Un échange culturel

I was taking to my neighbour Élodie last week about regional accents. She claims she has one, though like all things French it’s totally and deliberately imperceptible to the unsophisticated.

(Put your hand up if you can tell the difference between a three year and a four year old wedge of Comte fromage? Yeah. Thought not).

I rest my case.

Anywhoo one thing led to another and I suggested that in exchange for her making me speak French, I would introduce her to some proper regional English (rather than my perfect “received pronunciation” BBC accent - for which I’m famous). 

As an étranger (stranger) it’s nice to hear the occasional sentence in the dulcet tones of my hometown and though it’s been tough for her, our initial interactions now broadly follow this pattern…

Me: “Bonjour Élodie, comment ça va?” Kiss Kiss.

Élodie: “Ime oar roite tarr bab…” Kiss Kiss “Owsyure belly ferr spots these days?”

A charming and useful exchange should Élodie ever find herself in the West Midlands, I’m sure you’d agree. Of course she’s mighty chuffed with her new found linguistic skills and so we quickly moved on to the mastery of the traditional exclamation upon something going right.

Me: “C’est génial. (It’s great)

Élodie: “Iss bostin innit.”

With the basics under out belt we’ve now moved on to short useful phrases such as…

Me: “Élodie, pourquoi tu te prends la mouche?” (Literally and incomprehensibly - Élodie why have you seized / taken the fly? Apparently meaning Élodie why are you in a nark?).

Élodie: “Mark! Dohne nevah eat yeller snow, jew ear.”

Because of our runaway success with this I have written to the Wolverhampton tourist board asking if they can send any educational linguistic material they have on hand to help Élodie on her path to full fluency.  If I can work up a proper course I reckon I should ask the mayor if I can teach the kids at the lycée in Bourganeuf. Think of it, yours truly single handedly helping to heal the wounds of Brexit. I always knew I was made for better things than playing with toy soldiers and digging holes (my other specialty).

On the subject of toy soldiers (finally), my mojo returned last week - and we’ve agreed to work on our relationship through counselling. I’m allowed to paint toy soldiers on the weekend, for now…and if my “anger issues” improve we’ll take it one step at a time from there. 

Here’s some gratuitous pics of new arrivals and weekend painting that I’ll shamelessly use as click bait in order to get you to scroll through this screed of otherwise total nonsense. 

Horses. Aaaagh. The bane of my (hobby) life. Only another 10 French knights to go. Should be finished in 2027 or thereabouts at my current pace.

And the obligatory view from the back for those wishing to get their money’s worth. Not my best work, but serviceable.

New arrivals. The gun group for the first anti fascist section / squad. To the right is the platoon commander who I’ve decided to call Leonard.

The sections manoeuvre component.

Gotta love the detail. This bank clerk’s even brought his brolly with him.

Back view of one of Sarissa Precision’s destroyed city tiles. 

And the front view of the same corner shop piece. My BUF chap only popped into to get a packet of fags and look what happened. Told him not to spark up if he could smell gas. 

Toodleooh for now, mes amis.

 

Reasons to be cheerful (Part 3)

Kudos to anyone who gets the Ian Dury reference.

The last month has seen an awful lot of heat, an awful lot of sitting in hospital waiting rooms and a virtual halt to painting and gaming. I shall definitely look back at this summer as the month of three H’s.

I actually set out a whole table full of miniatures for my next Indian Mutiny game the other day but packed them all away again before even rolling a dice. Sometimes your hearts just not in it and it’s easier to leave things be until the mojo returns.  (It’d ruddy well better - I’ve got more troops coming in the post next week). 

Anywhoo in an effort to buck myself up a bit here’s a post covering a couple of things that are a definite antidote to my predilection for doom and gloom.

Friends.

I don’t have many. I’m too worried that people might steal my dance moves. Despite this, one chap who I do count as a friend organised a cartoon of me dressed as an East India Company Officer. Here it is for your delight and delectation. The moustache came out well I thought! 

Jokes

My youngest lad, who is party to a number of personal stories I’ve deemed too wacky for the blog, has become very concerned that his dad might be “losing it”. I’m sure he’d have had me put in care by now if I didn’t live in another country. Such concern is (largely) unfounded but it didn’t stop me engaging in a fairly long wind up when a tiny tattoo shop opened (for reasons that escape me) in a nearby village. 

Step one was to mention its opening during a zoom call with the lad in June. Step 2 was to obtain a stick on temporary tattoo from the interweb. Step 3 was to claim in July that my upper arm was too sore to finish the decorating in the hall. Step 4. The big reveal. I told him in August that I’d been a bit drunk in June and had had a random tattoo done in the shop. This was why my arm had been too sore for the decorating. I claimed that upon discovering my lapse the current Mrs Broom had been furious - but now wanted one herself. My son (who remember is convinced I’m going off the rails) was duly horrified when I showed him this…

Within hours texts began arriving from concerned grand children. Was I okay? 

The following weeks conversation with my son ran along the lines of how surprised I’d been that it didn’t hurt too much and that I’d seen an eagle one that’d go nicely on my back…

Must remember at some point to tell him it’s all been a joke!

New Toys

The joy of receiving something other than a bill in the post cannot be overstated. Assuming that I get to the post box before the contents revert to a puddle of lead I hope to be fiddling around with a load of Empress and Footsore anti fascist fighters in the next week or so.

Doing skirmish stuff with small units means that a 3 x 3 board might well suffice. Oddly the reduction in gaming area is going to require a heavy investment in suitable terrain. My British Civil War project will be a lot darker than some of the jolly hockey sticks ones I’ve seen so far so I’m going to need ruined buildings, a lot of ruined buildings. Having tried, and hugely failed, at making my own with cork tiles (hat tip to Keith) I’ve settled on this sort from Sarissa Precision for the ruins…

And this sort for the undamaged bits…

Despite my advertised lack of progress the first section of BUF thugs is now complete. Here’s an LMG team.

And here’s the manoeuvre/ rifle group…

All of my BUF troops have shiny black tin helmets - so I’m going to have their opponents refer to them as blackheads I think. 

Toodleooh.

Oh by the way, if anyone finds my mojo would they please return it by email. There is a reward.