Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Its not what you say............
Someone asked me about my expression "after the Lord Mayors show" the other day. I attempted to explain that it means that all things come to an end, sometimes messily. The full saying is ""after the Lord Mayors show, comes the man with the cart and the shovel". Presumably in the days of the horse and carriage, to clean up the manure.... Its one of those family sayings that don't always make sense to outsiders. We have another, that when pouring a drink, we used to say "just up to the duck", based on a child' s drinking glass with a cartoon duck on it that we used to have at home. Please tell me if you have expressions like that in your family.
My mother was/ is prone to spoonerisms. She will say something and will only realise that she has said something wrong when the giggles start. Her best one was waliking through Skegness and we noted a Hotel called "Alan a Dale". This started a discussion about Robin Hood and his merry men and we started to name them. Mom chipped in with "Friar Tuck", only it came out as "Try a ......."
One of my my families constant source of amusement was going on holiday. My parents were not good travellers. Like many Brummies we went to Skegness every year. We would set out very early (4-6am) to "avoid the traffic. We would pass through Leicestershire and Lincolnshire in the dark, to arrive in Boston just as the docks were opening. We would come to a roundabout with three junctions, and every year would take the wrong turning without fail, and would have to make an embarrassing tour around the docks to turn round.
We were used to being embarrassed in the car. My dad had an orange Mark 1 Morris Marina estate, a car that was so bad the motoring press urged British Leyland not to launch it. It was an embarrassing car in a decade of embarrassing cars. Still it means we were never fearful of it being stolen...
My mothers inability to tell left from right always made map reading difficult. She would often wave her hands in front of my dad's face to indicate the right direction. This used to annoy my father and we would sit in the back of the car and wait for the explosion. I think I learn't most of my swearwords that way. She also used to watch the road whilst passing my dad things, which was slightly inconvenient when he ended up with a boiled sweet up his nose, but more concerning when it was a lit cigarette.
I was 17 before I even went on a plane. When we graduated to package holidays we still had fun. My dad never smiled on photos, which meant that he ended up looking like an eastern block communist leader at a funeral, or a serial killer. We went into town to have our passport pictures taken at the Woolworth's store. Dad's came out of the machine, and it must have been five minutes before my brother and I could speak after being paralysed with laughter. Every border we went thought it would be passed around the immigration staff with comments and pointing.
My mother watched "Midnight Express" the night before our first Spanish holiday. Coupled with a bad experience her parents had had when going through customs returning from Spain (my Grandfather attempted to smuggle back lots of cheap Spanish cigarettes and got caught at the airport). She therefore expected to be whisked off to a third world jail at the drop of a hat. She understandably got nervous going through customs, which meant we got stopped...
One trip back, were were pulled over by customs and our bags opened. The customs officer found a parcel at the bottom of the suitcase, wrapped in plastic bags. He asked my mother what it was and got a panicking " I don't know". It turned out to be 10 days worth of my underwear that I had placed there just before leaving the hotel.
I wonder if in 30 years time there will be someone blogging about all my little foibles. I only hope that I'm alive to read them, and can post a comment!
My mother was/ is prone to spoonerisms. She will say something and will only realise that she has said something wrong when the giggles start. Her best one was waliking through Skegness and we noted a Hotel called "Alan a Dale". This started a discussion about Robin Hood and his merry men and we started to name them. Mom chipped in with "Friar Tuck", only it came out as "Try a ......."
One of my my families constant source of amusement was going on holiday. My parents were not good travellers. Like many Brummies we went to Skegness every year. We would set out very early (4-6am) to "avoid the traffic. We would pass through Leicestershire and Lincolnshire in the dark, to arrive in Boston just as the docks were opening. We would come to a roundabout with three junctions, and every year would take the wrong turning without fail, and would have to make an embarrassing tour around the docks to turn round.
We were used to being embarrassed in the car. My dad had an orange Mark 1 Morris Marina estate, a car that was so bad the motoring press urged British Leyland not to launch it. It was an embarrassing car in a decade of embarrassing cars. Still it means we were never fearful of it being stolen...
My mothers inability to tell left from right always made map reading difficult. She would often wave her hands in front of my dad's face to indicate the right direction. This used to annoy my father and we would sit in the back of the car and wait for the explosion. I think I learn't most of my swearwords that way. She also used to watch the road whilst passing my dad things, which was slightly inconvenient when he ended up with a boiled sweet up his nose, but more concerning when it was a lit cigarette.
I was 17 before I even went on a plane. When we graduated to package holidays we still had fun. My dad never smiled on photos, which meant that he ended up looking like an eastern block communist leader at a funeral, or a serial killer. We went into town to have our passport pictures taken at the Woolworth's store. Dad's came out of the machine, and it must have been five minutes before my brother and I could speak after being paralysed with laughter. Every border we went thought it would be passed around the immigration staff with comments and pointing.
My mother watched "Midnight Express" the night before our first Spanish holiday. Coupled with a bad experience her parents had had when going through customs returning from Spain (my Grandfather attempted to smuggle back lots of cheap Spanish cigarettes and got caught at the airport). She therefore expected to be whisked off to a third world jail at the drop of a hat. She understandably got nervous going through customs, which meant we got stopped...
One trip back, were were pulled over by customs and our bags opened. The customs officer found a parcel at the bottom of the suitcase, wrapped in plastic bags. He asked my mother what it was and got a panicking " I don't know". It turned out to be 10 days worth of my underwear that I had placed there just before leaving the hotel.
I wonder if in 30 years time there will be someone blogging about all my little foibles. I only hope that I'm alive to read them, and can post a comment!
Labels: family. live music, spoonerisms
# posted by Mark @ 3:37 PM 
