The Untranslatables.

Well, I thought it might have to be an early night again tonight but having phoned The Number and heard the recorded message, I don’t have to judge some poor sap tomorrow. I do, however, have to phone The Number again to see if I am required for a jury the next day. Last time, this continued for a few days until the recorded message said ‘Oh, just get lost’ and that was that. I hope it happens like that again. They can call me again in another five years and that will be okay, my pension will be active then so I’ll at least have the bills covered even if they waste weeks of my time acquitting a celebrity of something they were supposed to have done in a previous life.

The recording gives a range of numbers who don’t have to appear the next day. Yes, when you are selected for jury service, you are a number. You are not a free man – failing to turn up for jury service carries a penalty, it’s not optional. It should be. I’d rather face a jury of people interested in justice and the legal process than face twelve like me who don’t want to be there and might reach a verdict in haste just to get it all over with. However, that’s not how it works. If they call you for jury service and you don’t turn up, you become a criminal yourself.

Anyway, Boss has returned. The old supervisor is back (I use ‘old’ as in ‘previous’, she’s half my age!) so we have someone in charge again who knows what they’re doing. This has improved work enormously. Mopman is now in his new job as storeman so apart from a couple of temps, only Boss and myself are permanently working there. I’d now be happy to do extra days – but still want more hours per day and fewer (than seven!) days. I need resting time for writing. Well, the resting comes after the writing because that usually goes on into the small hours. Speaking of which, I see ideal writing weather has arrived. Howling wind, creaking doors, and all the rest.

Local Shop installed new lighting while I was being drugged and prodded by the medics. LEDs everywhere. It hurts. The colours of everything have changed and nothing feels real. I have to go out for a cigarette just to rest my eyes. Even the ones I thought were striplights are just multiple rows of LEDs. I really hope it puts off customers so they change it all back.

It only occurred to me recently that, with 28 years between my overnight stays in hospital, many of those doctors and nurses telling me how to live longer weren’t even born last time I was in there! What can they possibly know about living longer? They’ve only just started. I’ve been doing it for over half a century.

For tonight then, instead of a rant at the money-men who think that ‘saving money by giving up the reason you earn the money in the first place‘ is a great thing, here’s something that could be loosely described as interesting.

Translations of untranslatable words from other languages.

I especially liked ‘Verschlimmbessern’, the art of making something worse by trying to fix it. It’s a word that should be on page one of every book on politics out there.

Actually, it probably is, but as an instruction rather than a warning.