ON BECOMING A LEGACY FARMER
The Paint Guy Is Going to Either Kill Himself or Me …
Personally, I’m praying he chooses suicide
“What does ghiaccio mean?” my wife asks over the phone.
“Ice,” I reply.
“Ice! Are you sure, ” my wife asks, “Ghiaccio doesn’t sound at all like ice,” she continues.
Her comment makes me realise how arrogant English speakers are. Including me. We expect everyone to understand and speak English. Or for all words to sound similar to an English word, as if English must surely be the root of all words ever spoken.
Geographically, things may have changed, but linguistically, in all our minds, the sun never sets on the English language. And if it has, we just say the words louder — hoping the louder version is understandable and brings light to the heathens.
How pathetic we are.
A queue is forming behind me longer than the queue Italy made to surrender during every skirmish they were involved in during WW2. Italy’s motto is “Why fight when there’s pasta?"
You can’t fault that logic, can you? It’s also why Britain never surrenders:
Spotted Dick.
