A few pronunciation tips for foreigners (Lithuanians, Romanians, Nigerians, etc).

                                  

Many foreigners have trouble with English pronunciations. They almost strangle themselves over such tricky ones as Worcesscesstershyerre; so here are a few common town and family names, the pronunciations of which are worth noting.

Cholmondley.... Chum-lee

Marjoribanks.... Marsh-banks

Farquhar.... Far-ker

Magdalen.... Mord-len

Marylebone.... Marl-abone

Shrewsbury.... Shrows-bree

Grosvenor.... Grove-ner

Beaulieu.... Bew-lee

Cholmondeston.... Chum-sten

Leominster.... Lem-ster

Raleigh.... Raw-lee

Beauchamp.... Bee-chum

Caius.... Keys

Home.... Hume

Kerr.... Car.

I do hope this has been of help, and in case you'd wondered, Magnon is pronounced Man-yern (not Magg-non), although I answer to almost anything.

Thoughts.

                               
                                  

Sometimes I despair. I sit down, hold my head in my hands, and wonder what on earth is going on inside the minds of certain of my fellow humans.

The world is such a wonderful place, but we abuse it, poison it, and destroy it. Worst of all we kill others simply because they think in a slightly different way to ourselves.

I feel like grabbing those 'certain people' by the ears, giving them a bloody good shake, and telling them to be grateful for the beauty that surrounds them. But what's the point.

Better, I suppose, to be like the majority and simply look after No 1. The 'I'm all right Jack' attitude will suit me fine from now on. The thieves can steal, the trolls can troll, and the idiots forever march forward. I couldn't care less.

As long as Haddock's continues to provide me with delicious tomatoes, my orchard continues to provide untainted fruit, and my fire provides warmth in the winter, I shall now say "bugger off world, and leave me alone".

It amazes me that with all the beauty the world has to offer, there are still those amongst us who think of nothing but blood-letting and destruction. I just don't understand it.

I shall try not to, but I'll still worry about it; it's in my nature!... I don't think I've ever been as depressed about the world's future, as I am now.

Tricky Question.

Q. How can you tell when Cro is really happy?

A. When there are small people's clothes hanging on the washing line, the sun is shining, and there are bikes left abandoned on the lawn.

Montcabrier.

The tiny village of Montcabrier is about 10 kms from our house. The village itself is nothing special; it's quiet, a bit hilly, and littered with empty 'second homes'.

I visited a nearby vineyard yesterday with the boys, to stock-up on wine, then made a brief detour via Montcabrier to buy some of their delicious pain au levain (sour-dough bread) on the way home. 

I can't believe that this window (above) was originally designed for this very modest house; it looks more suited to some grand château. I suspect it was looted. 

This much grander house has a rather carbuncle-like 'turret' stuck on one corner, I imagine it's a lookout and defence device; the small slits probably designed for shooting arrows at tax collectors, or over friendly maidens' fathers. 

For such a small village, the church is quite grand (aren't they all?). It has a massive bell tower, and this spectacular carved doorway. The interior is quite dull, and no doubt offers nothing but hell and damnation.

Montcabrier is a nice little village but with one major flaw; in Summer the drains stink to high heaven.... French municipal plumbing at its worst.

Carved window 10/10. Baker 10/10. Church doorway 10/10. Drains 0/10..... You can't have it all.

It's easy to make mistakes.

                                

When my oldest son was at school here, he used to come home in the afternoons raving about some character called Steve O'Steen. We had no idea who this Mr O'Steen was, but were informed that he was some sort of super-hero.

It was several years later that we discovered he was in fact 'Steve Austin' (the Six Million Dollar Man). The French pronunciation making him sound so much more exotic.

On another occasion I was listening to a French radio station when they announced an upcoming interview with Jean Matisse. Thinking that this was probably a son of the painter Henri, I marked the date in my diary and subsequently listened to the programme. It turned out to be Johnny Mathis.

Have you had similar problems?

Proud Grumpy.

My 4 older grandsons, two of whom are with me at the moment, are all now between 6 and 9 years old (I hope that's right), and are slowly becoming lucid, intelligent, and inquisitive young men.

They are also beginning to show signs of their eventual 'manly good looks'. I'm not one who thinks that being good looking is necessarily very important in life, but I certainly think that it helps with self-confidence.

Aussie Finn (above) has Michael York type looks, and is also the potential actor of the family; although from the photo it looks as if he may become an Entomologist.

I took my two N London grandsons with me to the Vet's yesterday. Bok needed a booster jab, and I thought it a good idea to let them see the inner workings of a Vet's surgery. When questioned later, neither of them showed any interest in becoming a Vet'; preferring to opt for the more traditional trades of Astronaut and Police-car driver. 

I expect their aspirations will change.

I really HATE this man.

                      

This photograph makes my blood boil; it demonstrates what I most detest about certain humans.

Can you guess what I'd like to do to him?