Last year I wrote a couple of jokey little entries on the oddities of my native tongue. It's time for another.
Snow is lumi. I, a latter-day city-dweller, can only really name two distinct types of snow - nuoska, the snow of lesser minus degrees (not räntä, sleet), the snow which squeaks under your feet, the snow you can make snowballs out of, and viti, the powdery snow of colder weathers (which won't work as snowball snow). Once on the ground, the lumi forms a hanki, in which you can discern individual drifts (or piles formed otherwise, e.g. by shovelling the snow with a kola). These are known as kinos. In the trees, particularly the fir trees, in certain conditions the snow sticks onto the branches and onto itself, creating huge billowy formations - tykky. Tykky can pile up so much the weight of it bends the tree into a bow or an arch, and sometimes snaps the trunk altogether. Snow can fall in various ways - pyry implies a thick snowfall, possibly in short bursts, during which the flakes can be bigger and can billow in the air, every which way; tuisku a thick snowfall, possibly of long durations, of smaller flakes, maybe with a wind driving them in a particular direction. Both words are used as first names - Pyry for a boy, Tuisku for a girl.
There are many more snow words. These are the ones I can remember at the moment.
I am going to see a butoh show tonight.
*and I only meant the language. The author of this blog wishes to thank Anne Kleemola for her lovely tykky photo. She has some other totally gorgeous shots on her Flickr account, mostly from Lapland, and one, as a surprise bonus, from Scotland. Go Anne.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Eat your heart out, Inuit*
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As you know, we only have one word for snow in England. The trouble is, we hardly ever get proper snow around where I live, just dandruff.
The weather forecast is for snow almost anywhere tomorrow. I doubt whether we'll see any here.
Ah yes, snow in the British Isles. To my recollection, it snowed twice during my six years in Wales - the second time was during my last winter there, and it lasted a few days. You know all the palaver that surrounds snowfall in the UK - the government declares a state of emergency, nobody should go out, offices, factories, big multi-national corporations, and, most importantly, schools close - well, all that happened (my older boy was in his first year of Welsh school, and the headmaster lived down a track a mile long, so there was no hope of school that week). The event has embedded itself so firmly in the minds and memories of my children (then just under five and just under three) they are still, after twelve years in Finland, adamant that Wales experiences heavier snowfall and harsher winters than Iglooland over here (may well be true, nowadays, though - we have had the crappest winter in recorded history. All we have left are the - numerous - words for snow, now so sadly defunct.)
Anna, you are absolutely correct in everything you say, but I have a simple excuse for this reaction. Because the snowfalls here are so few and far between, we are much less prepared for it than countries where people are born with skis instead of feet. We rarely need snow ploughs, for instance, so on the odd occasion when snow fall is heavy, roads close and people are trapped in the cars overnight. Two centimetres of snow can create hazardous driving conditions on untreated roads and if you then get an overnight freeze the roads are more like skating rinks. My partner, in Germany, used to have winter tyres for his car, which allowed him to more safely tackle snowy conditions. I'd never even heard of them till I went there.
The mentality here seems to be, it snows so rarely here, there is no point in spending huge amounts of money in preparations. So let's celebrate snow, give the children a day off to enjoy this uncommon treat and the teachers can stay safely at home instead of risking life and limb trying to get to school.
hey miss smilla-cyberfriend, hope you are doing well, so romantic to have all these words for snow! we should have as many words for rain, might make it more bearable... x
Navas, hei. Yes, I realise the thinking behind the (British) reaction to snowfall - I found myself in some fairly treacherous situations whilst driving in snow there. Winter tyres are compulsory here, from the beginning of November till the beginning of May (if I remember rightly - suddenly I think it might be from the beginning of December. This is traditionally man-work in my family, and I have never changed winter tyres myself ever once. But the more I think on it, the more correct November sounds). Of course, during a winter like this one, it is laughable, and the tyres wear down the roads enormously.
Incidentally, apologies for the lateness of this reply. The weight of life encumbers the dwellers of the frozen North (at least this one), giving blog responses a glacial speed. Hope you are well, though.
Hei, Ms "Legs" Cyberfriend, well just for you I have remembered another one - hankikanto, the condition (much beloved by cross-country skiers) where the hanki on the ground develops a harder, crusty surface, which stops one from sinking into it. We have a bit of it today (or had before the current pyry began) - my foot sank a little but my dog's didn't.
I bought myself cross-country skis last year. I got round to using them five or six times. I haven't been out once this year, and for once it is not just my idleness, it's the lack of snowy conditions I can blame. When I was a girl, I used to ski to school summers and winters*.
Thinking about you and your tribulations, cyberfriend. The apologies I gave Navas above (regarding my late reply) are obviously aimed at you, too.
*a braggy statement akin to the Monty Python sketch "well they were homes for us"
And hei, Cyberfriend - these are for you. Click on my link (I couldn't do it at your house, due to your stricter identity rules - which, I hasten to add, I perfectly understand you applying)...
beautiful, thankyou! x
Still no sign of one flake of snow, but endless warnings of the biggest storm of the winter moving in our direction. I look at my fence and wonder if it'll be all right (I lost two panels in the last high winds in February).
I am glad that the two holiday-makers will be flying back to Helsinki tonight, ahead of its arrival.
I hope the weight of life becomes lighter as the daylight hours get longer.
Take care
I think we all need more snow, I say that it's good for the soul (well this is the first time I've ever said it, but let that not take anything away from it).
I love all those words for snow, and I think you ought to make sure that your sons continue to think of Wales as they do!
Though I've been to the Alps more than once, my fondest memories in relatively recent years are of snow in Scotland: probably because of having been well away from anything remotely resembling a town or even a village. Lovely, beautiful bleakness accompanied by the smell of woodsmoke and the taste of fine whisky.
Anyway: before I get carried away...
Ms Legs, dear cyberfriend, you are most welcome. Hope they've brought you some cheer and the knowledge you're thought about in the (occasionally) frozen north. x
Hei Navas, I read on my BBC pages this evening that there have been some major storms in England. Keeping my fingers crossed for your (remaining) panels.
It must have been nice to see the two holiday-makers.
And yes, the weight of light seems to be inversely proportional (is this the right term? I certainly hope so) to the amount of light...the more light, the less weight. Just having to scrape through another month and then we can really, really begin to feel it - and in another two, it'll be amazing.
Odd, how it never ceases to amaze, actually. I think you should come and see the white nights sooner or later, Navas (if you haven't already done so).
x
Hei housut, nice to see you again. Yes, you are right - more snow all over the Northern Hemisphere would have been a good thing - we had tiny bit in January and now, in March, a whole week of it, and that's it - a stone's throw from the Arctic Circle, for God's sakes, that is a bit crap it has to be said.
But - and although I've never been to the Alps at all - I would have to agree with you with the snow there not feeling like it's sort of real snow (at least in my thoughts this is the way). There's something too pointy and fake about how it feels, and now you're going to think I'm mad so I'd better move swiftly on to say yes, I've been to Scotland once too, and although it was June, I managed to see snow twice (this was in 1990, before global warming) - once whilst giving up an attempt to conquer Ben Nevis in leggings (we used to wear them in those days, housut, there's nothing there to snicker about, young man) and espadrils, the second time whilst driving through the mountains in the, um, middle bit (damn my bad geography) - although that didn't lie. Ben Nevis, however, was snow-peaked just like that puny African attempt at a mountain, Kilimanwhatsit.
Yes, as you said, now before I get carried away...
(and as I said, nice to see you. x )
We seem to have got off lightly, as far as the storms are concerned. The South coast and the West were badly hit, and later upnorth are going to get a battering. We're East and more or less in the middle bit. Usually we get the best of whatever weather is around.
It was indeed lovely to see the Two. She looked a bit on the skinny side though (how can anyone lose weight at Christmas?). It was nice to meet The Man at last and we have an open invitation to visit them in their new residence in the slightly-less-than-frozen-due-to-global-warming North (I bet the Germans have a proper word for that ;-)). I will take them up on the offer one of these days, although I have to say that, being half-Spanish, I am drawn to warmer climes. One day you and I may even meet face to face :-)
Anna, with ref to what you said to housut, following your remarks about snow ("and now you're going to think I'm mad"): I, for one, do think you are mad, perhaps not completely like moi (I need to be No.1 at something after all), but yes. Just thought you should know this. Ta ta for now. (See how mad I am? See?)
p.s. Oh, and when I clicked on that link you gave for NMJ I was expecting snow, and there were tulips, and then I thought I really might be a bit, you know -
Yes, Signs, welcome to the human race. We all think you're a bit, you know -. But I'm pleased to know I too make the mad books by the Signs criteria.
As for snow piccies, I believe - nay, I know you have finally found one. Not saying or even implying that you're slow or anything, Signs. Just, you know, saying.
Boo! I get there in the end, Ms Mister, slow but sure, that's me.
Hi Anna and greetings the Winnebago of Pants. I don't suppose I'll be seeing snow for a while so thanks for the reminder.
xxx
Pants
Ha. Signsmeister, sweetheart, compared with my slowness, you are positively approaching the speed of light and stuff. It is all relative. Just saying.
Pants of Pöksyt, it is truly a delight to see you here. I am honoured and pleased and v.happy indeed. How are you, where are you? Back Down Under in the land of funny upside-down folk who wear corks in their hats and say "mate" a lot? Or still trundling away in India? (I'm afraid Winnebago doesn't say a great deal. It doesn't sound Indian, true, but then it could be the name of your camper van or something. I am a dork. I will truly try and come and see you in the House of Pants because surely all will be revealed there (unfortunate pun should be ignored totally). I have been sort of in hibernation here, Pants, only visiting exactly three blogs for the longest time - possibly all of 2008 - but I have a feeling that the season is turning. Totally lovely, anyway, to see you. Hope you are fine and happy, and please give my best regards to your esteemed companion, the genetically modified owl cat.)
Ehi voi! Messo in un post o essere di buon vicinato e di visita, hanno un panino e una tazza di tè, innit? Un cig troppo, ma non posso che unirmi a voi nel. Non posso aspettare di vedere come vanno queste cose a rivelarsi. Io vado a suonare come una tale sanguinosa high-brow intellettuale - che naturalmente io sono! Appena detto.
Now we know how you spend your time during those long winters: making up new words for snow.
This is not a bad pastime. Walking in the snowy forest or looking at the snow on trees, as you described in your previous post,takes the breath away from the sheer earthly majesty of it all.
With global warming:
ou sont les neiges d'antan?
(or...mon ame est un gros flocon)
Ok cara signora, ho risposto a te adesso.
Cara Lettura dei segni, mia bella, ciao. Va bene? Grazie mille per risposto. Io nippio inno per esteemedio Domus Segni per minuto piccolino per voi risposto letturaio. Si, si, verilio. Soi molto difficulto per italiano parle i scribenti. Parola. Arrivederci piccolo, caro Segni - io sono fumatore, io musto una ciggio fumare.
Mwah i molto mwah. xxxx.
Montag, mon cher, quelle surprise delicieuse. Alas, you may note a certain deficiency in my French - it would be a sign of your keen eye for languages, to be sure, because my French is totally non-existent, I hate to admit. I went to Babelfish, of all places, to find out what it was you had wanted to tell me, and this is what I was told:
"or are snows of antan? (gold... my heart is a large flake)"
from which I instantly deduced that you (as I had rather suspected) are a poet, Montag, a real poet. My heart is a large flake. You have no idea how well that seems to describe me, my heart, and my life. I am totally blown away.
But yes - the various words for snow go to show the relevance the stuff has had for my ancestry. If it is central for one's everyday life - survival, even - to know and be able to describe exactly what the snow conditions are like, there shall be words for them. Although why the buildup of snow on the branches of trees would be crucial to anyone's survival is a bit beyond me, so I may have been guilty of a tiny bit of exaggeration there, Montag. This is something that happens to me from time to time and I apologise. We are currently experiencing a bit of a takatalvi, literally "rear winter" - meaning it has gone snowier (and colder) now than at any point during winter proper (and it is officially spring here too), but I'm not complaining. It's better winter comes now than not at all (or in June). I felt all forlorn thinking that all we had left of our diamonds-and-ice winters was the defunct lingo describing them.
Absolutely wonderful to see you again, Montag. Hope all is well and that your Easter was restful, peaceful, good, and maybe a mite playful too.
Great to hear from you.
Sorry about the French. I have a "Photoshop Tennis" approach to language. ( see "flickr.com" and search "photoshop tennis" if the concept is a bit vague.)
"antan" is old French for "long time ago": where are the snows of old? ( or "of yesteryear" as it is famously translated.)
It was a poem by some tyrannically bright and brainy French guy.
As for one's heart or soul being a big snowflake, I guess I like standing in an open area in the woods during a snowstorm and looking at the infinity of snow.
I gives me sort of a feeling like: this is how God created the universe; He overwhelmed the Void with an infinite snowstorm of the divine.....
either that or He threw a snowball at it, hence the "big bang".
It continues snowing here also. I do not mind a bit. I love winter and the treasures of winter which cast no shadow under the grey, snowy sky.
Too many shadows in summer.There are enough people and things hanging around, aimlessly gawking, without an unnecessary multiplication of shadows, too!
This week's poem is for you....and your sisters. It's Friday already and I have only a hint of something about trees dee-dum-dee-dum-tra-la. Hope it ends up better than that.
I should have it up by Sunday, March 30.
As I remarked elsewhere, I do not know whether you have sisters or not, but in the "photoshop tennis" of my mind, they have already been edited in.
Anna, if you haven't sisters, may I stand in for one?
Next to Signs, I mean?
Montag, Montag, Montag. I have left you waiting for a response for longer than is polite, really, but you've only yourself to blame - you came bearing many things and I have spent long whiles researching them (and being led completely astray at interesting tangents which crop up so easily on our friend the internet). But yes, let's try to answer to some of your bountiful comment gifts - and the pressing question of sisters.
Ah, sisters. Anna and her sisters, the three sisters, the tree sisters. I am, to my eternal regret (I turned round numbers last year and, by my faulty calculus levels, a prime number this year, and am slowly getting used to the fact I haven't and shall never have a big brother) (or several), and shame, too (which was given to me by those who taught me, when I was a girl, which isn't fair really, because it's hardly something I could effect change upon) I am, Montag, a singleton, a one-off, they broke the mold (mould? Dammit, this is my stumbling block, spelling-wise. I'd better hasten to dictionary.com and sort it out once and for all) (alright - sorted. Being as I am, sort of adoptedly Chiefly British, I'd better use the form) mould when they made me. However. In my most recent past, I have increasingly become reclusive in the everyday physical world (I like my job and, to some extent, my children too, and see plenty of people through these two instances and find the company of people rather exhausting in my spare time) but concurrently to my hermitting on the outside I have found very very satisfying relationships here on the inside (I avoid using the "Real World"/Internet dichotomy. What's not real about (my words, ergo, me) being in this box?). Consequently I was going to proudly announce a sisterhood based on (amongst many other things) Princeling Hamlet and the Company of Wolves, namely between myself and the fair Reading the Signs, whom you, Montag, ought to visit forthwith if you haven't already done so - I think you'll find you like her a lot. I certainly do (I am sorry but I cannot risk linking to her here, because I am plagued by a horrible bug that causes my embedded links in comment boxes to make the whole comment become the link and oh dear, it's too horrid and embarrassing. But you'll find her easily enough, here on this thread amongst many, many, many other threads). But lo, look- it's all been made so much more to the literary degree by the appearance of the fair Nicola suggesting a sisterdom with me. That is a fabulously lovely thing (hello Nicola - I'll get back to you soon if not directly after writing to Montag, I've a lovely korma to attend to and I'm being verbose to the extreme here, which may mean you'll have to excuse me for an hour or two) and so I can say yes, Montag, there are Anna and her sisters, although we aren't all here in the land of the ice and snow and long winters and takatalvi (and I've been to yours and seen your poem and I am going to have to write a post to link to it, Montag, and you'll just have to excuse me).
Okay. So that's the sisters issue done, I think. As for photoshop tennis, I was utterly unaware of it till now but it looks like a fun thing if you know how to play. I don't have photoshop and the free alternative, gimp, is a fine thing if you're born in the nineties but I cannot make the damn programme even open a photo, let alone start tampering with it. My older son makes lovely pictures out of nothing with it, though. But yes. A photoshop tennis approach to languages (and many other things, including sisters cetra) sounds like a fine thing and one that I will find easy enough to adopt.
And then there's the Villon and the neige of yesteryear. What a totally lovely thing that was, and I am happy to have come across it (and how comes I've never heard of it before? How poor is my level of literary knowledge, for goodness' sakes?). I have fairly fallen in love with the refrain. And as for your revised Big Bang theory - I was married to an astrophysicist, once, but your version holds poetic appeal aplenty, even for one floundering in a universe without God.
I'd better finish off and post this before it gets to be longer than anything that can be read or something. Totally lovely, as always, Montag. Under my name, a little something my research uncovered.
So, you have seen the poem about the Lady of Chimayo. Good.
Of the 43 or so poems, it is quite possibly the best. It was written out two or three times, so that probably explains that.
The other poems can be a bit...rough and unfinished, shall we say?
Thanks for the Villon. How could I have forgotten the poet-thief? I mean, I read a bloody biography of Villon once! A big biography, too.
I throughly enjoyed your long reply.
Brevity of words may be the soul of wit, but Length of words can easily be an enchantment.
ps. shall pop over to reading the signs soon.
Lovely Nicola - I am honoured and blushing and yes of course, I would be delighted to open a new sisterdom with you - consider it done.
However, now that I'm your sister, I can start running your life and telling you what to do (I think this is what sisters do - at least if they're me, okay?) and (I bet you can see this coming, Nicola) I am sternly encouraging you in a most sisterly fashion to open some sort of a blog house of your own, for crying out loud. We need somewhere to congregate for the pyjama parties that you're bound to throw for Signs and myself to get all raucous at. As I recall, you've been tagged, too, absolutely decades ago by Himself (aka TPE - hello, gorgeous) so there's your first post all ready and waiting for you.
Be seeing you, number sis (yes, that was about as lame as can get)... this has been a delightful development.
O splendid - and are you going to run my life for me too, Anna? Because let me tell you, Sis, things could do with being sorted around here. Excellent instruction re Nicola's blog btw, we must be visible and shine, like the Andrews sisters, who were really nice Jewish girls though many people don't know that. I assume you both can sing - yes, of course you can, good, we can begin planning our tour: Reading the Sisters, Sisters of my Past, whatever, we'll make it up as we go along, always the best way.
Montag - hello! The lovely Anna says you will like me and I blush and remonstrate as is proper, but I am, it has to be said, quite likeable. Only sometimes I miss the mark a little and I don't like to disappoint. I am a sign-reader, Mr. Montag, you see, one of the very last of my kind, and ours is a strange and lonely destiny. Sometimes we (I don't mean Anna or Nicola, the latter not even having her own blog yet) write damnably mediocre blog posts. But don't let that put you off. And I am not as gifted a hostess as Anna is. But there are moments, flashes of brilliance. I have not spotted them myself, but I am reliably informed that they are there.
I think, Anna, it does perhaps behove you to set a good example and put up another post soon - set a good example to the sisterhood. On the other hand, ain't no-one gonna tell a sister what she should do. What? Not even another sis. So ignore me, ok? Ish.
Oh dear Anna, no, slow as I am I didn't see it coming which I should have done having held tpe's insistence at bay for so long now. I am tempted, I can tell you, by this bloggy stuff - just need to get some steam up and of course, IF I do it, I shall be asking you, dear Sisters, and brother tpe, to help me. And yes, Anna, as Sister Signs says, set me a fine example by posting soon.
Montag, hello, don't you believe it - I have never seen a mediocre post on Signs' site or here either.
I'm off, singing...
Hi Nicola, of course you should get yourself going on one of these blog things, but beware, it needs careful tending. I even have one myself but I get over there so rarely that the dust is at least a centimetre thick and it's covered in cobwebs. One of these fine days I'll either go over and do a bit of housekeeping and maybe post something or cover the whole lot in dustsheets!
Maybe I wasn't cut out for this blogging thing...or maybe I'm just extremely slow in getting it going properly!
My Flickr thing gets more of my attention.
Anna, I see your Flickr thing is springing into life again :-)
Ha. Quoting you, Montag - "Brevity of words may be the soul of wit, but Length of words can easily be an enchantment." Yes, that may well be so, but as we all know, silence is golden, or at least we'd better think that because the cat's got my tongue or my keyboard or something. I can't believe I have left you unreplied-to for so long.
Hope you are okay, anyway, and I am posting soon, I am, I am. Honestly.
Singing Signs, be careful what you wish for, for you may get it. I do sing, as it happens (whether I can or not is a different matter entirely), and not only do I sing but I can do the tune you've brought (which is totally hot and danceable, incidentally) in Finnish. Here, let me hum you a few bars from the chorus:
Sä kaunehin oot, kai tiedätkin sen
jos minne kuljen sua mä aattelen...
Now unfortunately I've been unable to attach a soundbite of that little ditty (and I've tried, believe me Signs - why else would I have taken so long to reply? I've been up all hours, trying to install plug-ins and other horrific eventualities but it's all to no avail) but I've left you a little something by Finland's answer to the nice Jewish girls you mention. They do, admittedly, sing in German in the clip, but I know this will pose you no problems, and should you most terribly need to hear some Finnish, that can be arranged at future comments/replies.
Phew. What else? I think we already had a band going once, did we not? Buggered if I can remember what it was called right now - it had a cleverly-knitted Steinerian name. Damn. Anyway, Sister Bossy-boots, yes yes yes yes yes, I'll get round to posting sometime soon. Honestly. It's just, well, ars longa, vita brevis, you know. Or something. Mwah, Signs, sorry to leave you unreplied-to for yonks.
Oh Nicola, my brand-spanking new sis, of course you must just get yourself blogging. No reason why not. You see, you don't have to do anything according to any set rule whatsoever. It'll be your house, you see, your domain, where you can explore whatever it is you want to be looking at (Navas, for instance, wants to be looking at dust, and who can blame her? Fascinating stuff, and 96% made of people, or something) (hello Navas - I'll get to you in a moment). Although I am currently being a bit silent and particularly sorry about being so silent here where you all are (and I really am, okay?), I have learned a lot about the main themes that my blog has come fitted with - I talked about this at length a year ago, when my blog turned one, in a post called "This blog is about trousers" or something - but just to recap, the themes at least of the first year were all sorts of trivialities ("trousers") and shame tolerance, my personal companion for life (shame, that is - the tolerance is what I've worked on, over here, and it's been working). Whether the themes have changed over my second year, I haven't really analysed yet. Damn, another bloody birthday coming up, more introspection and reasons for putting up a new post. Oh dear.
God, I'm rambling a bit. What I'm trying to say, Nicola, is that I've gone a long way from squirming over every one of my words and posts cetra, and that I find that to be a positive development. So go girl, build a house of words. You can put anything in it. It's good. So, no pressure, but I'll be watching that space. Be seeing you, number Sis... and oh, since I left a wee something for Signs up there, let me see if I can give you something Finnish as well. Hold on. Delving deep into youtube to emerge with something rich and strange. Click, if you please, on my name...
Navas of Dust, hello. Yes, my flickr thing is slowly limping to life again - light has returned which makes photography that little bit easier. Hurrah.
Listen, I must tell you what I told Nicola up there - there's no right way of doing this blog thing and I enjoyed what you'd done at yours. (Granted, I haven't been for a while, but you mustn't take that personally, please, because I get funny with space travel from time to time and just don't do it. It may well be that the return of light will make that that little bit easier, too.) Who's to say how often one "should" (or indeed, should not) be posting? Nobody. So keep the dust sheets in the closet, Navas, and enjoy the beautiful soft grey matter that builds up on one's words when they've been sitting still for a while. Yes. (And cobwebs are fine things too, specially with the light falling upon them just so.) (Actually - are you reading, Nicola? - come to think of it, "Cobwebs and Dust" would be a fine name for a blog, and it would sound like that Joan Baez song. Just saying.)
Okay - a little something with a Finnish twist for you too, Navas. The singer may be tremendously familiar to you but may I point out it's yours truly leaning fatly against the bar table at the very left of the shot. Shhhh...hello Navas, I'm waving to you there. Sort of.
Funnily enough, a certain singer I know was once asked if she collected anything. Her reply was, "Yes, dust".
Anna, you say "another bloody birthday coming up". With all this talk of sisterhood maybe you and I are even twins. I too have one of those days very close indeed.
Anyway, inspired by your gentle encouragement, I have put away the dustsheets for the moment and even turned out another little reflection on my life in my bloggy thing. Indeed the next few weeks could be interesting so I might even get around to adding more!
Ha. We could very well be sisters indeed, Navas - that would certainly explain my inexhaustible drive to advise a certain singer in how she should lead her life (she will back up this my claim if you ask her). Congratulations on your impending b.day - mine, however, is not until September. I was referring to my blog girl's birthday. As she is turning only two, I will have to note it somehow (these things matter more to children, yes?) - and it is going to be introspective and demand A Post. Damn damn and thrice damn - there's no escaping it.
My spy systems tell me you are in Germany. Viel Spaß, Navas (I do a fine line in crap German, be warned), and I shall do my best to fly over to your house to see what you've been up to.
A plethora of Mwahs to you, weird high-rise, igloo-dwelling Finlander. That was a most beautiful discovery and reminded me of the recordings from a Barbershop group that my dearly beloved Dad used to sing in many years ago. But this was something different again. Being of a nosey disposition, and feeling sure that your other sisters, Nicola and Navas, would not mind, I have also listened and looked in on the other links. Methought to have spotted, as in a dream (as 'twere), a familiar face. I need to take more drugs, is what it is. But anyway, cut to the important stuff: the food - what was he cooking up there with that contraption? Wonderful idea, the tin of peas in the middle there.
I go, I go - see how I go! As Ariel would say. I have stayed here rather than get on with, you know, things, but sometimes it is good so. I thank you.
But I don't know about qwzyqfuv, and think that after all this time it's really a bit of a liberty.
Ha, Signs, I bet you didn't expect me to pounce upon you with the ferocity of sister wolves. But, as it happens, I am online Doing Something that may or may not be writing a post - and if it is, you've only your pestering self to blame, so there.
Glad you liked the snippety-clipets. I fear I may be repeating myself giving you this link but I am really quite fond of the film in question (the cooking is truly exceptional, is it not?) and her singing is more in the range I can reach (she used to be a real star, with the song she sings there, as well as the other song in the clip for the gentle Nicola (Nicola, are you reading this? Where's your blog? No pressure), in the early 50s). No high notes for me, please, when we start rehearsing with the Sisters of Dust and The Signs of Future.
Okay, back to whatever it is I was doing...be seeing you, number Signs-sis. Mwah and mwah again.
(And that word ver does seem quite cheeky-meaningful, as it seems to start with quasi-something. No "quasi" here, okay, you insolent weevils? All genuine stuff and the real item. Bloody hell.)
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