I Am Become Broadband
Talk Talk's new "Quit your jibber jabber" tariff. Installed free, forever, at a maternity unit near you.Had you met me a mere 4 months ago, you'd have been forgiven for thinking that the phrase "British reserve" had been coined exclusively with me in mind. I've never really been a great one for small talk you see; tending to clam-up, all sweaty palmed and blushingly confused, if asked by strangers to part with anything more personal than the time or the most efficient route to the train station.
But then...ah, then. All of a sudden, along comes Lucy, and I've found that I can't actually stop talking. Perhaps it's something to do with the fact that I'm confined with a 3 month old baby, but it now seems I literally can't help chatting to people I barely know. My local newsagent, for example, knows the names and peccadillos of all the sexual partners I've ever had, the postman knows my dress size and some poor woman at the bus stop will probably be haunted forever by my sorry tale of a morning's hard labour, removing mould from my bathroom grout.
One of the other things that has happened in the realm of this new, oddly talkative me is the fact that I now spend hours in conversation with Lucy. Given her young age and her understandably incomplete grasp of English, we often adopt Babyspeak; frequently and merrily "agoo-goo-ing" and "agida-wida-ing" together for hours.
Slightly perplexed by this, and concerned that I might actually be talking nonsense to my most precious creation, I ran this morning's conversation with Lucy through Babelfish. Fortunately, as you'll see from the translation below, I have nothing to worry about: I have a little to learn on the goo-goo grammar front, but in general, my grasp of the language seems sound.
However the results (although warped slightly in translation), may serve as a contraceptive warning to you all:
ACT 1, SCENE 1
A bedroom at about 6.45am, somewhere in North London. The action centres on a cot and nursing chair. Various baby equipment (nappies, wipes and strange mono-coloured toys) can be seen throughout.
ME: Good morning, my beautiful daughter. What a fine head of snails you have on you today.
LUCY: Morning, Mummy. I have done a big poo in my nappy.
ME: The sky is a lollipop, and I am your uncle.
LUCY: Listen, I'm not joking about the poo: it's really quite big and sloppy. Any chance of a change. Kind of nowish?
(Nappy change commences)
ME: Have you seen the big dolphin, in my head?
LUCY: That's better. Mind if I do a large fart now? Oh sod it, I'm gonna do one anyway...
ME: Beef has gone up to £3.47 in the circus pavillion.
LUCY: Oh, and another one. Any chance of some food? Your breasts do look lovely, Mummy.
ME: You are a sloppy giuseppee, gobstopper smackhead...
LUCY: Yeah, yeah. Could you possibly stop talking bollocks soon? I am hungry you know.
ME: ...the light of my liver, and cunning to boot.
LUCY: Where's my bloody food?
ME: Juicy. Lucy. Wooosy.
LUCY: If you don't stop jabbering and feed me, I'm gonna cry 'til I go really, really red. You've got about three seconds...
ME: Food, you say? The harvest moon rises in the North.
LUCY: Are you drunk again, Mummy? Ah, here's the food; can we have a bit of silence now?
(Finally, breakfast is served. Only weird, snuffly sounds can be heard)
ME: I love you
LUCY: I love you too, Psycho.
CURTAIN
posted by Clo at 4:53 PM
10 Comments:
Knowing you personally already, I had a buffer zone against your madness. A No Madness land if you will. A place where, despite the wierdness, I could look out over it, view it as normal and occaisionally enter it, play the equivalent of a mad game of christmas football and all would be well.
Now it appears that you not only have stormed the trenches on the other side of the buffer zone but have kicked seven bells out of whatever mental maginot line I had waiting and steamrollered the local countryside of my mind with the panzer divisions of the crazy.
Top! I always knew you had it in you. Who am I to call you mad - signature 40p man and extended WWI/WWII metaphors? Nah.
As soon as I am not feeling bloody awful, I'll pop round and help you be bonkers for the evening.
Was it 40p? I could have sworn you said 30p the other day... Inflation I guess.
Good blogs. I'm now torn between the incident of the whitebait that didn't get the opportunity to bark in the night and the head of snails as my personal favourites.
Rxxx
I have never met either of you in my life. Stop stalking me and go spend your pennys elsewhere, you freaks...
Hey lady, 40p is a bargain considering what you get!
While youre tearing you hair out over the fish vs mollusc debate why dont you dig around in your pocket?
Found a couple of twenty pence pieces? Come and find out why it ISNT inflation.
Whose blog is this anyway?
Hey lady, 40p is a bargain considering what you get!
While youre tearing you hair out over the fish vs mollusc debate why dont you dig around in your pocket?
Found a couple of twenty pence pieces? Come and find out why it ISNT inflation.
Whose blog is this anyway?
I'm sorry, but I don't have any spare loose change, 40p Man. I'm saving up for a JML Pet Mitt.
Obviously I wasnt inferring that you should spend the 40p. I've known you too long. Rather it was aimed at rac.
In any event you'll get more value out of a JML Pet Mitt, or any wierd JML product for that matter. eg
http://www.jmldirect.com/product.php?gid=6&pid=28
Hmmmm. But it IS a packet of nearly past their sell by date bacon wheat crunchies from my corner shop. And I'm just not sure that I'm ready to sacrifice that..
Bacon Wheat Crunchies! Well lady. As you have such good taste (I'm not sure where the taste in crisps and the taste in men equates save that they are both bad for you but have other benefits) I'll give you a discount. Half a bag of BWC is all it will cost you. Two snacks for the price of one. Cant say fairer than that.
PS. This joke is getting rather tired - sorry Clo.
Urgh. I have just thrown up, all over my keyboard.
Take your smutty Wheat Crunchie talk elsewhere, please...
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