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GREENSLADE: Two criminals are approaching the home of a mister Watt, a Welsh expert on Dickens.
SECOMBE: What the Dickens they call me. I was sitting in my farm house in Breckon, when uh --
MORIARTY: Look Grytpype, there's a man sitting in his farmhouse 'n breakin win', ah.
Today I woke up with what I thought was a group of Italians in heated discussion outside my bedroom window. Usually the only thing outside my window is a private forest, so you see why this was a new experience for me. "Oh dear," I thought, squinting at my Venetian blinds. "It must be the Eidsvoll mafia! They've tracked me down and are going in for the kill." (Although, Tiny dear, I'm not sure if the Eidsvoll mafia speaks Italian, but maybe some branch of it does). I remained still, like a deer in the infamous headlights - only to slowly realize it was Polish I was hearing. Of course, the painters my family's hired to retouch the house are Polish.
It's been some three years since I traveled through Poland, but the language still lies fresh in my memory. Although, er, the only two things I can remember is dobranoc ("good night", and a very pretty word) and woda nje gazovana, prosze ("Still water, please"), so I don't know how long I can keep up a conversation.
And, uh, of course there's no such thing as the Eidsvoll mafia.
SECOMBE: What the Dickens they call me. I was sitting in my farm house in Breckon, when uh --
MORIARTY: Look Grytpype, there's a man sitting in his farmhouse 'n breakin win', ah.
Today I woke up with what I thought was a group of Italians in heated discussion outside my bedroom window. Usually the only thing outside my window is a private forest, so you see why this was a new experience for me. "Oh dear," I thought, squinting at my Venetian blinds. "It must be the Eidsvoll mafia! They've tracked me down and are going in for the kill." (Although, Tiny dear, I'm not sure if the Eidsvoll mafia speaks Italian, but maybe some branch of it does). I remained still, like a deer in the infamous headlights - only to slowly realize it was Polish I was hearing. Of course, the painters my family's hired to retouch the house are Polish.
It's been some three years since I traveled through Poland, but the language still lies fresh in my memory. Although, er, the only two things I can remember is dobranoc ("good night", and a very pretty word) and woda nje gazovana, prosze ("Still water, please"), so I don't know how long I can keep up a conversation.
And, uh, of course there's no such thing as the Eidsvoll mafia.
