A rose by any other name

English rose

What a day!  Firstly, I found a keyboard [still on the old words-all-over-the-place one this evening] but it’s only £39 and looks great – it’s for Mac.  I’ll get it tomorrow.

At the shop today, those girls came back from last week – the Lithuanian ones – and I thought she [the particular one] was a bit reticent speaking Russian but then I discovered she spoke mainly Lithuanian [nationalist] and her friend who was staying silent spoke the Russian.  So, the one who can won’t and the one who wants can’t. Ho hum.

Anyway, the silent one then said, as they were going out, that they’d return tomorrow so I must make sure I’m working the shop floor tomorrow.  In a particularly good mood, the day passed pleasantly and then it happened.  I forgot to mention that I met a new guy today they’d taken on and he’s a good lad and helped me put in the new locks [I rummaged round and found a drill and bit] – he drew attention to her and there was certainly a difference, in a most familiar way.

I went to the far end of the shop and tidied a bit and she drifted over that way.  It’s going to be trouble one day but I was fairly certain and asked her, in Russian, if she was Russian.

Da and how did I know?  Wasn’t half bleedin’ obvious, was it?    She asked where I came from and I named the Russian  town and she said my accent was English – had I lived here long?  I confessed.  We swapped names and she’ll come back tomorrow.

On the way home, I fed the ducks and a white swan came over [or was it a goose or was I the goose?] and a good time was had by all.  On the train, a shoe shop manager from up the road sat with me and we had a natter, so that was good but the English are quite different to the Russians – nice in their own way, better in some ways because they don’t play the game so I’ll pop up and see her tomorrow.

[I’m currently trying to get over to Yorkshire too but that’s another story.]

Anyway, there I was at the junction station, thinking that life was good and sure enough, something came along to bu**er it up.  Three of the most obnoxious young “ladies” came shrieking past and I said to the lady beside me: “Credit to their gender, eh?”


Yes, I know it’s “credit to their sex” but I didn’t want to use that word.  Anyway, one of them  must have heard me because, even though I deliberately got on the train at the other end to them, they got off at the stop before mine, came right up the platform and banged on the window where I was sitting.  Appears they were peeved, so I smiled at them.

Thus to home and what was waiting but a glass of JD’s concoction to wash memory away?  Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to talk about [just let me refill the glass here].  Are you sitting comfortably two-square on your botty?

Then I’ll begin.

What’s in a name?

You know that unfortunate incident in the Commonwealth Games where the New Zealand anchorman made a lighthearted but inadvisable comment about an Indian Minister?  Well, I feel devastated for Ms Dikshit but she must, I feel, understand that in English ………

I’m sorry, Ms Dikshit [no sniggering at your end, readers, d’ya hear – I can see yer] – I’m sorry, Ma’am but it’s not just in your language where this problem arises.  My first wife’s maiden name had Tit in it and she wisely used her ex-hubby’s moniker.  Judith Durham was actually Judith Mavis Cock and that’s just the English names.

Of course, most travellers to that Thai beach resort would realize that there was sufficient difference between Phuk-et and F……. well, you know [excuse me while I refill the glass] and historians know that Klaus Fuchs but did you realize that the Russians are often having a quiet snigger?

Let me explain.

Minette Marrin, Sunday Times writer and CFR writer has an unfortunate first name.  You see, in Russian, it means oral sex.

Sheila Dikshit

Cockneys who are wont to punctuate their street vending with “guvnor” might have seen a certain nationality doubled up with laughter because “guvno”, in Russian, can be loosely translated as “pit of ordure”.

And so it goes.

So, Ms Dikshit, it might well be that James Higham translates, in Swahili, as paedophile nose-picker – who knows?  We can’t do much about our names although it might be an idea to change the surname Merkin and for that purpose, there is a deed poll ad in my far right sidebar.

[Need a refill.]

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3 comments for “A rose by any other name

  1. Russ
    October 8, 2010 at 22:28

    Man… you attracting too many Russian talking people… :)))

  2. JD
    October 8, 2010 at 22:49

    Happens the world over in all languages.
    The fitters travelling to Norway to work on the rigs took great delight in declaring very loudly to passport control “I’m a fitter” when they discovered what it meant in Norwegian.
    In the Basque region there were one or two footballers called Ufarte.
    And then there is Ponce de Leon.
    etc etc

    anyway, here’s a song for you and your new friends

  3. October 9, 2010 at 02:01

    Tell them to fuck off back to their own country, in their own language Higham. Our country isn’t the world’s picnic hamper.

    I’ve worked with scores of eastern Europeans and all but two have been nothing less than a pain in the arse.

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