صفحات الموضوع:   < [1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89] >
Corona quarantine diary
ناشر الموضوع: Mervyn Henderson

Mervyn Henderson  Identity Verified
أسبانيا
Local time: 01:33
إسباني إلى أنجليزي
+ ...
بادئ الموضوع
Stars in their aisles - Part III Jan 16

The redhead shouted again, as a crowd was beginning to gather around people claiming to be actors at the supermarket:

“Can we hurry it up here, please? Next for the till?”

The woman who’d started all this waved her hand dismissively. “Nothing to do with you! This is between this man who says he’s Ryan Gosling, my man Robert de Niro and Al Pacino here. Who do you think you are, Miss?”

“Actually,” said the cashier, dramatically ripping off her
... See more
The redhead shouted again, as a crowd was beginning to gather around people claiming to be actors at the supermarket:

“Can we hurry it up here, please? Next for the till?”

The woman who’d started all this waved her hand dismissively. “Nothing to do with you! This is between this man who says he’s Ryan Gosling, my man Robert de Niro and Al Pacino here. Who do you think you are, Miss?”

“Actually,” said the cashier, dramatically ripping off her drab BM overall and revealing a tight thin T-shirt straining with the weight, “I’m Scarlett Johansson.”

“Come off it, lady,” said Robert de Niro, “everyone knows Scarlett’s a blonde.”

The cashier dramatically ripped off her red wig, and it seemed that, in fact, it was her. Well, that was two rips within a short space of time, so all the men were paying close attention now, with an eye on that T-shirt, just in case she was going to rip anything else off. Dramatically or otherwise. Slowly, maybe. Or rhythmically. Or dramatically and slowly and rhythmically, weaving around on top of the cash desk. Sorry, I digress. What I mean is that I assume all the other men were thinking that. Disgusting animals, I know. If it had been Greta Scacchi, now, she’d have ripped the lot off at the very beginning. Not that I was thinking that, you understand. It was the other men thinking that.

“I’m working as a BM cashier to edge myself into my new role,” smiled Scarlett. “It’s a film called “The Cashier”, about an everywoman down on her luck working as a supermarket cashier, until one day she falls in love with a film director who wants her in his film about an everywoman down on her luck working as a supermarket cashier who falls in love with a film director, an encounter that will change their lives forever.”

The man whose items Scarlett had been processing was a little bewildered, and definitely irritated as he stood there at the end, having bagged everything, but still waiting for her to do the rest of it: “Excuse me, could we just get on with this, Miss?” he said sharply.

Scarlett tossed her head and looked him up and down, arms akimbo. “How dare you talk to me like that! How dare you! Just because I’m an everywoman supermarket cashier doesn’t give you the right, you know.”

She beamed at the little man with daft straggly hair and glasses third along in the queue. “Was that OK, Woody? Or was it … too much?” Her face fell. “It was, wasn’t it? Yes, I knew it. It was too much, far too much.”

Tears were welling up in her eyes. She began to breathe loudly through her nose and her head moved up and down vigorously. Which meant her huge chest heaved and swung vigorously too. Not that I noticed, you understand. It was all the other men that noticed. Yes, there they stood, watching her, leering at the definition, the geometry, the trigonometry and Pythagoras' theorem of those delicious orbs with the pink chapel hatpegs swelling and threatening to break right through the material. The utter animals. Disgusting, I call it.

The little man with the glasses threw up his hands. “What can I say, Scarlett? Take it easy, will you? This is just a bit of method. This isn’t the film, you know, so don’t get all Jewish on me already. I remember my mother, now she would get all Jewish on me, yes, because, you know, she was Jewish, my mother, well, a Jewess, really, a Jewish Jewess. I remember when I was growing up in Brooklyn –“

Well, that was it for me. I couldn’t take any more. I just left that trolley there, bought nothing, and I got the hell out, damn right I did. I met my neighbour Javier in the hall, checking the post boxes. “Don’t even think about going down to BM supermarket today, Javier,” I told him. “It’s all actors and directors down there this evening. Robert de Niro, Scarlett Johansson, Woody Allen, pfffff.”

Javier stared at me. “Directors? Pedro Almodóvar wasn’t there by any chance, was he?” Javier is a rather nondescript man of about fifty, but I then watched in amazement as his hand reached behind his head, he ripped a mask off, and there in front of me stood Antonio Banderas. "Peeeeeeedrooooooo!" he screamed.

“Jesus,” I said, “I’m going home. Jesus Christ.”

Then Banderas said, “What did you say? Did you say, like, Jesus? Like … Jesus Christ?”

What was this guy on about? “Yes”, I snarled. “Like Jesus. Like Jesus Christ …”



"Oh, bugger," I thought. Yes, like Jesus. Like Jesus Christ. Again ...


...

It’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, they say, than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God. And if you don’t believe me, just ask Herod. Remember that paranoid sonofa? Dad had to wait years for it, but he got his own back on Herod in the end. Pete – well, you know him as Saint Peter, but around here we all just call him Pete – called up to the house when Herod arrived at the Pearly Gates one day. Dad strolled down in a shell suit and dark glasses, unshaven, slapping casually at a baseball bat.


“It’s OK, Pete,” he growled. “I’ll take care of this bloke myself. This time it’s personal - he tried to mess with my boy. Here, hand me that Book of Life."


“Are you the one in charge?” rapped Herod haughtily. “I’m not used to being kept waiting, you know.”


Pete told me Dad was real cool about it. He never even answered him. “Thing is,” Dad said, resting the bat on his shoulder and walking up real close and looking him up and down, “there’s no record of you in this here Book, Heron. It was Heron, wasn’t it, you said?”


“No, not Heron, Herod! Herod the First!”, he retorted. “Herod the Great. King of the Jews, if you please.”


“Hear that, Pete?”, said Dad. “King of the Jews,” he says. “Sorry moosh, but we’ve already got one of those here. Straight up. This isn’t your stop, mate, you’re, erm, yes, you’re booked in downstairs, you are. Yes, that’s right, down below here. With a lad who used to be with us, kind of an ex-associate, like. It didn’t work out, though. Wanted to do his own thing. And he branched out, see, set up all on his tod, it’s down these steps, just down here, come on, follow me, yes, quite dark, isn’t it, and steep, too, you mind your step now, son, don’t want to do yourself a mischief, do you, ha-ha, no … yes, he’s got a nice little operation going here, he has, this bloke … lakeside accommodation, yes, a heated lake and everything … what, you’ve never seen one of those, eh?, oh yes, all mod cons down here, you’ll see, he has this system called Fire and Brimstone®, listen, listen, can you hear them all squealing and shrieking down there? The guests are wild about it, I can tell you …”




I was pretty nervous about going down to earth to mingle with my fellow man, I’ll tell you. I had more than a few misgivings, sure I did. I went to see Dad about it before the Big Day came. I’d been having nightmares, you see. So there I was in his office, talking about this and that, and then I just came out with it, you know. I did. I blurted it out. “Dad," I said, "dad, … you, er, you’ll be with me down there, right? You won’t let me down, will you, Dad?”


He frowned a little at that. Like I had touched a nerve or something.


“Oh come on, son. Will I be with you? Are you listening to yourself? My life, what kind of a question is that? Every step of the way, lad, of course I will. I mean, this is Dad here.” I couldn’t help getting the impression he was a little evasive, though. The voice was nonchalant enough, but I noticed he had suddenly lowered his eyes and was rearranging things on his desk, his to-do list, the huge calendar, the photo of Mary with me in her arms and Joseph at the inn, with the caption ‘And Jesus Made Three’:


“It’s just I had this dream, you know. And in the dream I was dying, crying out for you, arms outstretched, asking why you had abandoned me, but in the dream you never showed up, Dad.”


He coughed a little, looked up and chuckled wryly, but I noticed he didn’t look me in the eye:


“Hey, you know how it is with dreams, son. Dreams you’re dying in are always the best. Don’t fret about it. And anyway, as you know, I’ve done all the important stuff already. You’re just doing a clean-up operation, really. You and that John the Baptist lad are doing a bit of PR, that’s all.”


Yeah, right. Of course. Well, I could see that one coming a mile off. He WOULD say that, wouldn’t he? How typical. Jesus. Yes, it’s enough to make me take my own name in vain. Thing is, there’s always been a lot of tension between Dad and me on that score. So childish, too. Kind of “oh yeah, well, my Old Testament’s miles better than your New Testament”. Dad still goes on and on and on about it so much. I swear, if I’ve heard about how much he needed a whole day’s rest after that six-day stint once, I’ve heard it a million times. How he jumped in and stayed Abraham’s hand at the very last minute. I mean, I can’t come out and say these things, of course, but who sets a bloke up to sacrifice his own son in the first place? And that burning bush, too. A burning bush? Seriously. Even the concept of a burning bush is open to misinterpretation in certain quarters, too. And, just by way of a reminder to every last one of you out there, because you’re going to meet him some day for sure, when the time comes and you’re up there with him, don’t get him started with the Parting of the Waters, whatever you do:


“Picture the scene,” he told me so many bloody times, his eyes shining with the glory of it all. “The children of Israel have just reached the Red Sea, but no way to get across. So what do I do? I have a word in Moses’ ear and part the waters, that’s what I do, schloo-oooo-oo-oo-oo-oosssssssh, those waters part, and they all scamper safely across with a huge wall of water hundreds of feet up on either side. When they’ve all made it across, and those soldiers are charging after them, what do I do? I close it all up again, that’s what I do, and all the soldiers and chariots and horses, the whole lot of them, down down down into the murky depths to a watery grave, a horrible, nightmarish end, hawking and coughing and gasping desperately for breath with water in their lungs. Yes,” said the God of Love, “I cooked their goose all right. I did them in good and proper.”


You know, I was never sure about this Wrath/Love of God thing. Sometimes I felt he was, well, going too far, overdoing it a little. Like when he showed me what they did to Job. We used to watch it on the big screen, him, me and Spook. The Holy Spirit, I mean, who's kind of always shimmering around. You don't even notice he's there, either, you're talking to someone or having a cuppa or something, and then suddenly it's all kind of shimmery around you, and that's Spook, around here at home he’s just Spook:


“… look, look, look, watch, this is the best bit,” Dad would breathe, pointing at the screen, just as the servant races in to tell Job the latest in a string of calamities - a house falling in on his sons and daughters after a freak wind.

Dad’s lips would move excitedly along with the servant’s lips on the big screen as he stood there recounting the terrible, awful tragedy to Job:


“ … and I alone have escaped to tell thee.”


“See that?” he exclaimed. “What a man. What a shining example Job was. The trials and tribulations that man went through. He lost his ass. Not just his ass, in fact. His ox, his ass, his oxen and his asses, his family, his money, the lot, but did he badmouth us? No, not one word. He never said one word against us. Job never sold out. Talk about faith.” He strolled off, humming what sounded like George Michael’s “You gotta have faith.”


Later on, though, Dad never said much about MY end of things. A bit begrudging, that kind of way. He was always picking holes in my parables, for a start. Sour grapes, I thought – quite frankly, between ourselves, I thought he was a tiny bit jealous. After all, I was the Parables Man, and he really never had any himself, so he would just carp at them:


“Son, I know you mean well, but really, this business about the Prodigal Son …”


“Yes, well, what about it?” I retorted.


“Well, so it’s a parable, but you’ve got to admit it’s more than a little unlikely. One brother stays at home, and the other insists on getting his inheritance early to go off and seek his fortune. But all he does is spend it on wine, women and song for years, squanders it all, and there comes a day when he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat, was that how it went? - so back he goes empty-handed. And the father? The father is so pleased to see him again he organises a home-coming, dresses him up in the finest robes, and sends the servants off to kill the fatted calf. Seriously? All this time the other brother has been the dutiful son, working hard at home, in fact twice as hard because his brother was off living it up. The other brother’s got to feel pretty miffed, you’ve got to see that, son.”


“But not as miffed as the fatted calf, right?” I joked.


He glared at me. He never was one for jokes, Dad. “What I mean,” he harrumphed, “is that any normal human being will be with the stay-at-home on this one. You mark my Word.”


[Edited at 2021-01-16 07:32 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-01-16 07:36 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-01-16 09:43 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-01-16 13:02 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-01-16 13:07 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-01-16 16:12 GMT]
Collapse


Zibow Retailleau
P.L.F.Persio
Chris S
expressisverbis
 

P.L.F.Persio  Identity Verified
هولندا
Local time: 01:33
عضو (2010)
أنجليزي إلى إيطالي
+ ...
Mervyn the Marvellous Jan 16

You're delving into the Divine now, and I doff my hat to you. Definitely delightful!

Zibow Retailleau
expressisverbis
 

Mervyn Henderson  Identity Verified
أسبانيا
Local time: 01:33
إسباني إلى أنجليزي
+ ...
بادئ الموضوع
Divine? Jan 16

More like a lack of divine and a re-delve too, but thanks very much anyway, PLF!!

[Edited at 2021-01-16 09:29 GMT]


 

Alexandra Scott  Identity Verified
كندا
Local time: 19:33
عضو (2006)
إيطالي إلى أنجليزي
+ ...
JHC Jan 16

Yet another tour de force, Mervyn!

For your next fable, perhaps you could tell us how our Lord got the initials JHC. I’ve always wondered what the “H” stands for...


 

Mervyn Henderson  Identity Verified
أسبانيا
Local time: 01:33
إسباني إلى أنجليزي
+ ...
بادئ الموضوع
JHC Jan 16

Thanks, Alexandra!

In reply, I'm told our late friend was called JHC, apparently, because his middle name was Harold:


"Jesus, OK, sorted. But are we going to give him a middle name too, Virgin Mary?"

"I suppose so, Joseph Carpenter. So ... how about Zachariah?"

"Hmm ... Jesus Zachariah Christ. Doesn't really ring true, does it? Maybe ... Moses? No, far too found-in-the-bulrushes, isn't it? Jesus ... Aloysius? Ebenezer? Methusaleh? Herod?
... See more
Thanks, Alexandra!

In reply, I'm told our late friend was called JHC, apparently, because his middle name was Harold:


"Jesus, OK, sorted. But are we going to give him a middle name too, Virgin Mary?"

"I suppose so, Joseph Carpenter. So ... how about Zachariah?"

"Hmm ... Jesus Zachariah Christ. Doesn't really ring true, does it? Maybe ... Moses? No, far too found-in-the-bulrushes, isn't it? Jesus ... Aloysius? Ebenezer? Methusaleh? Herod? ... oh no, of course not, not Herod ... why not something kind of normal, like Charlie or Billy?"

"Can't see it, Joe. Jesus Charlie Christ. Jesus Billy Christ. No, definitely not. ... Do you know, Joe, I've always thought Harold's such a nice name. Kind of friendly and amiable. My grandfather was a Harold. And it can be shortened to Harry. Or Haz. Yes, Jesus Harold Christ. That'll do nicely."


Other people think it stands for "Holy", but that's not much of a name, is it? Well, it is and it isn't. My name is Mervyn J Henderson, and the J doesn't stand for Jesus, or doth not stand for Jesus, rather, just to localise all this a little more, but it's James, which is quite close. Kind of nearer, my God, to thee.
Collapse


 

Matthias Brombach  Identity Verified
ألمانيا
Local time: 01:33
عضو (2007)
هولندي إلى ألماني
+ ...
Perhaps JMC? Jan 16

Mervyn Henderson wrote:
"Jesus, OK, sorted. But are we going to give him a middle name too, Virgin Mary?"


... but for what Middle-East name "M" could stand for? Anyone here, who dares a fitting suggestion? Does it need so much courage today?

[Bearbeitet am 2021-01-17 06:16 GMT]


 

P.L.F.Persio  Identity Verified
هولندا
Local time: 01:33
عضو (2010)
أنجليزي إلى إيطالي
+ ...
Let's see ... Jan 17

Matthias Brombach wrote:

Mervyn Henderson wrote:
"Jesus, OK, sorted. But are we going to give him a middle name too, Virgin Mary?"


... but for what Middle-East name "M" could stand for? Anyone here, who dares a fitting suggestion? Does it need so much courage today?

[Bearbeitet am 2021-01-17 06:16 GMT]


Too early for Mohammed, I reckon, so what about Malachi? Mordechai? Marius? Matthias? Mervyn? Marilyn?


Matthias Brombach
Zibow Retailleau
 

Matthias Brombach  Identity Verified
ألمانيا
Local time: 01:33
عضو (2007)
هولندي إلى ألماني
+ ...
D'accord, mais ... Jan 17

P.L.F.Persio wrote:

Matthias Brombach wrote:

Mervyn Henderson wrote:
"Jesus, OK, sorted. But are we going to give him a middle name too, Virgin Mary?"


... but for what Middle-East name "M" could stand for? Anyone here, who dares a fitting suggestion? Does it need so much courage today?

[Bearbeitet am 2021-01-17 06:16 GMT]


Too early for Mohammed, I reckon, so what about Malachi? Mordechai? Marius? Matthias? Mervyn? Marilyn?


... je suis Matthias (Matthias, c'est moi)!


P.L.F.Persio
 

Mervyn Henderson  Identity Verified
أسبانيا
Local time: 01:33
إسباني إلى أنجليزي
+ ...
بادئ الموضوع
That investiture ceremony in full Jan 17

I'm getting packed here to go across to the Big Event on Wednesday. I persuaded Biden that it might be a nice touch to have me at the ceremony on the day, you see, and that way I could pick up the million greenbacks he owes me, if you remember, in situ.

He wasn't too pleased about it all, and certainly not about having to send an official white bird across to Madrid to pick us up. It has to be Madrid, because Bilbao doesn't have a runway long enough for Air Force One. I thought Air
... See more
I'm getting packed here to go across to the Big Event on Wednesday. I persuaded Biden that it might be a nice touch to have me at the ceremony on the day, you see, and that way I could pick up the million greenbacks he owes me, if you remember, in situ.

He wasn't too pleased about it all, and certainly not about having to send an official white bird across to Madrid to pick us up. It has to be Madrid, because Bilbao doesn't have a runway long enough for Air Force One. I thought Air Force One would be more appropriate, don't you think? Plus we need as much fly power as we can get. It'll be dodgy enough getting out of Barajas with two of the runways closed, but of course those frightfully obliging Spanish Army chaps are all working hard clearing away snow and ice for the presidential plane down there. Actually, I used the short form of the airport's name. It used to be called just that, Barajas, mainly because it's right beside a village called Barajas, but now it's called Aeropuerto Internacional de Adolfo Suárez - Madrid - Barajas. Which is quite a mouthful. And I thought "Leonardo da Vinci-Fiumicino" was long!

We don't have front-row seats because those are reserved for Nancy Pelosi and her extended family. I did mention to Joe that there was bound to be more space available since the Trump contingent weren't going to be there, and there are a lot of them, too, but he'd already invited all George Floyd's relatives and friends along and quite a few vote-count supervisors and all their friends and relations too, plus Janet Yellen and all her mates, and there was nothing he could do about that, so that was that.

So look out for us in Row Five, just to the right. You can't miss us. I've got a big red-and-white striped hat saying "Go, Joe, go!!!" and the Basques have one saying "Biden ... his time!!!" I thought I'd better not mention that to Joe. He's already annoyed with me on what should be the happiest day of his life.

Yes, a mixed bag of emotions coming up on Wednesday for sure ...

[Edited at 2021-01-17 11:08 GMT]
Collapse


P.L.F.Persio
Zibow Retailleau
expressisverbis
 

Mervyn Henderson  Identity Verified
أسبانيا
Local time: 01:33
إسباني إلى أنجليزي
+ ...
بادئ الموضوع
Cumulative incidence Jan 17

Having seen this on the news every night for months without knowing what it was, I finally decided to look it up. Spanish TV has a Big Three - contagions since yesterday, deaths since yesterday, and cumulative incidence. It's the probability of occurrence of a given medical condition in a population within a specified period of time. Which means it's a percentage or a rate, but I'm pretty sure Spanish TV just gives a number of people.

Anyway, whatever it is, it can't be looking too
... See more
Having seen this on the news every night for months without knowing what it was, I finally decided to look it up. Spanish TV has a Big Three - contagions since yesterday, deaths since yesterday, and cumulative incidence. It's the probability of occurrence of a given medical condition in a population within a specified period of time. Which means it's a percentage or a rate, but I'm pretty sure Spanish TV just gives a number of people.

Anyway, whatever it is, it can't be looking too pretty, because they're about to shut the bars again. The Mayor here says we should be prepared to close Bilbao down "within a few days." Again. Looks like the Ghost of Christmas Past has emerged to haunt us in the wake of all that frenzied non-fraternising fraternisation a few weeks ago.
Collapse


Zibow Retailleau
P.L.F.Persio
expressisverbis
Adieu
 

IrinaN
الولايات المتحدة
Local time: 18:33
أنجليزي إلى روسي
+ ...
Nothing is standard:-) Jan 18

Merab Dekano wrote:

A man lies on his bed, very sick. Suddenly, the Death (with all its standard outfit such as scythe, etc.)


To a fly, Death comes in boxers and with a newspaper:-)

Chris, forgive me for joining the rule breakers but I just did.

Maybe I have a tiny excuse - I had it, in a mildest form possible but still well-felt, and I'm out of it. 8 days at home plus quarantine. I'm 64 (see, I'm punishing myself by losing every last chance to have you for a secret admirer:-) ), a non-athletic smoker, lover of juicy steaks, thick espresso, good booze and Madrid. It reminded me so much about my beloved St. Petersburg. Oh well, I still have quite a few pairs of high heels in my collection:-) and was planning to swim with the sharks in South Africa last December... Maybe it's too late for me now, forever. Growing older, and the world is shutting the doors. Makes me wanna cry(.

What will happen to me next, what are the consequences for my body in a long term and how long that term will be, nobody knows. For now I have antibodies, that helps. I feel lucky and have lots of plans for future, including both work and fun. Look and feel great, energetic, back on the road again - I still have a few rockets to launch:-)

For all my dear colleagues: don't panic, don't let any thoughts of checking out creep into your mind and heart before your time really comes (may it be not before the next century), don't feel doomed and crushed on a spot if it touches you with its dark wing; God forbid, if you are a believer. We must keep living, believing in life, and take lots of zinc and vitamins C and D:-).


Chris S
P.L.F.Persio
Mervyn Henderson
Zibow Retailleau
expressisverbis
QHE
Beatriz Ramírez de Haro
 

P.L.F.Persio  Identity Verified
هولندا
Local time: 01:33
عضو (2010)
أنجليزي إلى إيطالي
+ ...
@Irina Jan 18

May your rockets fly high in the sky, among the stars, to infinity and beyond.

Chris S
IrinaN
Mervyn Henderson
Zibow Retailleau
expressisverbis
Beatriz Ramírez de Haro
 

Chris S  Identity Verified
المملكة المتحدة
سويدي إلى أنجليزي
+ ...
Cat lovers Jan 18

IrinaN wrote:
I'm 64 (see, I'm punishing myself by losing every last chance to have you for a secret admirer:-)

Don’t be too sure. There’s something about a white pussy.

[Edited at 2021-01-18 15:16 GMT]


P.L.F.Persio
IrinaN
Zibow Retailleau
expressisverbis
Mervyn Henderson
 

Mervyn Henderson  Identity Verified
أسبانيا
Local time: 01:33
إسباني إلى أنجليزي
+ ...
بادئ الموضوع
@Irina Did someone say ... Jan 18

... Vitamin C? ...

Torres Oranges. Absolutely packed with it. Crammed. Chock-a-block. Oozing with the stuff. Torres Oranges. Be you with Torres.

@PLF
As usual, a wonderful little speech!

@Chris
Naughty ... but nice.


Zibow Retailleau
expressisverbis
P.L.F.Persio
 

Mervyn Henderson  Identity Verified
أسبانيا
Local time: 01:33
إسباني إلى أنجليزي
+ ...
بادئ الموضوع
A Clockwork Orange Jan 18

The Basques and I are pretty healthy eaters apart from the occasional peccadillo, so down I went to the fruit and veg shop this morning. Beside me there was a young man bagging stuff:

“I see you’re not going for Torres,” I said, nodding at the oranges he was putting in the bag.

He smiled. “No, I make do with these. 1.95 a kilo. The table oranges down there are even cheaper, but me, I go for the ones in between,” he said gaily. “Torres are, what, 2.50 a kilo?
... See more
The Basques and I are pretty healthy eaters apart from the occasional peccadillo, so down I went to the fruit and veg shop this morning. Beside me there was a young man bagging stuff:

“I see you’re not going for Torres,” I said, nodding at the oranges he was putting in the bag.

He smiled. “No, I make do with these. 1.95 a kilo. The table oranges down there are even cheaper, but me, I go for the ones in between,” he said gaily. “Torres are, what, 2.50 a kilo?”

I sucked in my breath. “Yes, Torres oranges are a little more expensive, but sometimes you have to pay for quality, don’t you?” He shrugged, smiled again, and moved off down in the direction of the bananas and kiwis.

“I find Torres a much better deal myself, you know,” I ventured, strolling up behind him. “Infinitely juicier. It’s a superior brand, there’s no doubt about that.”

He turned round questioningly from the bananas, and looked me up and down. “Yes, but like I said, I prefer the others.” He put the bananas in the bag, and strode across to the vegetables section.

“You can actually taste the higher content of vitamin C in there,” I went on, as I stood beside him at the onion stand. “When I bite into a Torres orange, sometimes I could almost swear I can feel the warm wind on my face blowing gently across from the Mediterranean into the immense orchard that’s Valencia.”

“Look,” he snorted, spreading his arms and raising his voice a little, “why don’t you just leave it out with the bloody Torres oranges, moosh?”

José the owner heard the man’s annoyance, and came across. “Is everything all right here? Is this man bothering you, Sir?”

“Well, yes, quite frankly, he is,” the man fumed. “I don’t know him from Adam, but he keeps going on about those Torres oranges, and I’ve already told him three times I’m not remotely interested in any bloody Torres oranges. Things have come to a pretty pass when you can’t even buy some fruit and veg without people bothering you.”

“Ah,” said José, nodding. “Torres oranges. I see. Well, I must say, you know, Sir, he does have a point there. Torres have a quality control policy that’s second to none. You can tell by the dimples, you see. Not everyone knows this, but yes, that’s the real acid test. Other brands just can’t compete. Not even close. Do you know, the Spanish Citrus Association published the results of a survey only a few days ago, and nine out of ten people said they preferred …”

“Oh, don’t you start too!” shouted the man. “I tell you I’ve no intention of buying those bloody oranges. Leave me alone, will you? Just leave me alone.”

Another man came up behind José. An older man, dressed in a smart dark suit, with a yellow silk tie and a gold pin. A slightly pockmarked face, but he was well groomed all right, with iron-grey hair slicked back to one side. José flinched a little when he saw him, especially as this chap seemed mildly irritated, but the man just patted his arm: “It’s all right, José. It’s OK.” He turned to the customer, nodded his head in deference, and beamed at him. “Good morning, Sir.”

“Well,” said the young man, “I’m glad to see someone has some manners around here, because these two just won’t leave me alone with the Torres caper. I don’t want to buy Torres oranges, and I’m not going to buy them. It’s a free country, and I won’t do it, I just ...”

The man was conciliatory. He spoke quietly. “Of course it’s a free country, Sir, of course, I completely understand. Far be it from me to disagree, and …”

“… well yes, too right it is,” the man went on, encouraged. “I mean, there I was, minding my own business, and …”

“ … however, might I ask, Sir, whether you have any particular reason for not buying Torres oranges? They are, after all, a superior product, as José and this gentleman have already pointed out. After all, what has Torres done to you? Why shouldn’t you buy Torres oranges?”

The customer crossed his arms, jaw suddenly set. “What is it with you people?” he growled. “Read my lips. I. Don’t. Want. Torres. Oranges.”

The suave gentleman nodded up and down affably. “Naturally, Sir, naturally. Well, well, calm down, let’s not get too excited here. No point in anyone losing their temper, is there? So you’re going, then, Sir? Without any Torres oranges. Not even one. Out into the street. Out into that big bad world.” He shook his head sadly, and then suddenly he was staring hard at the chap:

“Dear me, what a jungle it is out there. We take our lives in our hands every time we walk down the street, don’t we? All those accidents. All those things that could go wrong. So very, very wrong. So terribly wrong. Mishaps. Tragedies. Inexplicable occurrences. Malice aforethought. Knives. Baseball bats. Coshes. Hammers, chisels and screwdrivers. Grievous bodily harm. Assault and battery. A hail of bullets from a passing car. Things that go bump in the night. Emergency surgery. Long spells in a sanatorium, staring unseeingly out the window, swathed in bandages. Lifelong disabilities. A wheelchair creaking slowly down a corridor heavy with the reek of disinfectant, and constant screams of excruciating pain from the drab, dreary rooms on either side. Drips, tubes, artificial respirators, iron lungs. Loss of earnings. Financial ruin. Children going hungry …” He put his hand in his coat pocket in one swift movement, and brought it out again just as swiftly: “Look at that, Sir. Pure quality. See, you can tell by the label. Six little red letters edged in yellow on a black background. The mark of Torres.”

I watched as he put his other hand in the other pocket, and – was that a flick knife? Jesus, yes, it was. The man shrank back as he flicked it open and drew it quickly all around the orange to reveal the flesh. “Look. Pure nourishment. Sure you don’t want to try a Torres before you go?”

The man’s mouth fell open. “Who the hell are you? What are you?” he breathed. “Are you threatening me? Seriously? For not buying Torres oranges? I never heard anything more ridiculous in my life. But I’m going to report you, I am. I’m going straight to the police station down the street right now. There are laws about this kind of thing, you know.”

A grin played at the man’s lips. “My name is Ramón, Sir. But it is not important what I am. Let’s just say I’m an … associate of the Torres family. And, by all means, feel free to report me. They’re most efficient down there, I believe. But make sure you go straight to the top, mind. The Chief Inspector, I mean. He’ll be delighted to sort you out, I’m sure. Oh, and tell the Chief Inspector that Ramón sends his regards. That’s right, the Chief Inspector, yes. Chief Inspector Torres.”

The man was shaking now. He walked over to the oranges again and bagged two or three Torres oranges, and practically ran over to the till, looking behind him all the while as he paid, and then ran out.

“You’ve done the right thing, Sir!” this bloke called after him. “Enjoy!” Then he turned to me, and looked down at my cart. Those blue eyes bored into me. “I see you already have yours, son.”

“Oh yes,” I babbled, "of course, I love Torres oranges, me. It’s always the first thing I buy. At least three kilos every time. Twice a week. And a special stocking-up visit on Saturdays.”

He leaned in, nodded, and scrunched my cheek a couple of times. “Buen chico. Good boy. That’s what I like to see. You have yourself a nice day now. And …" - he looked all around, and lowered his voice a little – “… and if for any reason you ever don’t have a nice day because some asshole’s ruined it for you, you just let Ramón know, son. I’ll sort it out. Know what I mean?”

And then Ramón was gone.



This story was brought to you by Torres Oranges. Why would you risk your most precious asset, your health, for just a few cents more? Torres Oranges. Home delivery also available. Because we know where you live. You’ll be able to walk tall with Torres Oranges. Or simply be able to walk. So make the right choice. Torres Oranges.


[Edited at 2021-01-18 15:28 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-01-18 15:29 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-01-18 15:30 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-01-18 15:37 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-01-18 15:47 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-01-18 16:11 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-01-18 16:15 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-01-18 16:16 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-01-18 16:25 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-01-18 19:42 GMT]

[Edited at 2021-01-18 19:45 GMT]
Collapse


Zibow Retailleau
P.L.F.Persio
expressisverbis
 
صفحات الموضوع:   < [1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89] >


To report site rules violations or get help, contact a site moderator:

مشرفو هذا المنتدى
Lucia Leszinsky[Call to this topic]

You can also contact site staff by submitting a support request »

Corona quarantine diary

Advanced search






MultiTerm
One central location to store and manage multilingual terminology.

By providing access to all those involved in applying terminology (such as engineers, marketers, translators, and terminologists), our terminology management solution ensures consistent and high-quality content from source through to translation.

More info »
Wordfast Pro
Translation Memory Software for Any Platform

Exclusive discount for ProZ.com users! Save over 13% when purchasing Wordfast Pro through ProZ.com. Wordfast is the world's #1 provider of platform-independent Translation Memory software. Consistently ranked the most user-friendly and highest value

More info »