Das Wetter

July 1st, 2009 by kerensa

I have found over the years that Foreigners accuse my countrymen and women of “always talking about the weather”.  And whereas I feel that this is not entirely fair, we do after all talk about other important things too, my defence has always been that Our weather is arguably more interesting to talk about than Their weather.

Is weather not just weather? Whether* you agree is entirely your prerogative. I would argue that our British weather is marginally more newsworthy on the basis that it changes so often and quickly.  Traditionally sunny countries which boast, for example, 300 days of sun a year, could be considered somewhat dull in the newsworthy stakes. For where is the interest in talking about something that hasn’t changed much for 10 months of the year? Here, on our own blustery/rainswept/cloudy/showery/sunny/light-snowfall/drizzly/foggy/hail-hit/scorching/mild/cool islands there is arguably at least a little variety to talk about as the aforementioned can be quite typical of a single day.**

If one is guaranteed dry weather (or foul weather for that matter) for the whole day, it is easier to make plans. Such considerations as: Can I hang the washing out/do I need to water the plants/can I harvest my wheat/shall I risk not taking 3 pullovers and a waterproof and just rely on my brolly… simply do not need discussing. Bright and sunny all day - dress accordingly and harvest the wheat and hang out the washing without a care in the world.  Freezing cold and snowing - hang the washing inside and take 3 pullovers. Sorted. Here, on the other hand, one has to plan for every eventuality and just a two-hour trip to the shops can require enough clothing to equip a jumble sale.

It affords me some amusement then, that I find my clients in German-speaking lands (they are of course Foreigners) like to sign off their e-mails with “Kind regards from sunny/snowy/rainy Berlin/Hamburg/Munich”.  I’m never too sure if I should respond in a like manner.

I would end up  starting my mails with “Hello from the sunny Ancient Roman City” and sign them off three minutes later with “Kind regards from the now-looking-distinctly-like-a-heavy-shower ARC”.

Curious how different nationalities see themselves…

Just for the record, it is bright and sunny right now with high thin cloud. I’m just popping into town for a couple of hours. Now…where’s my sunlotion, pullover, sunhat, waterproof…

*Sorry, I couldn’t resist.

** Real Foreigners who have never visited the UK: this is perhaps a slight exaggeration to make my point. But if you ever come here, you may find yourself amazed enough to comment…and thus fall into the trap of “always talking about the weather”.

Posted in Weather | 2 Comments »

Echoes and reflections

June 15th, 2009 by kerensa

Today I received an email from someone I have never met. But it made me ponder.

It was quite short and ran along the lines of “I’m writing to you because you have been in contact with my sister, M, in the past. I have the sad duty to inform you that M lost her battle last week with cancer which recurred recently. I thought you should know.”

M was not a friend of mine, she was a passing acquaintance really. I had had no idea she had been so unwell.  I simply participated in one of her creative writing courses three years ago.  One particular memory of her is that one evening she took the class out to look at our surroundings with “new eyes”. M gave us some pointers about how to look afresh at familiar surroundings (so that we could then write about them later). One thing I remember noticing was how the willow trees reflected the shape of the railway arches, near which they were growing.

In many ways, this is very unremarkable, except that I have remembered this shape and when I walk down that way at this time of year, I admire the willow trees and the arches again. And I remember that evening, the class and the tutor. And wonder again if the trees were planted deliberately with their shape in mind, or if it is a happy co-incidence that this harmony exists.

It is just a small influence M had on my life and yet one which now I am unlikely to forget for a long time…and perhaps I will now be even more conscious of the juxtaposition of the natural and built environment.

M has made a small contribution to my life - and no doubt much more significant contributions to others’ lives.  It reminds us that we all have the opportunity to make positive contributions to the world and these do not have to be major events. They are much more likely to be on a smaller scale and yet no less significant for that.

It seems very cruel that M’s life should be cut short at the age of 52 - and yet I have reason to be thankful that our lives coincided for a few evenings three years ago.

RIP, MP.

Posted in Life, Seasons | 1 Comment »

Tale of an insomniac - part 2

June 9th, 2009 by kerensa

The rush assignment this morning has reminded my client of my existence, it seems.  This afternoon, he placed a mega-job with me which is welcome news as work has been conspicuous by its absence of late.  I started the job - which is not difficult - just acres and acres of it in a relatively short timespan - and then broke off to start cooking my dinner.

A few moments ago, the phone rang again. Same client with a request for some more translation of the doner kebab job I did this morning.  Would I be able to do it by tomorrow first thing? “It doesn’t matter when you do it this evening, but they need it early tomorrow morning because they’re  going to print”. [It's at times like these that my faith in the proverbial German organisation and efficiency takes a bit of a knock...]

In my previous post I wondered if I should have an early night to make up for last night’s lack of sleep. I think that question has been answered now; I’d better go and find some matchsticks.

Posted in Translation | 2 Comments »

Tale of an insomniac

June 9th, 2009 by kerensa

Last night, I finally fell asleep at about 3.30 am. I hate not being able to sleep as I lie there thinking “argh, fall asleep, you’ve got to get up again in 5 / 4/ 3 hours”. I don’t suppose it helps.

The alarm rang at its customary 7.30 am, I rolled over, turned it off, knocked it to the floor and carried on snoozing.  Some time later, I heard the telephone ring.  Looked for the clock. Not there. Fell out of bed, ran to the office and answered as perkily as poss

Me: Good morning, Tiggywinkle Translations! :-)

Client: Einen schönen guten Morgen, Kerensa!

Me: Guten Morgen, Herr Lieblingsklient! :-)

Client: (in German) We’ve got this rush job, we need it back by 11. It’s only 450 words - do you think you’d be able to do it?

Me: [Argh. I have absolutely no idea what the time is now. Quick bit of stalling for time required] Oh [all innocence] is that 11 your time or mine?

Client: Oh, of course, you’re an hour behind. I’ll tell you what, I’ll mail it to you. Have a look and call me back immediately.

Me: Will do! :-)

Kerensa turns on computer [couldn't do that during the call as all the bings and bongs would be a real give-away], dashes back into bedroom to look at clock. Clock seems to have suffered cardiac arrest on hitting the floor and has stopped. Kerensa runs downstairs to kitchen to a) put on kettle and b) find out the time.

Phew! It’s only 8 am here. It could have easily been midday. Pours cuppa, runs upstairs again to the Engine Room. Starts translating. About doner kebabs…

A couple of hours later, the job is finished. Mail it off. Seconds later the phone rings. Mr Client again. The customer has amended the document. Argh! I cry. I’ve just this minute finished it![And I was hoping to have some breakfast...]

Make amendments and mail it off again. Have belated breakfast.

It’s now nearly lunchtime - and I’m still in my pyjamas.  Shall I go back to where I was 5 hours ago and catch up on a few zeds - or soldier on and go to bed early?

Posted in Translation, Trials, Triumphs | No Comments »

Das singende klingende Bäumchen: film review

June 7th, 2009 by kerensa

If you were a child in the UK in the ’60s and /or ’70s it is likely that you will have seen this film, The Singing Ringing Tree on TV at some stage.

I remember seeing it - or parts of it - at least twice when I was quite young. I’m not sure that it captured my imagination enough to sit through the whole thing.  I had two main memories of it: one was of the tree itself - with silver tinkly bells - and the other was the voice-over. I was of such a tender age that I don’t think I was really aware that there were any languages other than English and I couldn’t understand why this man kept talking over the top of the dialogue as it meant I couldn’t hear what they were saying.

The local independent cinema showed this film yesterday and I went to see it - mainly to find out after all these years what the story was about. Judging from my fellows in the audience, many were there to relive old times; there was a smattering of children but the majority of viewers were adults - and some were well into their 60s and 70s!

Mr Voiceover was still there - telling the audience what was going on. (This time he irritated me because I would have understood the dialogue … so no change there!). My memory of the singing ringing tree was quite wrong - there were no silver bells actually on the tree - it just tinkled in a silvery sort of way when it moved.

The film was made in the former GDR and was apparently acquired cheaply by the BBC as a schedule filler.  The plot runs along classic fairy story lines: handsome prince (in doublet and hose) journeys from foreign land to ask for hand in marriage of beautiful princess who sends him off on a near-impossible quest to prove his love. Disaster strikes and good has to overcome evil for love to prevail in the end and allows for a bit of character development to take place.

I can’t put my finger on why this film is endearing. The plot is predictable, the acting is rather amateurish, the sets are wobbly and the soundtrack is excruciating and it has a very dated look about it. (The princess’s dress and hairstyle are a sort of medieval/60s combo!)  Watching as an adult, I couldn’t understand why the handsome prince should want to spend longer than three seconds in the company of the beautiful but extremely arrogant, haughty and spoilt princess. He marched into the castle, asked to meet the princess, presented her with a gift which she destroyed and he went off on a quest of her bidding. If he’d had any sense, he’d have left her there and then to find her own ringing singing tree! ( I feel sure there would have been an equally pretty princess with better manners in the next country along!) Her attitude is turned around completely later but at great cost - not to mention inconvenience - to himself… but perhaps I’m missing something…

Still, in spite of everything, the film has a certain charm, and unusually (for British audiences, at least) there was a ripple of applause at the end of the film - which was really rather sweet.

Posted in Films | 5 Comments »

European Elections

June 4th, 2009 by kerensa

Well, I trotted off to the church hall/polling station to exercise my democratic right and vote.

We certainly had a choice of parties: not only were the usual suspects represented, and a fair smattering of Cloud Cuckoo Land parties, I found that I could also vote for a specifically Cornish party (that says party - not pasty). Our consistuency stretches from Gloucestershire in the north to Cornwall in the south. And rather bizarrely, it also includes Gibraltar. Yes, that’s the one, just to the south of Spain. It’s deceptively close to Land’s End, just board a ship and sail through sea areas Lundy (or Plymouth, depending on which coast you start from) and take a more or less southerly route through Sole, Biscay, FitzRoy and Trafalgar turn East at the bottom of Spain (having ignored France and Portugal) and then you’re on your own for a few miles before you find landfall at Gibraltar. I expect the good citizens of the Rock feel particularly well represented by being lumped in with us. We’re only about 1,000 km away.

I read through all the candidates’ blurb that came through the door. I was interested to note that only one saw fit to mention his foreign language skills (French and German).  If I ever find out the results I’ll let you know who my new representative is.

Posted in Politics | 4 Comments »

The Translator - book review

June 3rd, 2009 by kerensa

The Translator: a tribesman’s memoir of Darfur by Daoud Hari is a fascinating but harrowing read.

Daoud Hari relates the background to the on-going unrest in Darfur and paints a picture of peaceful village life where everyone knows everyone else - not only in their own village but also in villages across the desert. Respect is shown to the elders and life appears to be relatively harmonious until Sudanese government-backed militia come to murder, rape and burn.

Hari had led an “unconventional” life in his youth and 20s but as he says himself , “Poverty generously provides every man a colourful past.”

His schooling and his unconventional life have taught him English and when he escapes to Chad as a refugee he volunteers as an interpreter and guide for TV crews and journalists travelling over the border to Sudan. It is on one of these missions that he is arrested for being a spy.

I was particularly struck by this man’s generous world view - which may or may not be typically African, I don’t know enough to decide. He sees all his tribespeople, whether he actually knows them personally or not, as his family and mourns for their pain as much as for that of his immediate family. He gives an insight into how conflicts between tribes were dealt with - away from villages and the vulnerable - and in a way that no one publicly lost face.

It is a moving and elegaic account of a way of life which, due to the genocide, is passing into history. In some ways, this book could be considered its epitaph.

Posted in Books | No Comments »

It was A Good Thing

June 1st, 2009 by kerensa

…that I was out of range of a mobile signal on Saturday. The thought of having to dredge up obscurely phrased sentences on a broken line - without being able to see the text I’d produced - would have been particularly trying.

As it was, I arose betimes, got all my walking stuff ready, packed a lunch and my plasters and was ready for the off a good ten minutes early. (I know, difficult to believe, isn’t it?). I put those 10 mins to good use by turning on the trusty computer to find Frau Schnellspeak’s mobile number. I thought I should offer her the service of being able to contact me, if necessary.  I found a message from her timed at 6.16 a.m. (wow!) thanking me for my speedy efforts.  I felt suitably released from duty and skipped (metaphorically speaking…I was wearing my clumpy walking boots) off on the day’s adventure.

And what a fabulous adventure it was!  A friend had arranged a walk for a dozen people in the heart of the Mendips. We set off - almost vertically it seemed - for the first few hundred yards but happily that got most of the steep bit out of the way. The views over the countryside were simply stunning.  The weather was hot and sunny, the countryside was green, green, green and it was possible to see for miles and miles over softly rolling hills, down to a lake.  This was the point when I discovered that there is something wrong with my camera. I thought the view was worth sharing with you all - and this would be the moment for me to work out how to insert my first photo into this wordy work - but sadly, the view has had to be committed to memory and you have been deprived of it.

We were following the Monarch’s Walk - a 615 mile trek undertaken by Charles II after the Battle of Worcester in 1651 when he was pursued by Oliver Cromwell for 6 weeks before he managed to escape to France. The 11 or so miles of this route that we followed was described in the guide book along the lines of being relatively unremarkable as  there were few dwellings or people to be curious about him.  It’s as true today. We encountered a few fields of cows and saw the odd farm but until we reached the pub half way (which also had a royal connection: The Queen Victoria depicting a very grumpy-looking old lady - you will know the picture..) we saw no one! A couple more friends joined us there and after suitable refreshment and a few running repairs (so to speak)  to squished and blistered toes off we set on the second leg. (Yes, I know, another opportunity for a pun).

We walked through a wooded area and encountered a sign which said “Cliff” and an arrow pointed the way. I was glad I spotted the warning. There was indeed a cliff which dropped steeply into a gorge. I remembered Orthodox Ian’s story of some months ago when he got lost on a hillside in the dark and was thankful it wasn’t here. There wasn’t a barrier or anything to prevent you from falling several hundred feet down. And it was a little deceptive because there were trees growing out of the sides of the gorge which at first from our level looked like bushes until you realised that the ground dropped away. My hands went sweaty at the thought of someone being disoriented in bad light falling down here.

The views from here were stunning: right across the Somerset Levels to Glastonbury Tor with a line of hills directly ahead in the distance. I haven’t worked out yet which hills they were. (I initially thought they would be the Cotswolds but I think I was looking south - and even though I am spatially challenged, I’m pretty sure the Cotswolds would be north of where I was. Any geographers out there who can enlighten me?).

We descended from Ebbor Gorge and found ourselves in the village of Wookey. I remember this place from being a teenager when BigBruv and I had some distinctly (un)hilarious running joke about Wonderful Wookey Hole when we were on holiday in the area once. It is the site of some ancient caverns but although we didn’t stop long enough to take in the wonders of Wookey Hole (neither back then, nor on this occasion), we did stop at the Old Bakery Tea House for a cup that refreshes (and in some cases, the full cream tea experience!). We sat inside as the temperature outside was baking and it was deliciously cool within the stone walls of the building.

Refortified, we set out for the last - er - mile of the walk which was a gentle stroll, really, with one big surprise. I knew that we were making for the smallest city in England*, Wells, but had no idea which direction we would be approaching it from. We turned a corner and bam! there in front of us was the frontage of the cathedral. I’ve seen it many times before but it was just so unexpected at that point that it was really quite arresting.

While some car drivers were employed in fetching their cars, Maggie and another mate of ours, Tutti Frutti, and I had a few minutes to look at Vicars Close. (The cathedral was closed). The Close was built in 13- something (sorry, forgotten the exact date) for the Vicars Choral (men of the cathedral choir) and had, in addition to its beautiful houses, a communal dining room, chapel and library. It is said to be the oldest continuously inhabited street in Europe and is truly quaint.  (Although on the one hand, it must be a privilege to live there, it could also be a terrible trial with a constant stream of tourists gawping at you…)

The delights did not finish there. The car drivers came back about half an hour later with enough cars to get us back to our starting point (the logistics are too complicated to explain here!) and I had the enormous privilege of travelling in a vintage left-hand drive VW Beetle cabriolet! S, Tutti Frutti and I were the guests of Fiona, the owner of this marvellous machine, and we motored along with the warm breeze in our hair for 10 glorious miles! Wheeeeeee!

That evening, we all piled into S+P’s garden for a delicious barbecue. The first of the summer!

*not the smallest in the UK. That accolade goes to St David’s in Wales which is truly tiny. Wells has a population of approximately 10,000. St David’s by contrast has a population of less than 2,000. Were it not for its cathedral, it would be considered merely a village.


Posted in Friends, Translation | 3 Comments »

All hands to the pump!

May 29th, 2009 by kerensa

After weeks of being almost exclusively occupied with the Museum of Me (work has been really rather thin on the ground recently), I was rudely awoken from a very curious dream this morning. I stumbled to my office - about 4 yards from my bed and answered the telephone perkily:

Me: Good morning! Tiggywinkle Translations. Kerensa Tiggywinkle speaking

German: Guten Morgen, Frau Tiggywinkle…ich habe Ihren Namen von Ihrer Kollegin xxx bekommen….

…and off this good lady rattled at top speed. I have never heard German spoken so fast in my life! She went into overdrive when reading out an excerpt from the document she wanted translating. I barely caught a word and so I suggested she send me the document so that I could “assess if it fell within my area of (cough!) expertise”.

I gathered from her that time was of the essence - she wanted the job back by midnight on Sunday. I quickly phoned my colleague who had referred me and found out little as T had never actually done any translation for her before - T was merely on the database of possible translators and was unable to take work on today.

A whole precious hour later, part one of the  email arrived with attachments. I prepared my quote and mailed it off. Another hour later, the quote was accepted with a request to have it all back by “early Saturday morning”. What?! I was banking on having two whole days to do this! Just as I was considering my response (I’ve had so little work recently, I didn’t feel I was in a position to turn it down), Frau Schnellspeak was on the other end of the blower offering to pay me 50% extra for the stress. Well, she didn’t put it that way, but that’s what it boils down to.

The work is not particularly difficult - just a response to a questionnaire for a tender for a contract. I  grumbled to myself about how the whole process felt to be like translating one side of a conversation - people who deal with their own subject area all day, every day, have no idea what it is like to be dumped in the deep end of what they are doing with no context, no background, no build up, no reference materials. What do you want those for? Surely the words speak for themselves! Well, not always and some of these responses were quite ambiguous to me. How could I be sure I was translating the words correctly when I had no context?

Just at that moment, Frau Schnellspeak was on the phone again. I asked her if she had the original questions I could look at. Oh yes! she had! Gosh, what an incredibly brilliant idea - then you’ll have a better understanding of what I’m responding to! (Hmm…I refrained from being deeply sarcastic - she was a brand-new client after all.) So I agreed enthusiastically.

The questions arrived in an excel sheet - which for some reason I couldn’t open. I quickly googled about what I should do. Someone had posted a response to a similar query - but it involved downloading something or other and I simply hadn’t the time to get involved with techy stuff. My computer had already slowed down to an all-time record as Friday mornings are virus scan mornings.

I ploughed on regardless. About 5 pm here (6 pm in Germany), I received a phone call. No prizes for guessing who it was. Very kindly asking if everything was ok. I explained my plight. She had converted the files into something or other I could open within seconds! Good for Frau Schnellspeak! She also said I could call her on her “Handy” (the Gerlish for mobile/cell phone) at any time. I warned her I would be up late and that she probably wouldn’t want a call at 2 a.m.

About 10 minutes later the phone rang again. I answered thinking it would be you-know-who. It wasn’t. It was SE from madchurch (info for Jack the Lass) who was in the next town (rather than being in the Big Smoke) and wondered if she could drop in for a cuppa. Twenty-five minutes later, she was here, so we sat in the garden eating a hastily thrown together pasta dish, and nattered in the evening sun. An hour or so later, S was on her merry way back to the Bright Lights and I returned to the job in hand. And I’m still here… I sent a text message to Frau Schnellspeak about an hour ago asking if it was OK to phone her. No response. I suspect she’s tucked up with her Teddy Bär.

I, on the other hand, am going to have to continue - and work out what I’m going to do about the queries I have. I’m supposed to be leaving the house at the crack of dawn tomorrow to go on a hike (so that’ll be approximately 2 hours after I’ve finally hit the hay, then…) and will probably be out of range of a mobile signal. I’m trying to decide if this is a good thing.

Posted in Translation | 3 Comments »

Speaking of birthday cards

May 28th, 2009 by kerensa

…(see previous post), I thought I would tell you this little tale.

Last weekend I had invited some friends to dinner. Some arrived on time and we decided to enjoy our first chance of sitting in the garden as it was such a lovely evening. The disadvantage of this from my point of view was that I would not be able to hear the arrival of the second lot of guests.  I left the front door open so that they could let themselves in and come through the house to find us.

I heard them as they entered the kitchen and went to greet them. T said, “We couldn’t remember the house number so as the front door was open, we came in and saw some birthday cards on the mantelpiece. Once I’d looked inside one, I knew we were in the right house.”

Hilarious! Good job I hadn’t got round to adding them to the pile of cards from yesteryear… Can you imagine if they’d entered the wrong house and the owner chanced upon complete strangers reading his/her birthday cards?!

Posted in Friends, Life | No Comments »

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