handed the chairman a sheet of paper.
The chairman adjusted his spectacles and squinted down at the what was written on the paper.
DE - used for all plural nouns, nouns denoting male or female persons will be de words most of the time...but not always.
HET - used for all diminutives, for example het meisje. Words that end in isme can also be het words.
Written roughly at the bottom of the page were the words: ...erm, I thought maybe we could just use het and de for every other word not covered in the above. Sort of random. No apparent reason for doing so.
"I say, do we have a lot of words ending in isme?" asked the chairman.
"No sir," came the reply.
The chairman grimaced and looked at the smart arse.
"It all seems a bit...complicated...how about just using de for everything?"
"Oh come on sir, you let us have er and daar".
The chairman sucked vigorously on his quill again, unaware of the giggles coming from the men in the room as his mouth became black with ink.
"Very well, accepted," he said.
"Oh there's just one other little thing,"said the smart arse.
The chairman raised an enquiring eyebrow.
" How about we change words according to how they are written in a sentence?"
"I'm not sure what you mean"
"For example: de dure auto would become de auto is duur," the smart arse gave a smug smart arsey grin.
Heated conversation broke out in the room. Not because of the revolutionary idea but because no one knew what an auto was, they wouldn't be invented for many hundreds of years! Sadly, the chairman, who also hadn't a clue as to what an auto might be, thought that the people in the room were talking about what a visionary the smart arse was and so cleared his throat and said:
"Accepted!"
"There's more sir. Would you like to hear?" the smart arse said earnestly.
"No," replied the chairman who was beginning to feel a bit light headed, which was brought on in part from lead poisoning.
"It wont take me long to explain,sir. It's a bit complicated..."
"Oh really, you do surprise me."
"...but I think it will compliment my other ideas."
We leave our linguists to their own devices for now. The chairman went for a lay down in a darkened room. That's how I feel sometimes. Just when you think it can't get anymore complicated they come up with something else. My notes read thus:
de dure auto - always + e
het grote huis
plurals + e
een dure auto
een groot huis
de auto is duur
Essentially the sentence is the same. the expensive car, the big house, an expensive car, a big house and finally the car is expensive. So why mess around with changing letters in the sentence? WHY? WHY? WHY?
The letters are changed depending on whether it is accompanied by a het, de or een. Also, if it is a plural or not. So het grote huis becomes de grote huizen, or does it? I don't know...I'm confused!
I am very interested in history and I have often wondered why some empires were successful and some not. Let's face it, for a period of time, the Dutch were probably the most powerful nation on the planet with the spice routes under their control. They could have gone on to forge an empire as great as the British if only people could of understood their language!
Even today, British people use the same methods of communication with non-English speaking peoples as our fore fathers did. That is of course to speak VERY LOUDLY and very slooowly in English. It worked for Captain Cook and Dr Livingstone, I presume (admittedly Cook couldn't make himself understood when he said "please don't eat me").
In English we have an expression - double Dutch.
It comes from around the period of time of the spice trade and my big fat Collins Dictionary describes it as follows:
incomprehensible talk, gibberish.
I rest my case.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Bread Wars - It's all Over!
Yes folks it's time to lay down my French stick and hang up my Pistoles, the bread war is over. Regular readers will not need reminding of my struggle against the bread makers of Belgium. My previous post mentioned a visit to the bakers with a real, live Dutch speaker and the problem she had making herself understood. Yesterday, I walked down the street to make my 2 regular Sunday stops. Firstly, I dropped the dvd off that we watched Saturday night. This weeks movie was Righteous Kill staring Al Pacino and Robert De Niro. The movie was watchable but OH MY GOD, doesn't Al look old! Just how old are cops in America? He had to chase the bad guy on a mobility scooter!
Where was I?
Second stop was the bakers. I should say now that I had a delicious Sunday morning lay in which was in danger of turning into Sunday afternoon, so my visit to the bakers was about 2 hours later than normal. When I got there the shelves were almost empty, but luckily for me they had 3 loaves of the easy to pronounce Salsa bread. With 2 people in front of me I did the math and was happy with result!
This is what happened:
ME - Salsa
HER - Lang Witte?
ME - !
I finally came to the conclusion that it's not me, it's them. There's no way to make Salsa sound like Lang Witte, not only does it sound different but it has less syllables as well! I left the bakers happy in the knowledge that my accent might be bad but not so bad as to make what I say completely different to what they hear. I don't know why they should mis-hear what I say, it's not as if I have to shout across a huge chasm at them, they are only a few feet away. Sure it's a mystery but so are the Easter Island statues and people being intrested in Formula 1. I shall leave that little mystery where it belongs and not let it bother me any more. Please let me state this now that I am not bakerist, in fact some of my best friends are bakers. My previous posts have been a light hearted look at my personal struggle with the Dutch language and if I have hurt the feelings of any bakers over the past few months then I can only say...TOUGH!
Where was I?
Second stop was the bakers. I should say now that I had a delicious Sunday morning lay in which was in danger of turning into Sunday afternoon, so my visit to the bakers was about 2 hours later than normal. When I got there the shelves were almost empty, but luckily for me they had 3 loaves of the easy to pronounce Salsa bread. With 2 people in front of me I did the math and was happy with result!
This is what happened:
ME - Salsa
HER - Lang Witte?
ME - !
I finally came to the conclusion that it's not me, it's them. There's no way to make Salsa sound like Lang Witte, not only does it sound different but it has less syllables as well! I left the bakers happy in the knowledge that my accent might be bad but not so bad as to make what I say completely different to what they hear. I don't know why they should mis-hear what I say, it's not as if I have to shout across a huge chasm at them, they are only a few feet away. Sure it's a mystery but so are the Easter Island statues and people being intrested in Formula 1. I shall leave that little mystery where it belongs and not let it bother me any more. Please let me state this now that I am not bakerist, in fact some of my best friends are bakers. My previous posts have been a light hearted look at my personal struggle with the Dutch language and if I have hurt the feelings of any bakers over the past few months then I can only say...TOUGH!
Friday, April 24, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
St Georges Day
This is the English flag. You may have been expecting the pretty red, white and blue one. That's called the Union flag and represents Great Britain which is made up of England, Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland.
I thought I would point that out because whilst looking for a photo to put with this post I came across so many Union flags bearing the description of English flag that I decided to make it quite clear exactly which is which. So endeth todays lesson!
It's a popular flag, I think you will agree. A lot of countries have it. Switzerland nearly had it but they had the plans back to front. The flag of St George means a lot of things to a lot of people. Today is St Georges day in England and traditionally on this day English people celebrate our national day by doing absolutley nothing. Which is a damn shame.
I had no idea when St Georges day was when I was a kid. Celebrating your Englishness was frowned upon by...who? I don't know who exactly. The powers that be, I suppose. Even now, in some towns around England, people are not allowed to fly a flag of St George outside their homes. It may upset the 'ethnic minorities' the local council say.
I, personally think that the 'ethnic minorities' don't give a monkeys (nice English expression) and it's that sort of talk that causes friction in any community. Happily, in recent years, English people have started to fly the flag with pride, sticking 2 fingers ( will explain this in another post) up to those who would frown at it.
I'm proud of my heritage, if I had a flag of St George I would fly it. Instead I'm wearing my England football shirt, three lions on my chest and the gold star for our World Cup win in 1966.
Happy St Georges day!
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Ferry Nice...
Ok, so it's a stupid title but those nice French fishermen decided to let us sail to England last Thursday. Good chaps, the French, I wont hear a bad word said about them.
I discovered two things whilst in England:
1) Even though I am bad at all sports, I am truly bad, I mean arse wipenly bad, at bowling! I blame myself for not checking the rules properly as I was under the impression that the idea of the game was to miss the skittles at the end. My constant pumping of the air with my fist earned me puzzled looks from the surrounding lanes and I even gave the women in the next lane to ours a sympathetic look as her 4 year daughter knocked all of the pins down! Boy, didn't I feel stupid later!
2) Oxford. Alright, technically I didn't discover Oxford, it was discovered by William Oxford in 1921. I meant that I visited Oxford for the first time. I enjoy visiting places in England that I haven't been to before. Oxford is one of those rare living museums, like Brugge. It's a joy to just walk amongst the ancient buildings and the even more ancient porters that look after them. The only fault I could find with Oxford is that there are too many bloody students there! The photo accompanying this post was taken in Oxford.
I returned to England topped up with fish and chips, my "cheers mate" is now phonetically perfect with just the right amount of a 'gawd blimey guv'nor' London accent. I once again refer to men as 'that geezer' or 'that bloke' and my larder is once again chock full of curry sauces!
Monday, April 20, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Ferry Funny
It's 10.18am as I write this post. French pirates have blockaded all of the French ports and I'm supposed to be travelling to Dunkirk later today to catch a ferry to dear old England. These are desperate times for me, I am down to my last 2 PG Tips tea bags and have to use a jar of back up curry for dinner tonight! To make matters worse, I am completely out of naan bread!
To say that I have been cursing the French over the past few days is an understatement. Trying to look at the situation logically it's hard not to sympathise with the French fishermen who feel their quotas for certain fish are too low. I'm sure every fisherman in this part of the world feels the same, whether they are French, English or whatever...but to block the ports all along the French coast is just a cynical act and all they are doing is helping to destroy small businesses all over Europe. So much for solidarity amongst Union members. Surely they would have made more impact on their government if they had organised a flotilla of fishing vessels to sail up the Seine into the heart of their country. Once again the British and all neighbouring countries to France have to pay.
It's time to boycott France. People of Europe, come to Belgium to spend your Euros. It's a lovely place for a holiday and the Belgian people are so much nicer than the French! The beer is better and cheaper and although their chips are not up to the standard of the British, they are still bloody nice. You will not visit a more stunning town, anywhere, than Brugge and if you are a regular reader then you will know all about Antwerp! If you are after some pretty countryside then you need go no further than the Ardenne. See? You do not need to go anywhere near France.
I can't post this without saying that I know one French person and she is very nice and as far as I know has never blockaded anything in her life. It's a little bit like when I wrote my Football post a while back. Sometimes it's hard not to look at certain countries in certain ways. My opinion about Argentina being a nation of cheats is based on one football match. I'm (almost) positive that Argentinians are not cheats by nature. Just as I'm (almost) sure that the French are not a nation of *bleeeeeeeeeeep* who for some reason resent the British and constantly try to damage our trade..but sometimes it's hard not to think of them in this way.
Come on people of France, protest if you must, but leave us Brits out of it for a change!
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Welke Taal Spreek Je?...Easter.
Last weekend was a time of rejoicing for much of the western world. Easter is, of course, the time when the Easter bunny was choclified on Good Friday and resurrected as a chocolate egg on Easter Sunday. Hang on a moment, I might be getting mixed up here...I do find it amazing that our favourite Holidays coincide with religious holidays. It's a cynical act for religious groups to try and push their beliefs on people at Christmas and Easter, quite frankly I wish they would leave those days for what they were originally intended!
Easter in Belgium is called Pasen and on Easter Sunday morning they walk down to the local bakery and pray to their God whom they call Pistole...well it certainly seemed like the whole village was there when I made the journey on Sunday. I was not alone this time and anyone who knows of my battle with the good people of the bakery will understand when I say that I was happy to be accompanied by a native Dutch speaker. Pistoles were duly ordered, and because everything would be shut on Monday (except the bakers), we decided to buy a ciabata as well. I think everyone is familiar with this wonderful piece of breadery (I made that word up), flat, full of holes and with a tendency to harden at each end. Well, the most wonderful thing happened. The girl behind the counter began to make a box up. Into the box was placed one of those delicious looking tarts that all Belgian bakers seem to make so well.
"I asked for a ciabata."
Open mouthed astonishment from the shop girl.
"Ci-a-ba-ta."
"you should point at it like I usually do" I offered.
"er!" point, point.
"oh sorry, I thought you asked for ...(name of tart remains unknown to me but probably sounds like ciabata)."
"Try asking for abdij brood," I whispered as the girl disposed of the box.
I was genuinely interested in what would happen but at the same time happy that maybe my accent wasn't as bad as I thought and that the poor girls that work the weekend shift at the bakers just had bad hearing caused by the incessant chugger chugger of the bread slicing machine.
I skipped all the way home.
Today's language lesson:
In English we have there/their, although they are pronounced in the same way they mean different things. In Dutch they have er/daar, both words have exactly the same meaning but can only be used in certain situations, for example:
er staat een fles - there stands a bottle
and
Vraag (question):-Waar is mijn brill? - where are my glasses?
Antwoord (answer):- Daar! Daar is jouw bril - there! there are your glasses.
I deliberately use "er" at every opportunity because it winds a certain person up. However, having just sat and reasoned out the above piece out I have come to the conclusion that I am right to use "er" and that if the inventors of the Dutch language hadn't been so bloody unreasonable with certain aspects of the language they might have come up with a better word for glove!
No Christians or shop assistants were hurt in the making of this post.
Easter in Belgium is called Pasen and on Easter Sunday morning they walk down to the local bakery and pray to their God whom they call Pistole...well it certainly seemed like the whole village was there when I made the journey on Sunday. I was not alone this time and anyone who knows of my battle with the good people of the bakery will understand when I say that I was happy to be accompanied by a native Dutch speaker. Pistoles were duly ordered, and because everything would be shut on Monday (except the bakers), we decided to buy a ciabata as well. I think everyone is familiar with this wonderful piece of breadery (I made that word up), flat, full of holes and with a tendency to harden at each end. Well, the most wonderful thing happened. The girl behind the counter began to make a box up. Into the box was placed one of those delicious looking tarts that all Belgian bakers seem to make so well.
"I asked for a ciabata."
Open mouthed astonishment from the shop girl.
"Ci-a-ba-ta."
"you should point at it like I usually do" I offered.
"er!" point, point.
"oh sorry, I thought you asked for ...(name of tart remains unknown to me but probably sounds like ciabata)."
"Try asking for abdij brood," I whispered as the girl disposed of the box.
I was genuinely interested in what would happen but at the same time happy that maybe my accent wasn't as bad as I thought and that the poor girls that work the weekend shift at the bakers just had bad hearing caused by the incessant chugger chugger of the bread slicing machine.
I skipped all the way home.
Today's language lesson:
In English we have there/their, although they are pronounced in the same way they mean different things. In Dutch they have er/daar, both words have exactly the same meaning but can only be used in certain situations, for example:
er staat een fles - there stands a bottle
and
Vraag (question):-Waar is mijn brill? - where are my glasses?
Antwoord (answer):- Daar! Daar is jouw bril - there! there are your glasses.
I deliberately use "er" at every opportunity because it winds a certain person up. However, having just sat and reasoned out the above piece out I have come to the conclusion that I am right to use "er" and that if the inventors of the Dutch language hadn't been so bloody unreasonable with certain aspects of the language they might have come up with a better word for glove!
No Christians or shop assistants were hurt in the making of this post.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
Why I hate Cycling...An occasional series
Before I came to Belgium I liked to ride my bike...no, I loved riding my bike. I enjoyed cycling so much that I splashed out £650 around 15 years ago for a Marin Mountain Bike, that's £75 in today's money! My feet have always been my preferred mode of transport but I would definitely say that my fiets is the second - see what I did there? English speakers please use the translation widget!
So I arrived in Belgium a confident and happy bike rider. That is until I saw that almost every male under the age of 50 that was riding a bike was wearing... LYCRA!
Just as the English male wears the shirt of his favourite football team, so the Belgian male wears the uniform of his favourite...erm...well actually I'm not sure what they represent. I actually think a certain type of man will wear lycra for the same reasons pretty, thin women wear short skirts...because they can! Let's face it, if I put on lycra shirt and shorts, I will look like a blue and white sausage!
Ok, jealousy isn't a good enough reason for hating cycling. One of the major reasons, but not by any means the main reason, I now hate cycling is because shortly after arriving in Belgium, I was asked if I would like to join a group of people who were having a sunday bike ride. Sure, I said, after checking to see what the match was on Prime sports. How long will it take?
"A couple of hours," was the reply. I should have asked how far because 5 hours later I was in the most excruciating pain I have ever experienced! I will leave the precise area to your imagination, reader! We rode 60kms, I think, into enemy territory, or Holland as I call it. I didn't enjoy myself because after 2 hours I was chanting mantras to help me get through the pain. My camera stayed in my pocket and I barely remember anything about my first trip to Holland...I seem to recall it was flat. We ended up in a small village drinking a beer made locally where I live! By the time we reached home I was riding side sadle and using my feet to propel the bike, rather than the pedals. That was the last time I ever rode my bike for pleasure. It sits in the garage, rusting away with the other 6 bikes...what's that all about? 7 bikes in our garage, it's like a retirement home for bikes!
But my main reason for hating Cycling will have to wait for another time.
So I arrived in Belgium a confident and happy bike rider. That is until I saw that almost every male under the age of 50 that was riding a bike was wearing... LYCRA!
Just as the English male wears the shirt of his favourite football team, so the Belgian male wears the uniform of his favourite...erm...well actually I'm not sure what they represent. I actually think a certain type of man will wear lycra for the same reasons pretty, thin women wear short skirts...because they can! Let's face it, if I put on lycra shirt and shorts, I will look like a blue and white sausage!
Ok, jealousy isn't a good enough reason for hating cycling. One of the major reasons, but not by any means the main reason, I now hate cycling is because shortly after arriving in Belgium, I was asked if I would like to join a group of people who were having a sunday bike ride. Sure, I said, after checking to see what the match was on Prime sports. How long will it take?
"A couple of hours," was the reply. I should have asked how far because 5 hours later I was in the most excruciating pain I have ever experienced! I will leave the precise area to your imagination, reader! We rode 60kms, I think, into enemy territory, or Holland as I call it. I didn't enjoy myself because after 2 hours I was chanting mantras to help me get through the pain. My camera stayed in my pocket and I barely remember anything about my first trip to Holland...I seem to recall it was flat. We ended up in a small village drinking a beer made locally where I live! By the time we reached home I was riding side sadle and using my feet to propel the bike, rather than the pedals. That was the last time I ever rode my bike for pleasure. It sits in the garage, rusting away with the other 6 bikes...what's that all about? 7 bikes in our garage, it's like a retirement home for bikes!
But my main reason for hating Cycling will have to wait for another time.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Greetings...
When I was about 16 years old I was introduced to an American woman by a friend. She was a family friend and was staying with them for a few days. She held out her hand for me to shake. This was probably the first time I had ever been offered a hand to shake from a stranger and me, being cool and trendy and hopelessly enamoured by anything American, decided to clasp her hand in the same way I had seen Jon and Ponch do on C.H.I.P.S. This was a cause of great embarrassment to both of us as we almost ended up thumb wrestling. I thought all Americans shook hands like that but she just wasn't expecting it. Ever since that fateful day I always get a feeling of 'anything can happen here' when I greet a person, whether its a stranger or someone I know. I need the other person to take the initiative otherwise it could all end up in one big mess!
Of course it could all be down to my genes, a traditional English reserve, but I do think that me trying to be cool played a big part in my aversion to greeting people. One of my biggest fears is being introduced to someone from South Central LA or Brixton and have to go through a series of complicated hand maneuvers ending in a knuckle to knuckle punch! A Saudi Arabian bloke I knew in England would insist on greeting you with his knuckles instead of his hand and I would inevitably end up shaking his fist...
Over the past few years I have met a lot of people and this has acted as a kind of therapy for me. The very first person I met here introduced me to the traditional Belgian greeting of 3 kisses to the cheek, with me, all the while this was happening, fretting about whether I had to kiss her husband as well! I began to approach each new introduction by taking control of the situation and thrusting my hand out and shaking, peck on the cheek for the ladies and the occasional pat on the back for the men. It was all going well, very well.
Then..
Last year we went to visit family in Greece and I was suddenly confronted by an entirely new and complicated form of greeting...Man Hug!
http://www.videojug.com/film/how-to-give-a-great-man-to-man-hug
Of course it could all be down to my genes, a traditional English reserve, but I do think that me trying to be cool played a big part in my aversion to greeting people. One of my biggest fears is being introduced to someone from South Central LA or Brixton and have to go through a series of complicated hand maneuvers ending in a knuckle to knuckle punch! A Saudi Arabian bloke I knew in England would insist on greeting you with his knuckles instead of his hand and I would inevitably end up shaking his fist...
Over the past few years I have met a lot of people and this has acted as a kind of therapy for me. The very first person I met here introduced me to the traditional Belgian greeting of 3 kisses to the cheek, with me, all the while this was happening, fretting about whether I had to kiss her husband as well! I began to approach each new introduction by taking control of the situation and thrusting my hand out and shaking, peck on the cheek for the ladies and the occasional pat on the back for the men. It was all going well, very well.
Then..
Last year we went to visit family in Greece and I was suddenly confronted by an entirely new and complicated form of greeting...Man Hug!
http://www.videojug.com/film/how-to-give-a-great-man-to-man-hug
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Monday, April 6, 2009
Football...Bloody Hell!
Football fans are ridiculous, petty, superstitious people who hold irrational grudges against other teams and entire nations for as long as they live. I am a football fan. Last Thursday I took great pleasure in hearing that Argentina lost 6-1 to Bolivia in a World Cup qualifier. Why? Why did that make my day? Argentina is thousands of miles away. On a day to day basis, Argentina, as a country, doesn't register any more on my radar than Papua New Guinea. So why would I be the slightest bit interested in what happens to the Argentinian national team?
In 1986 (yes, 23 years ago!) England played Argentina in the quarter finals of the World Cup. It was during this game that Diego Maradona scored by punching the football into the net and helping his team win the game. Maradona claimed it wasn't his fault that he punched the ball into the net but was in fact 'the hand of God'. That is of course blasphemous as everyone knows that God is British. Since that infamous day I have had a deep and abiding hatred of Argentina, and especially Diego Armando Maradona. Please don't misunderstand me, I'm not wallowing in bitterness about that match. It doesn't occupy my every waking minute. But it's branded in the deep and dark recesses of my brain waiting to come to the forefront.
Over the weekend I had to pick up some wine from Delhaize. I hadn't ordered the wine myself. When the guy rolled the shopping trolley out I noticed that there were 12 bottles of Argentinian wine nestling amongst the French and Spanish wine. If I had had a better command of the language I would have said that there had been some mistake and would it be possible to exchange it for another wine. The truth is that I would no more buy Argentinian wine than I would have my mobile phone on O2 or fly Emirates. (Both have sponsored a team that I wont dignify by naming in this blog).
That's irrational and petty sorted with, now for irrational and superstitious:
Last Wednesday I was watching England play Ukraine in a World Cup qualifier, ( I hold no grudges against Ukraine), it was a hard match and England were finding it difficult to break down the Ukrainians, but were worth a 1-0 lead. I was watching the game alone, as I often do, when about 75 minutes into the game I was joined on the sofa. Within 2 minutes of being joined, the Ukrainians scored and the irrational part of my man brain blamed the person, who doesn't want to be named, for the goal. I think this is an admission of guilt! She (whoops) even apologised as soon as it went in! I managed to say that we hadn't been playing well and that an equalizing goal had been inevitable but bloody hell, it was about the only time they had a chance on goal! It all ended happily after I put my lucky underpants on and we won 2-1.
I'm not a superstitious man by nature and hopefully I never will be...touchwood...but I do make exceptions for football.
I watched the Bolivia v Argentina game on Thursday evening. Then I watched the last 15 minutes of the repeat on Friday. You may be interested to know that the current coach of Argentina is one Diego Maradona. Bolivia 6-Argentina 1...get in!
Friday, April 3, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Food
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Warning: if you buy chips in Antwerp and are asked if you want to supersize your meal, say no!
Food, can't live with it, can't live without it...or am I thinking of something else? Anyhoo, food is a subject close to my heart. Belgians eat differently to the British. Firstly, we British have no words to invite people to enjoy their meal, apart from "enjoy your meal,"and that's not something I heard too often before I left that green and pleasant land. Before eating a meal the Belgians will say 'smacky lips' (I think that's how it's pronounced). This can be said by anyone sitting at the table and basically means 'enjoy your meal.'
I like it, it's uncomplicated and can only be used at the dinner table before the meal.
Another word which can only be used with food is 'lekker.' Basically, lekker means 'wow, this tastes really good!' Lekker is a word I like as well, it's one of those words that is good to say, (try it a few times,) and if I have to say it then it means I'm eating!
Just before I sat down to write this post, my fiancée informed me that the fount of all knowledge here in Belgium ( Gazette van Antwerp) has a piece of terrible news saying that 35 tons of poisoned curry powder is coming to Europe from India. I told her there was nothing to worry about as we get all of our curry from England and not Europe!
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
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