I HAVE mixed memories of the Netherlands. The first time I went was in my youth at a time of high unemployment.
Somebody said there was work to be had in a bean-canning factory in south-west Holland, so I borrowed some money, took a train, then another train, and another train, then a ferry, then a hired bike (cycling back then was not the sociopathic activity it has become today) and I camped overnight and, next evening – it was night-shift work – I went to the factory, knocked on the manager’s door and said: “Are there any jobs?”
And he said: “No.” So I cycled back, got on a ferry, took a train, another train and another train and, arriving home, made myself a cup of tea and said philosophically: “Aye.” This is the sort of thing that happened before the internet.
I must admit, though my stay was brief, I did manage some hours in a Dutch pub, and in general found the people most congenial, not least the laughing policemen who stopped me for cycling on a dual carriageway and the smiling lady at the ferry terminal who let me on the ship even though my free return ticket had expired.
The second time I visited the Netherlands was less happy. It was for the Lockerbie trial. All the hotel rooms were booked, bar one: a wedding suite, which I shared with a female reporter. We behaved with consummate – not the word I’m looking for, but you get my drift – professionalism, keeping ourselves to ourselves, though her observation that my toiletries bag was bigger than hers still haunts me to this day.
I say all this as fascinating contextual preamble to the news that a survey found Dutch to be the world’s least sexy language, with German not far behind. The survey by e-learning platform Preply also found that men and women alike both found Italian to be the sexiest language.
Linguist Aleksandra Stevanovic explained that Italian is perceived as more attractive because it has fewer consonants running together, making it more musical and easier for singing. German I have seen described as a “barrack room” language, and I imagine Dutch must be similar, though I’ve hardly heard it, since they all speak English, and much better than do most British – and certainly Scottish – people.
The musical angle backs up the important point that I keep making about your Teuton – from Holland along through Germany then up Scandinavia – being unable to sing rock and roll. Hence all the horrible growling in that hideous heavy metal nonsense.
That said so seductively, while I might put French as sexiest language (very feminine, I think), I also have a thing for Swedish, perhaps not so much in sensual terms but more for its homely, melancholy tones. It’s the language of the elves (though Tolkien drew more on Finnish and Welsh).
I also find it endearingly comical when Swedes speak English then suddenly throw in a Swedish word because they really spit out the last syllable as if it were a fly in their meatball.
Interestingly, or arguably otherwise, Swedes sometimes seem embarrassed by their language, particularly where it’s colloquial or rural, much in the same way that Scots do about theirs in the dominant southern English culture of Britain.
Although I champion Scots, a passion confirmed after listening recently to an audiobook of ‘Sunset Song’, I concede that it can come across as gruff, aggressive and dour.
For example: “Ye’ve nae joabs? Well, ye kin shove yir beans right up yir bahookey, pal.” I can’t imagine anyone finding that sexy, though you never know.
Repeat feat
ARE you a “super-subscriber”? It’s the new internet phenomenon for online shoppers who repeat-buy.
Many of you, I know, have computers and may have noticed when you’re buying something off yonder Amazon that you get an option to subscribe to an item that you’re likely to repeat-buy. Thus you might take out a three-month repeat prescription for your homeopathic syphilis ointment, wig shampoo, or creosote-formulated female beard remover.
Personally, though I buy several items consistently, my usual fear of commitment prevents me from ever having subscribed to repeat orders, even though these work out cheaper. Surely, we’ll have been incinerated in a nuclear conflagration before three months is up? That said, my hopes in this regard are never fulfilled.
Other, arguably normal, people have no such hopes, and the Daily Mail, ever feeling the pulse of the middle classes, has identified “super-subscribers” and, indeed, claims that the average household has seven subscriptions, costing around £552 a year. Oh, how I long to be average.
Some super-subscribers shell out six grand, though this includes satellite telly, online music, gym fees, computer printer ink and the like. Computer printer ink? The stuff that never works? Who the hell still buys that?
Five things we’ve learned this week
Experts keep yakking about breakfast. You’d better eat it. You’re better off without it. Don’t drink whisky with it. Drink whisky with it. The latest “intelligence” says missing it makes you more physically active. Good. I’ll have a double helping.
While usually taken at the other end of the day, it seems cocoa could be the boy for you at breakfast time. UK and US researchers found that its flavanols boost the brain. Red wine is similarly flavanol-rich. Your choice.
Archivists unearthed a 180-year-old phrase book for English tourists encountering Welsh “peasants”. Phrases included “shave my beard” and “get me some snuff”. Discovered next: the 179-year-old phrase book advising Welshman how to tell English tourists to “get stuffed”.
Britland’s gangsters are using 3D printers to manufacture assault rifles. We knew this technology would be put to good use. Mind you, we were supposed to have it in our homes by now but, like gene therapy, we’re still waiting.
Rats are boarding the sinking ship. There are now 150 million of the controversial rodents in Britainshire, making 2.2 for every human. In one poor area of Manchester, they’re reportedly as big as cats. They make less moody pets too.
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