Language and sex
I work as a freelance translator (written texts)/interpreter (saying what other people have said) to earn a living. I convert Spanish, Catalan and English into each other.
When I first arrived in Barcelona I thought the city would be just another stopover on a roam around the world that was becoming my way of life. But no, and the reason I stayed here was for sex.
Three years in Sudan (the Codger in me stirs but the anti-Codgerlike behaviour squad wave their imaginery truncheons menacingly) was an extremely dry period to say the least. Fear of castration or murder by angry male relatives (who, in the area in which I lived, virtually considered their sisters/daughters/wives as chattels) was one reason to dissuade me from non-masturbatory, coital sex. Then there was also was typhoid, malaria, hepatitis, dysentery and sand fly bites, all of which dulled my appetite.
Two years later, after an emotionally barren and lonely few months in Birmingham, I arrived in Barcelona with renewed strength and a body that no longer looked like Mahatma Gandhi’s before he took up body building (like Gandhi, I do yoga every morning).
All of a sudden, a glut of sexual opportunity appeared. Women (I’m hetro) appeared everywhere in my life and my ego expanded like a round bag often inflated with hot air or gas to make it rise in the air.
At that time I considered the ego inflation to be a sign of improvements in thitherto dragged-along-the-floor self-esteem. Now I know better. Healthy self-esteem does not require outside stimulus or approval for it to remain healthy.
God I digress so much!
I learnt Spanish (the thread) fairly quickly. It’s easy to learn another language when highly motivated by sex and the desire to ligar (rough translation: score/get off with s.o.).
Regular sex meant my appearance as a bloke desperate for a shag gradually changed and I became more relaxed. In turn, I was easier to be with and therefore more shaggable (always the same old story). However, despite my new-found popularity, something snapped and I grew restless again; perhaps it was fear of emotional attachment.
Then one day I met Wifey. At the time she was doing intensive psychoanalysis and was therefore equipped with the skills to show me I was scared of just about any contact. I had built my own bunker from which I emerged when it suited me (e.g. for sex) but shut up shop sharpish after short ventures outside.
Wifey also taught me to speak Catalan, which comes in very handy here to earn a living.
Back to the thread.
So, I charge people to convert what they say in Spanish or Catalan into English. Written words I charge per word and spoken words I charge by time (not how long it takes to say them -pheeeeeeennnnnnnooooooooommmmmmmmeeeeeeennnnnnnooooonnn- but per day, half-day, or however long I spend on the premises of whoever's employing me).
Learning SSP (Spanish for Sexual Purposes) was great fun. Using language to make a living is not so entertaining and has turned me into a linguistic mercenary and the inventor of the Handy Word-o-Meter (which sits on the table in front of me, never short of batteries).
However, the other day an opportunity arose for me to put my skills to non-recompensatory use.
An English woman (sixtyish) was leaning out of a second floor window talking (shouting) to a man in a boiler suit (from the gas company), who was at street level. They didn’t understand each other so I offered to help.
"Dile que vamos a cortar el gas mañana por la mañana, hasta la una"
"Tell her we’ll be cutting the gas off tomorrow morning till one o’clock" said the gas man.
I told her.
"Ask him if I have to be at home all the morning!"
I asked him. She continued.
"Tell him it’s my last day tomorrow and I want to go to the beach so if they can finish by 11 that would be great".
I told him.
"Pregúntale porque va a la playa. Hace demasiado frío. ¡Cogerá una pulmonía!"
"Ask her why she’s going to the beach. It’s too cold, she’ll catch her death"
(I agreed but kept my opinions to myself as I do in professional situations - otherwise I would lose most of the work I come across and I do have a strapping 10-year old to keep in extra-curricular activities).
I asked her and translated her reply.
"She wants to go back to England with some colour on her skin. The weather here’s been crap the last week and she’s very disappointed. If she’d known it was going to be like this she’d have stayed in Staleybridge".
"Pregúntale si una de las otras personas que viven en el piso estará. Es su hijo ¿verdad? O la chica argentina que debe ser su novia y que esta muy buena por cierto".
"Ask her if one of the other people who live in the flat will be there. It’s her son, isn’t it? Or the Argentinean woman who must be his girlfriend and who is really phwwoooooar by the way"
"Do you want me to tell her the last bit?"
"Which bit’s that?"
"The bit about his girlfriend being really phwwoooooar"
"No, no. Just tell her to make sure someone’s in the flat!"
On and on it went but afterwards I gave myself a pat on the back for my good turn and got the gas man's card for potential future paid interpreting work.
I work as a freelance translator (written texts)/interpreter (saying what other people have said) to earn a living. I convert Spanish, Catalan and English into each other.
When I first arrived in Barcelona I thought the city would be just another stopover on a roam around the world that was becoming my way of life. But no, and the reason I stayed here was for sex.
Three years in Sudan (the Codger in me stirs but the anti-Codgerlike behaviour squad wave their imaginery truncheons menacingly) was an extremely dry period to say the least. Fear of castration or murder by angry male relatives (who, in the area in which I lived, virtually considered their sisters/daughters/wives as chattels) was one reason to dissuade me from non-masturbatory, coital sex. Then there was also was typhoid, malaria, hepatitis, dysentery and sand fly bites, all of which dulled my appetite.
Two years later, after an emotionally barren and lonely few months in Birmingham, I arrived in Barcelona with renewed strength and a body that no longer looked like Mahatma Gandhi’s before he took up body building (like Gandhi, I do yoga every morning).
All of a sudden, a glut of sexual opportunity appeared. Women (I’m hetro) appeared everywhere in my life and my ego expanded like a round bag often inflated with hot air or gas to make it rise in the air.
At that time I considered the ego inflation to be a sign of improvements in thitherto dragged-along-the-floor self-esteem. Now I know better. Healthy self-esteem does not require outside stimulus or approval for it to remain healthy.
God I digress so much!
I learnt Spanish (the thread) fairly quickly. It’s easy to learn another language when highly motivated by sex and the desire to ligar (rough translation: score/get off with s.o.).
Regular sex meant my appearance as a bloke desperate for a shag gradually changed and I became more relaxed. In turn, I was easier to be with and therefore more shaggable (always the same old story). However, despite my new-found popularity, something snapped and I grew restless again; perhaps it was fear of emotional attachment.
Then one day I met Wifey. At the time she was doing intensive psychoanalysis and was therefore equipped with the skills to show me I was scared of just about any contact. I had built my own bunker from which I emerged when it suited me (e.g. for sex) but shut up shop sharpish after short ventures outside.
Wifey also taught me to speak Catalan, which comes in very handy here to earn a living.
Back to the thread.
So, I charge people to convert what they say in Spanish or Catalan into English. Written words I charge per word and spoken words I charge by time (not how long it takes to say them -pheeeeeeennnnnnnooooooooommmmmmmmeeeeeeennnnnnnooooonnn- but per day, half-day, or however long I spend on the premises of whoever's employing me).
Learning SSP (Spanish for Sexual Purposes) was great fun. Using language to make a living is not so entertaining and has turned me into a linguistic mercenary and the inventor of the Handy Word-o-Meter (which sits on the table in front of me, never short of batteries).
However, the other day an opportunity arose for me to put my skills to non-recompensatory use.
An English woman (sixtyish) was leaning out of a second floor window talking (shouting) to a man in a boiler suit (from the gas company), who was at street level. They didn’t understand each other so I offered to help.
"Dile que vamos a cortar el gas mañana por la mañana, hasta la una"
"Tell her we’ll be cutting the gas off tomorrow morning till one o’clock" said the gas man.
I told her.
"Ask him if I have to be at home all the morning!"
I asked him. She continued.
"Tell him it’s my last day tomorrow and I want to go to the beach so if they can finish by 11 that would be great".
I told him.
"Pregúntale porque va a la playa. Hace demasiado frío. ¡Cogerá una pulmonía!"
"Ask her why she’s going to the beach. It’s too cold, she’ll catch her death"
(I agreed but kept my opinions to myself as I do in professional situations - otherwise I would lose most of the work I come across and I do have a strapping 10-year old to keep in extra-curricular activities).
I asked her and translated her reply.
"She wants to go back to England with some colour on her skin. The weather here’s been crap the last week and she’s very disappointed. If she’d known it was going to be like this she’d have stayed in Staleybridge".
"Pregúntale si una de las otras personas que viven en el piso estará. Es su hijo ¿verdad? O la chica argentina que debe ser su novia y que esta muy buena por cierto".
"Ask her if one of the other people who live in the flat will be there. It’s her son, isn’t it? Or the Argentinean woman who must be his girlfriend and who is really phwwoooooar by the way"
"Do you want me to tell her the last bit?"
"Which bit’s that?"
"The bit about his girlfriend being really phwwoooooar"
"No, no. Just tell her to make sure someone’s in the flat!"
On and on it went but afterwards I gave myself a pat on the back for my good turn and got the gas man's card for potential future paid interpreting work.
posted by Bob at 1:16 pm
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