People never listen to a word I say!
Loganbeeren, fuckwit!
When I was younger, my parents had a loganberry bush in their back garden. When I was less young I emigrated to Germany for a bit.
These facts are not entirely unrelated.
One evening I was in a pub on the Holtenauerstrasse with a couple of mates, chatting desultorily of this and that, when the topic (steered by girls, needless to say) veered towards food.
"We all like waffles with morellen," (kind of cherry) they claimed. "Oh, no," said the blokes, "Sauerkirschen" (other kind of cherry) "are much better!" At this point, having said little enough all night, I felt it was time to assert myself; "I like ice cream with loganberries!" I cried.
"Loganberries? What are they?"
So, explain explain; Everyone looks excited at the prospect. This'll be something to tell the grandkids. The murmur goes around - "We're going to learn the magics of some arcane Irish food - probably roast leprechaun or similar, or maybe it's -"
"Shut Up Bloody Krauts, and I'll tell you!"
"Logan berries are a bit like raspberries, you know, all bobbly..." "Oh they sound like raspberries", interjects one character, who seems a bit hard of thinking. The others all nod sagely. Raspberries.
"No! Like raspberries, i.e., not them but merely similar. They are, to continue, bobbly like raspberries but they're longer and darker. Also -"
"Oh, he means blackberries", they cheerfully shout. "They're bobbly and purple if you mix them with whitewash and -"
"I know what a blackberry is. We have them at home too. Not blackberries. As I was saying, they're also sourer than raspberries (or indeed blackberries)."
So it carries on in this vein for a bit, with peoples guesses getting steadily odder. "Elderberries?" "Rhubarb! What? He said it was sour and purple." This witticism causes several people to choke on their beer. It foams out their nostrils in a most diverting manner.
Eventually, one of them remembers she's studying English. "Hang on, I have a dictionary here," she cries. They all try to look it up and can't find it. I look it up for them. Loganbeeren.
"Loorbeeren?"
"Loganbeeren, fuckwit! Look, here!" They all crowd around. It really does say Loganbeeren.
No one's ever heard of it. "We've never heard of them," they cry, "What are they, do tell us?"
Aargh! What have I just wasted half an hour doing? I quietly strangle the Germans and leave without paying.
These facts are not entirely unrelated.
One evening I was in a pub on the Holtenauerstrasse with a couple of mates, chatting desultorily of this and that, when the topic (steered by girls, needless to say) veered towards food.
"We all like waffles with morellen," (kind of cherry) they claimed. "Oh, no," said the blokes, "Sauerkirschen" (other kind of cherry) "are much better!" At this point, having said little enough all night, I felt it was time to assert myself; "I like ice cream with loganberries!" I cried.
"Loganberries? What are they?"
So, explain explain; Everyone looks excited at the prospect. This'll be something to tell the grandkids. The murmur goes around - "We're going to learn the magics of some arcane Irish food - probably roast leprechaun or similar, or maybe it's -"
"Shut Up Bloody Krauts, and I'll tell you!"
"Logan berries are a bit like raspberries, you know, all bobbly..." "Oh they sound like raspberries", interjects one character, who seems a bit hard of thinking. The others all nod sagely. Raspberries.
"No! Like raspberries, i.e., not them but merely similar. They are, to continue, bobbly like raspberries but they're longer and darker. Also -"
"Oh, he means blackberries", they cheerfully shout. "They're bobbly and purple if you mix them with whitewash and -"
"I know what a blackberry is. We have them at home too. Not blackberries. As I was saying, they're also sourer than raspberries (or indeed blackberries)."
So it carries on in this vein for a bit, with peoples guesses getting steadily odder. "Elderberries?" "Rhubarb! What? He said it was sour and purple." This witticism causes several people to choke on their beer. It foams out their nostrils in a most diverting manner.
Eventually, one of them remembers she's studying English. "Hang on, I have a dictionary here," she cries. They all try to look it up and can't find it. I look it up for them. Loganbeeren.
"Loorbeeren?"
"Loganbeeren, fuckwit! Look, here!" They all crowd around. It really does say Loganbeeren.
No one's ever heard of it. "We've never heard of them," they cry, "What are they, do tell us?"
Aargh! What have I just wasted half an hour doing? I quietly strangle the Germans and leave without paying.
