A Shock at Grindelwald

Gentle reader, I know you wait with baited breath for an update of our doings, and - I promise - it will follow.  But first, you need to know - perhaps, if you are strong-minded - of the horrors that awaited us.

Understand, dear friend, that the flat we are privileged to borrow is beautiful in every way.  It is well-appointed inside, the balconies have breathtaking views of the Eiger, it is a close walk to a most beautiful village/town where almost everyone speaks English.  Our hosts are most kind, and I do not - in any way - suggest that they could be responsible for the outrage that awaited us.  Indeed, I have asked and they knew nothing about it.  Some ungrateful guest has abused their hospitality...

Naturally after a long journey from England what every Englishman needs immediately on arrival is a cup of tea.  There was only one variety of tea-bags available.  Please do not be frightened at the abomination; I doubt if you even knew such a thing were possible.   But they were Lancashire tea-bags.  Even now I cannot bring myself to append a picture of these things, and only include the link as testimony to my own veracity.

Well, needs must, and a Yorkshireman does not know the meaning of the word 'fear' (education - even in that glorious land - not being what once it was).  So, gripping my little Lancashire tea-bag in one hand and a kettle in the other, I brewed, waited and tasted.  Plainly, the experience was not fatal (since the dead do not continue blogs).  How were these tea-bags, you ask?  How do you think?

U n p l e a s a n t ,   v u l g a r   a n d   t a s t e l e s s .

Worse - yes, I assure you - was to follow.  I thought I would track down the source of this abomination and ensure that they are not available in England's green and pleasant land.  Here, then, is a quotation from the bottom of the box. 

'Because we are a young company, and not owned by any major corporation we rely on our customers to help us grow our business.' (Sic! or Sick?)

Yes, I assure you.  The dreaded lone comma of a pair.  Though passing themselves off as professionals, those who run this company do not know how to use a comma!  See here and here and for related material, here...

I have been unable to find, in this fair country of Switzerland, the proper thing.  But take heart, dear reader.  We have abandoned LT in favour of another brand which, while not the real thing, is a far better substitute.

I will give you some time to recover from the horrors of unaccompanied cupboard-searching, and then be back.  Meanwhile, just off for a cuppa.

O! What a marvelous society!

This morning I was proof reading my latest little booklet (to be anounced here soon) and so, naturally, I began re-reading the classic 'Eats, shoots and leaves' by Lynne Truss. Very good, it is, for a middle-aged old pedant like me. 


I hadn't registered, first time around, that there is a society (O! marvelous society!) called 'The apostrophe protection society' - but there is!  Quick, where do I join?  


And then, while reading it, I received this in my email:

Before being called to pastor *** Church, I inevitably faced a raft of questions from its eldership.  Beforehand, however, I also asked the elders some questions of my own. Since mentioning this in a prior post, I’ve been emailed several times to forward a copy of those questions to pastor’s in the same situation. Here then is a slightly ammended [...]

Now, I'm not quick to judge.  Heaven forfend.  It may just be a typo.    And even if it isn't, I wouldn't say that anyone who thought that "pastor's" is the plural of "pastor" ought not to be in the ministry, entrusted with the sacred charge of edifying others.  I wouldn't.  Quite.  (Oh, all right - I probably would.)  But come on now - READ THE BOOK.


And when you do, here are some gems you will find in the very first pages:

• My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou, not refraining thy foot from their way

contrasted with

• My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not, refraining thy foot from their way

Then, there's Ronnie Barker's (from 'Porridge') offering when reading a fellow prisoner's letter from home:

• Now I must go and get on my lover

as opposed to

• Now I must go and get on, my lover

Then, there's:

• A woman, without her man, is nothing

and

• A woman: without her, man is nothing

Finally, the longest (and best?):

Dear Jack,

I want a man who knows what love is all about.  You are generous, kind, thoughtful.  People who are not like you admit to being useless and inferior.  You have ruined me for other men.  I yearn for you.  I have no feelings whatsoever when we're apart.  I can be forever happy - will you let me be yours?

                                                  Jill

which is not quite the same as

Dear Jack,

I want a man who knows what love is.  All about you are generous, kind, thoughtful people, who are not like you.  Admit to being useless and inferior.  You have ruined me.  For other men I yearn! For you,  I have no feelings whatsoever.  When we're apart  I can be forever happy.  Will you let me be? 

                                Yours,

                                                  Jill

All the words are the same; but punctuation matters - doesn't it?