 |
| Got rope? |
???
Yeah, I agree with you there. I don’t know where that came from but
I’ll try to restrain the chippy old woman from popping up again. May I borrow
some rope?
A storm is indeed brewing outside my window panes this morning. The sky
is rock-colored, the wind prickly. The television is muted turned to the local
radar station, for that is what one with panic-issues does when Mother Nature
gets grumbly.
I haven’t a clue as to what to write about this morning. (Could you
tell?) So, I’m just letting my fingers wander across the keyboard, and we’ll
see what madness they drag out… Flee now while you are able.
Perhaps the English lady with cold fingers and violet-tinted hair who
is currently tied to a chair in my mind’s attic is a reflection on my utter
wonder at being able to pull off acceptably well the whole Brit-speak in “Ravenscar?”
While I hardly went all BBC in the short story, I did do more than dabble in
the English colloquialisms we all find so charming and fun.
American-speak can be so vulgar and hard at times. The British seem to imbibe
a dash of sophistication to even their most cutting remarks.
An example, you demand?
Well, if I must. (Apologies. The grand dame, again… Does anyone have a
spare iron shackle or two? I do believe she chewed through the rope.)
Ass is arse.
Shit is shite.
Fucking is sodding. (The curse, not the act of actual fucking. One must
be precise in these things.)
Nut is nutter. (Crazy person, not a pistachio.)
A variety of American-isms for “You’re a real fuck!” (derogatory, not
congratulatory) can be wrapped in a simple wanker.
See? Isn’t it delightfully more amusing to go off on someone when you
let the little old grand dame in your head do the cursing?
If you are so lucky as to not have one such nutter in your attic, you
may borrow mine.
I find a cattle prod is most helpful.
Until tonight…
Chloe
No comments:
Post a Comment