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Rather bizarre incident this morning. Up and about early with brother for tedious reasons, we came across a stranded trucker. Oh noes! How strange! Or, you know, not.
The village where I live is twinned with Stadt Moers in Germany, and the industrial park not too far from us is a mecca for German, French and Spanish businesses. This is great for the EU funding this region gets as a result, and also even better for the amount of run-ins one has with sexy continental types.
So it was this morning that when a lorry stopped and a man flagged us down to ask for directions, we were more than happy to help. And also show off our l337 language skills.
“sdrydtfuhftjufyj ygfjghjghjghj” he said.
“Ah,” I muttered. “Paul, what did he just say?”
“I dunno.”
My brother, the Amazing Language King, didn’t know? Something was dreadfully wrong. Because I am ignorant, yo, I couldn’t quite work out which country this guy was from. There was a “TR” on the back of the truck, but no EU symbol, so I couldn’t even be sure if he were European. The company’s name? “Gur.” It didn’t leave us with much to go on. Gur.
“Can we help you?” asked my brother in English. Then German.
Well. No understand. We went through as many languages as we could. He didn’t speak English, French, German, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese or even Greek (which was actually a good thing, because I doubt wishing him a good day, asking for an extra helping of ouzo or swearing would have done him any good). We were at a loss, though it was pretty funny to see my walking Google Translate brother flummoxed.
The man pointed to something on a map—Matalan. No, not some wonderful word, but the name of a nondescript warehouse chain best for cheap holiday buys. Only, how to explain to him that he needed to turn around, go hard right, follow the dual carriageway into the city, then off towards the racecourse? Impossible.
So, we did what we had to, and drove there, big scary truck following us, escorting him for the half an hour’s drive into the city quarters of the chain. When he saw the warehouse, he waved excitedly and stuck his thumb up. Well, it got the point across.
We felt right good for having done our good deed for the day, but also slightly crap. All that language and all that study, and we hadn’t been able to communicate with him. Bah.
The internets, by the way, tell me that the truck was Turkish.
In other news, I’m signed off work till next Monday due to The Spectacular Fall With The Bruises, The Whiplash and The Crying Oh Ah Eek. Bargain Hunt, sushi and slash! Sick days rule. >:)
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Cheap as chips.
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It's that Dicky guy or whatever his name is. He has a great bowtie going on, but it's not the same.
Your icon is great. Also kind of hypnotising.
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Your icon is full of Franz goodness. OMG!! ARGH! I think they're on the radio tonight!
DIRTY!
Hits on the radio! (See what I did there,
Re: DIRTY! - Filthy!
Re: DIRTY! - Filthy!
Re: DIRTY! - Filthy!
Re: DIRTY! - Filthy!
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is "twinned" a word? really and truly?
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Honestly, it's all over the UK. "Twinned with" such-and-such. There's a place "twinned" with New York. It should totally have been Liverpool, but people are stupid and don't realise that New York is a bigger, sexier Liverpool.
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Cheers!
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I felt so sorry for him, though. I remember when I was stuck in Paris one absurd night and a French guy helped me... nice to "pay it forward", isn't it?
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Except with tracksuits instead of white hair.
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I really like Belgian chocolate.
Love, Becky
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My Alsatian is from Skelmersdale... no wonder he acts so weird. ;)
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That sounds like me after too much wine.
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