Sunday, 22 April 2012

Latin Conversations and Grandpa Walton


Sorry, sorry am such a slack blogger (sounds like a medical complaint).  Right, let’s get on with it.



Last time I wrote, Miss Gladi and Esther (who owns Henry the dog) were going to have it out with the ‘church’ of the Holy Kidnappers.  I saw them the other week and they said they went there at the end of the one of them ‘Healing Ministries’ – where no one gets better but there is a lot of fainting.  Anyhow, there were SO many people there and all the ministers were so big and scary and dressed like bank managers that they slunk off and had a re-group.



Miss Gladi said it looked like the mafia had taken charge of the ‘Sticks and Chairs’ club.  And Esther said it looked more like the mafia had PUT half the congregation in the ‘Sticks and Chairs’ club.



Anyroad, they have got hold of a very, very Lithuanian Catholic priest and seem to be persuading him (poor sod) to be their shield against the anti-christ mafia.  They brought him down to mine last week.  Anyway, Miss G. Esther and father Piot come into mine for a cup of.  I do all the: ‘Hello, hello, how are you’s?’, they get themselves settled on the three piece suite and then Miss Gladi says: ‘Now, young Carol (I’m 48), this is father Piot, right here and now in our hour of need.’



So, I say: ‘Hello, father,’ and shake his hand (and he’s like Lodka off Taxi, in robes) and he hands me a grubby bit of paper.  It reads: ‘Hello, I am father Piot from Lithuanian country.  I can speak Russian and Latin also.’



Miss Gladi says to me: ‘See?’  So, I say: ‘See what?’  And then she goes: ‘Well, you know some of that Latin, you can talk to him.’  So I said: ‘Yes, I can read and write it a bit, but I’ve never spoken it.  No one’s spoken it for, I dunno, a thousand years.’  So Esther points at Father Piot and says to me: ‘Well, he proves you wrong, girl.  I heard him reading Latin Mass last Sunday.’



And the little bloke is all smiling at me and I’ve got me knickers in a right twist.  I said to the old girls: ‘You want me to talk to him in Latin?   Why can’t he speak English?’  And Esther looks at ME like I’m the barmy one and goes: ‘Cos he never learnt English at priest school, now did he?’



So, we have this ‘conversation’ that goes like this:

Me: ‘Greetings, priest.’

Him: ‘I am known as father.’

Me: ‘Oh, my fault and obeseseinces (dunno how you spell it), father.’

Him: ‘So you are the saintly invalid of much renown?’

Me: ‘It’s true.  But not a saint, father.  When did you disembark in Londinium?’

Him: ’32 days since.  I am with the pedagogue for the lingua Franca?’

Me: ‘Ah, English (said ‘in’ English)

Him: ‘Yes but my errors are many.  I am not a young man, I have many years.  Now, tell me of your times as a hostage with/from/by the barbarians.’

Me: ‘Not a hostage per se (actually could use it properly!), but they held me with much persistence…



And then I forgot the word for ‘bench’.

Me…’attached to the chair and much talking.’

Him: ‘Tied to a chair you were?’

Me: ‘No, not with rope.’

Him: ‘With chains?!’

Me: ‘No, no.  With force of will I was held, father.’



 I tell you, it was like having a conversation with bloody Yoda.  To be honest, I could just about understand him, but I nearly got a migraine from trying to ‘talk’ back to him.  I’m not really, really sure if I got it all right cos he did a great deal of staring at me as if I was mental.



Anyhow, Miss Gladi and Esther were mightily impressed by the business (talk about in the land of the blind, blah, blah).  They went off with father Piot who gave me a blessing before he left – he also blessed the flat, and the dog.  Unfortu, he left the flat with his black robes completely covered in dog hair – looked like Sasquatch from the neck down.



Lord knows what’s going to happen there with that unholy trinity – bless their hearts.



Oh, and just a few more bits:  you know that Fleece material?  It’s only made of old plastic bottles – unbelievable.  AND, someone told me that Grandpa Walton was gay.  Well, I must admit, he was always my favourite character, so it could be true.  And I’m not going on that bloody internet to ‘find out’ cos half of it is cobblers – and the trouble is, that you can’t tell which half!



p.s. just did a spell check and the machine wanted to change Londinium to Leninism, and it had no suggestions whatsoever for ‘obeiseinces’!!

3 comments:

  1. Dunno much Latin Carol, except for Solanum Tuberosum. Yes the humble potato. Thanks for keeping me entertained every week.

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  2. the way his robes gather all the dog hairs makes me imagine a giant lint roller - always handy to spruce up the lounge!
    Great amusement as always, lightens my day to read your blog :-)

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  3. Absolutely love it, Carol. And I am very impressed by your Latin - I couldn't get anywhere near that. Your 'with/from/by' had me laughing loudly.

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