Lost in translation

I don’t know if you aware but in Wales all signage has to be in both English and Welsh. One local council needed a road sign which stopped truck drivers from using certain route to a supermarket. They sent an email to the translation department and when they received a reply they used the Welsh wording on the sign..

The English is clear enough to lorry drivers. Unfortunately the Welsh reads 'I am not in the office at the moment. Send any work to be translated'
Do you ever use an on-line translator? I do occasionally, but beware because what comes out isn’t necessarily what you put in!
This is an interesting exercise. Type in a line or two of text then request a translation. Then translate the result back into English.
For instance I took the first two lines of William Wordsworth's beautiful Daffodils poem and typed them into the Babel fish translator and this is what happened
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills
Translated to French it becomes
J'ai erré seul comme nuage
Ce flotte sur de hautes vallées et collines d'o'er
Then if you translate the French back to English you get
I wandered only like cloud
This fleet on high valleys and hills of o' er
That’s pretty close but if you then translate the result into German and back, it becomes
I walked only like cloud this fleet
on high valleys and hills from o äh,
Then translate the ‘new’ English version into Italian and back you get
I have only walked like cloud
this fleet on the high valleys and hills from the äh .
Portuguese and back ends up.
I only walked I eat the cloud this fleet
in I am valid and high mounts of äh
Put that through Spanish and back to English and it becomes
I crossed only I eat the cloud
this fleet inside that I am valid and high mounts of äh

When overseas it’s quite common to come across signs which are unintentionally amusing.
This is an extract from a restaurant menu in Poland. 'Salad a firm's own make; limpid red beet soup with cheesy dumplings in the form of a finger; roasted duck let loose; beef rashers beaten up in the country people's fashion.'
And in Thailand: an advert for donkey rides asked 'Would you like to ride on your own ass?'
How about this one from the window of a Swedish furrier: 'Fur coats made for ladies from their own skin.'

And finally this sign in a Tokyo bar 'Special cocktails for ladies with nuts.'

Brown

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Brown is the colour for this weeks True Colours Thursday. I didn't have too many photos to chose from, but I hope these will do!

The first two I took at my grandsons school concert, then adjusted to add some atmosphere!

I never actually went through the door of this gift shop in Spain, but it was tempting.

'What are you looking at?'

This is one of a series I took to acompany the article I wrote and narrated below. I hope you can spare the time to read - or listen to it!

A stroll along the promenade

Let me read it to you! Single click on the arrow.
Click on small pictures to enlarge
It’s a very ordinary February day. A grey sky with the occasional hint of blue and a chill breeze in the air. I thought I’d take a walk along Eastbourne seafront, well, part of it at least.
It’s the time of year when a lot of maintenance is carried out. This year is no exception and the beach is being remodelled by enormous yellow diggers and dumper trucks like giant Tonka toys which are moving the shingle back up to the top where it provides protection for the town from high tides and floods. It’s hard to imagine right now how different the beach looked a few months ago when it was covered with blue and white deckchairs, colourful sunshades and thousands of folk enjoying the summer. 
 Few people venture onto the promenade during February. Right now there are rows and rows of empty benches. In a few months time there won’t be a seat to be had. They will all be occupied by the elderly folk of Eastbourne, many fast asleep; others watching the world go by.
For the time being I can read the carved messages on the seatbacks. In memory of Iris and George. Reunited in Heaven, and Molly Pearson who loved this place 1915 - 1987
Today I can walk uninterrupted. Soon I will have to avoid families with tottering tots taking their first few steps, toddlers rushing excitedly around their parent’s legs and reluctant teenagers being dragged out for an after lunch constitutional. There will be noisy groups of foreign students and visitors from faraway places snapping pictures of everything they see.
There are however more people than I would have expected out and about. Joggers jogging and rollerbladers rollerblading! There are a few families meandering along taking advantage of the school holidays and a let up from the harsh winter weather of the last few weeks.
After a mile or so I go in search of the public convenience which felt sure was in the immediate vicinity. I find it but alas it’s permanently closed and I’m directed towards an alternative facility in nearby gardens, Helen Gardens to be precise.
 My walk takes me past Holywell, a sheltered lawned garden which in the summer comes alive with outdoor theatre performances. But today the tea room is barred and bolted and the tables and chairs that fill the space in front are neatly stacked away. Right now I have the place all to myself.
I decide to walk along the stony beach for a while. The tide is high so the expanse of smooth sand so loved by children is mostly hidden beneath the water. I come across the stone foundations of a castle lovingly created by a junior builder.


For a few moments I sit on a pile of stones and watch the ripples of seawater lick the stones along the shoreline. The ocean is virtually still. 
Further along a future star of English cricket is enjoying batting practice with granny as bowler and grandad fielding.
At the end of the seafront, some two miles from where I set off I arrive at the snack kiosk. Any hopes I may have of enjoying a warm cup of coffee are dashed when I spot a sign telling that I am a day early for the opening of the kiosk for the 2009 season.
Instead I decide to climb the steep grassy slope which leads the way to England’s best known cliff, Beachy Head. It’s exhausting, but once at the top I’m rewarded with a welcome seat and a panorama of the town below.
And I’m not alone. All around me bullocks feed on the hillside grass. There they can chew with a view!
As I turn to start my journey back to where I started the sun drops behind the hills and the sky begins to display patches of pink. The promenade is even emptier now. I’m alone with my thoughts.
I’ll bring you back here in a couple of month’s time; it will be a completely different place.
May I ask for just one minute and one second more of your time?
I’d like you to click on the very short video below and sit with me on the pile of stones and relax as the sea washes in and out and around your feet.

Trust me my friend, trust me

The market place was filled with barrows and stalls piled high with fruit and vegetables and flowers. A butcher tempted the crowd with offers of exceptional sausages and succulent steaks. ‘Ten a penny’ called out a boy selling candles and tapers.
In the middle of the square stood an ornate stage, an octagonal brightly painted structure of yellow and red with a blue pointed roof from which a long thin orange flag waved in the breeze. A pair of green and silver velvet curtains concealed the contents of this most mysterious of places.
There was a flash and a bang, the curtains flew aside and with a swirl of a purple and gold cape he appeared. He grinned; his white teeth sparkled beneath a glossy pointed moustache. He plucked his top hat from his head and with a flourish bowed low to the floor.
He raised himself to his full height, cleared his throat and with a booming voice he began to address the assembled crowd.
‘My name’ he bellowed ‘is Maximillian Montmorencey’
‘Kind gentlemen and fair ladies, gather round. Prepare yourselves for an astonishing and extraordinary demonstration of incomprehensible and bewildering dexterity. Step up step up. Be sure you will be unable to comprehend what your eyes are about to witness’
‘I need a volunteer. Step forward my man, yes you’ he said pointing in the direction of a small man in a cloth cap.
Trust me sir, no harm will befall you’
The small man nervously climbed onto the stage, removed his coat and cap then turned toward the audience. Any fear he felt was dispelled as he started to enjoy his newly acquired star status and began a rapid succession of jerky bows.
Maximillian Montmorencey flung the golden cover from a table in the middle of the stage and invited the small man to step up onto it, lie down and relax.
‘Trust me my friend’ he said 'Trust me'
The small man did as he was told and the gold cover was placed completely over his body.
‘Drums’ roared the magician. Not a sound came forth. ‘Drums’ he screamed his cheeks suddenly flushing scarlet.
With that a ragged little boy scampered up onto the stage dragging a side drum. ‘Sorry Max’ he squeaked. ‘You will be my boy, you will be’
The lad proceeded to beat out a roll on the drum, quietly at first then building in a crescendo.
The magician slowly began to slide the table from underneath the small man, and the crowd gasped as he appeared to float in mid air.
‘Nothing below’ shouted the magician as he cast a cane back and forth beneath the levitated man. The crowd began to applaud.
There was a sudden loud crack, and instantly the small man fell to the ground with a crash and a cry of ‘ouch’. Somebody started laughing, then someone else and in no time at all the sound of laughter filled the square.
The ragged boy pulled the curtains closed, and slowly the people began to drift away. The following morning the stage was gone along with the ragged boy and Maximillian Montmorencey.
No permanent damage was suffered by the small man, indeed he is still something of a celebrity in the town where he drinks on the story to this day.

soon be spring

A drift of pure white snowdrops
bobbing in the breeze

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A scattering of crocuses
brave winters final freeze

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A distant whistling song thrush
sings welcome to the spring

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A cascade of golden catkins
adorn the hazel trees
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Some blue for you!

It's True Colours Thursday again and we've gone all blue this week!

I took the following three pictures at the Ladies International Tennis Tournament in Eastbourne back In June last year

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Earlier last year I came across this typically Greek window shutter whilst visiting the island of Samos

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And finally it's back home for a photo of a couple of blue huts I took down on my local beach!

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Now it's time to get my thinking hat on because next week our colour will be brown.

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Wordless Wednesday - the place where I blog!

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It's only a game

For centuries the game of football was played on the fields of England’s finest schools. In 1823 Rugby School developed a game similar to football, but the players were permitted to pick up the ball and run with it. And so the game known worldwide as Rugby was invented.


In England in 1863 the Football Association was formed and the rules by which football is played today were written. Football (soccer in the US, a name formed from the word association) is the most popular game played worldwide, and the World Cup is the biggest international sporting tournament known to man.


A game similar to tennis was played widely from the 11th century in France. Its popularity spread to England and even King Henry VIII was an enthusiastic player. But in 1625 it was once again the English who laid down the rules by which it is played today. The first annual international tournament began in 1877 at Wimbledon.


Table tennis or Ping Pong was not invented by the Chinese. It was started in England in 1880 and began with Cambridge University students using cigar boxes and champagne corks.


England’s national game is of course cricket. The game as we know it today was originally played by the Marylebone Cricket Club in the 18th century. Today it is played on almost every continent.


So why have I laid out all these facts?


Well, England last won the Football World Cup in 1966.


We have only won the Rugby World cup once and that was in 2003.


Table Tennis? Forget it!


The last Wimbledon Tennis champions we saw were Fred Perry in 1936 and Virginia Wade in 1977.


As for cricket, we did win the Ashes a couple of years ago, but our record in international Test Matches is lamentable.


But there is some good news!


We invented the game of darts in the town of Grimsby way back when, and we are pretty good at that.


The Marquess of Queensbury wrote the rules for boxing in 1865, and we have had a fair few champions at most weights.


Horse racing, both on the flat and steeplechase have their origins at Newmarket in England and we have had our fair share of record beating jockeys.


We are also good at Wellie Wanging, the Pancake Race, Duck Herding, Conkers, Aunt Sally, Barrel Walking and Cheese Rolling.


My favourite English sport? Lawn Mower Racing. It’s great!
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Silver

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It's True Colours Thursday and this week we are shining the silver!

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I took this picture in Palma Mallorca. I'm not entirely sure what the artist had in mind but I sense the theme may involve Man and Fish!

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This silver statue is in nearby Woking which was the town in which H.G.Wells based his epic tale War of the Worlds. It's 40 feet tall and looks menacingly down on the shoppers below. To read the my recent article about Wells and Woking click HERE

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Even nearer to me is this fabulous art deco hanging lamp surrounded by a shining chrome spiral staircase. To see more photos of the De La Warr Pavillion click HERE
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I've never seen as much silver in one place as I saw in St Vitis Cathedral in Prague, Czech Republic!

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That's it for silver. Next week we get a touch of the blues!

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Wordless Wednesday- It's cold outside

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My friends Chris and Keith by the log fire in their

cosy 17th century pub the Five Ashes Inn

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A bit of art

‘Here comes the bus girls’ shouts Rupert. ‘Come on Gladys, get a wriggle on, we haven’t got all day’

Actually they do have all day. They have nothing else to do. It’s a midsummer’s morning and the sun is spreading a golden glow over everything it surveys. A perfect day for a bit of art!

The Shufflewick Village Art Club used to have ten, maybe twelve members. They were all ‘of an age’, mostly retired folk, and many lived on their own. But one by one they dropped out through ill health, failing eyesight or the onset of lethargy! Others simply took their place in the celestial studio in the sky. With no new members signing up only four remain.

They clatter onto the bus struggling with their easels, folded stools, blank canvasses and copious canvas bags bulging with tubes of paint, brushes and sandwiches.

An hour or so later they are sitting in a row brushes poised, looking out at a field of swaying grass as a couple of chewing cows look back.

Muriel flips up the tinted sun lenses on her spectacles, shades her eyes with her hand and stares intently at the pastoral scene.

June slowly raises herself up in a series of jerks then holds a wooden stick at arm’s length horizontally at first then vertically. She once saw an artist do it on television and felt it gave her an air of authority.

Gladys has already started. She frantically scribbles some pencil outlines, takes a few steps back, cocks her head on one side then nods in approval. Then it’s off with the caps on her paints and with a series of farting sounds she dispenses little piles of greens reds and blues on her technicolor wooden palette. Her hand is a blur and a picture takes shape.

Rupert has changed the colour of his canvas from white to a pale green. He always starts this way. Waiting for it to dry gives him an excuse to pour a coffee from his Thermos flask which he tops with a generous slug of Martell brandy from his silver hip flask.

Muriel is now painting. She moves her brush slowly and precisely, her nose is just inches away from the emerging image. It’s uncannily true to life, and almost like watching a photograph develop before your very eyes.

Three hours later Rupert is walking to and fro casting a critical eye over the four completed works of art. He strokes his chin, scratches his head and makes little grunting sounds.

Muriel and Gladys are sitting in the shade of a tree nibbling on sandwiches and cake, quietly murmuring. June appears to have dozed off, although she always insists she’s just resting her eyes.

Four painting all different. Rupert’s pale and whimsical, and Junes is well, unfinished. Gladys’s is a riot of colour and Muriel’s too perfect for words.

It’s time to pack their bags, fold their easels and stools, and carefully carry their drying paintings in the direction of the bus stop.

‘Hurry along girls’ cries Rupert. ‘Chop chop’

And so another meeting of the Shufflewick Village Art Club comes to an end. Next month they’ll line up outside the Jolly Farmer and attempt to capture the history and mystery of this ancient building in swirls of paint.

Hopefully all four will be present.

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Rosey goes veggie - again!

I wasn’t going to write a post tonight but I just have to tell you about this!

My friend Rosey has decided to have another go at being vegetarian.

Someone told her that a secret cult in the village of Nether Wallop ritually slaughter and then ate kittens. She took one look at her cats Fuzzybut and Scruff staring up at her with their big blue eyes and thought ‘Yuck, they must taste awful’

Anyway I reminded her that if God had intended us to be vegetarian he would not have made cows from beef, but my remark fell on deaf ears.

I’ve just got back from her flat where she has once again dusted off her old pots of pills and supplements and lined them up on the kitchen shelf where her biscuits and sweets used to reside..

I told her that all she needed to do was to make sure she ate plenty of eggs, whole-grain cereals, pulses, green leafy vegetables, fruit like oranges and fortified breakfast cereals. I know about these things because my daughter Penny is of the vegetarian persuasion.

But no. She says she won’t drink milk or eat eggs. So I asked her if she was actually a vegan. She thought about it for a minute and then asked me if vegans were vegetarians too! I said yes, of course and she laughed and asked if I thought she had pointed ears like Mr.Spock. Vegans I said, not Vulcans!

Meanwhile back on the shelf she has a pot of multi-vitamin pills called Osteotrace which lists amongst its ingredients horsetail, vitamin E tablets to make her look younger (why? don’t ask me!!) something called Selenium with the byline ‘good mood food’ plus various other tubs tins and assorted jars.

And right in the middle was a large tin with no label. I picked it up and shook it and she said she had to take eighteen a day – three in the morning, three in the afternoon and three in the evening. I asked what on earth they were and she said M&M’s! Chocolate she tells me is good for increasing her energy levels!.

Rosey, I know you are reading this and you’ll probably tell me off for teasing you! In a couple of weeks time I’ll take you out for a big juicy steak by way of an apology..

Orange

It's True Colours Thursday and today's colour is Orange
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The other day I came across this

broken plastic bucket washed up

on a snow covered beach .

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One from my series of photos from Northern India

Back to the beach for this one. No, it's not a

Chinese dragon, its discarded fishing net caught

under the pier and left high and dry at low tide.

click on this photo to enlarge

Next week our colour will be silver
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To see more of my snow beach pictures click HERE and for a few more Indian pictures click HERE
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The beach looks different today

Let me read it to you! SINGLE click on arrow.

The beach looks different today

The sea the sky the waves are grey

Pebbles now are hid from sight

The shore a sheet of dazzling white

I hear a laugh I see a child

throwing snowballs running wild

There a puppy leaping high

chasing snowflakes in the sky

I look around, I love the way

the beach looks different today