truck park oor Kornies
truck park
Vertalings in die woordeboek Engels - Kornies
parkva gertow
en
parking lot for trucks
Geskatte vertalings
Vertoon algoritmies gegenereerde vertalings
voorbeelde
Advanced filtering
Voorbeelde moet herlaai word.
truck park
Yma lyver war an voos.langbot langbot
“I’d like to get some food to them – to keep them going till relief comes. If it comes. Any ideas?” I expected that Paul would think this a dangerous, if not impossible, task to achieve. But, no. His response was as quick as it was matter-of-fact: “There’s a truck parked just to the North of the cemetery in Lygon Street, a refrigerated truck like they use to make deliveries to supermarkets. I saw it on the afternoon of day two, just before everything went black for me. The diesel engine was still idling at the time and the refrigeration unit was still running. No sign of any driver. The truck might still be there.” Amazing. “And full of food?” I asked. “Probably. I didn’t bother to check inside. Charles and I had already raided the gate-keeper’s house. We didn’t need more food at that time – and it wasn’t worth the risk of exposing ourselves by going out in the open. However, as you can see, I made a mental note of the vehicle for future reference.” “Will you come with me and David to check it out?” “Fuck off!” said Paul. “You don’t need me and, even if you did, I’m not yet that hungry.” There was nothing more to be said. I called out to David. He didn’t come. I needed to go inside to arouse him from his afternoon torpor. (Yes, I did kick him and, yes, he did complain loudly.) “Come on, Dave. We’ve got work to do.”
Byghan yw an lyver na.langbot langbot
THE RELIEF OF THE BAILLIEU It was just as Paul had described: a large refrigerated truck, ‘parked’ at a set of traffic lights in Lygon Street, the door of the cab wide open and no driver in sight – and the diesel engine was still idling. (Frugal beasts, those diesel engines.) The vehicle was otherwise untouched – what good was it to zombies? So, David and I approached, and opened the rear doors without difficulty. The driver had obviously only just started his delivery run – the refrigerated compartment was absolutely full of frozen foodstuffs of all kinds. Meat and poultry – frozen and processed. Fruit and vegetables. Pallet loads of it. Literally, tonnes of it. More than enough to feed the fugitives in the Baillieu for weeks. “Hey, Dave! Paul is a complete genius! We could have spent weeks looking for something like this.” David said nothing – not even a grunt came from him. This stuff was now unimportant to him and, I guessed, he wanted to be elsewhere (the basement of Union House) more than ever. “Too bad, Dave,” I said. “I’m not going back there.” (Not unless I absolutely had to.) I was minded to jump into the cab and drive straight to the Baillieu but I had another idea. I would drive it back to the crypt in the cemetery or, at least, as near as I could get this lumbering great vehicle to it. “Jump in, Dave,” I said. “We’re going for a little ride.” David reluctantly complied – he had no other pressing engagements. Of course, you might object that this all sounds highly improbable – and, indeed it was, the finding of the truck, at least. But there was no improbability about my being able to drive that truck. True it is that I did not possess an articulated vehicle licence and had never tried to get one. True also is that, if called upon to drive this vehicle further than the mile or so that I now needed to drive, I would probably have crashed the truck or damaged it irreparably.
Hemm yw ow broder.langbot langbot
But this was not the case – and I was perfectly capable of driving this thing, at low speed and in low gears, for the required distance. For you see, during my previous Summer holidays, I had worked in the yard at IPEC (a now-defunct trucking firm). I was, of course, only paid to load trucks but, from time to time, I was called upon to shift trucks in the yard to get them out of the way of essential operations. Shit! I knew quite enough to shift this baby – at 5 mph or so. Having moved the somewhat tattered driver’s seat (the driver must have been a much bigger man than I was – and tough on the fabric) and then, having re- acquainted myself with the basic controls, I crunched the gears loudly and we were off – at a crawl. I had time to try the radio – still no broadcasts worth listening to. No news. No information. What were ‘the authorities’ up to and why weren’t they here, rescuing us? After an uncommonly long time, we reached the intersection of Lygon Street and Princes Street. I executed a right-hand turn, taking down a traffic sign in the process – no matter. Then, after a further crawl towards College Crescent, I decided to abandon the idea of actually entering the cemetery. (Perhaps I wasn’t quite as good at driving trucks as I had thought.) Meantime, I caught David, in the (much less shabby) passenger seat, waving at the numerous zombies who had stopped at the side of the road to observe the spectacle of my miserable driving. Cheeky bastard! None of them waved back – I guess waving isn’t a regular zombie-thing. (And David was, and is, no regular zombie.) I pulled the truck up outside the main entrance of the cemetery and ‘parked’ in the middle of the road. (There was, of course, no other traffic to be obstructed.) I left it idling. “Come on, Dave,” I said. “We’re going to get Paul and Charles.”
Glas yw ow dewlagas.langbot langbot
David didn’t seem to want to leave the comfort and fun of the truck cabin. He was enjoying the ride and his elevated position above the hoi-poloi – or so it seemed to me. So, I dragged him out. He came back with me to the crypt – but only with considerable bad grace. (Lots of huffing and groaning.) I met Paul outside the crypt. “We’ve got the truck. It’s bursting with food- enough to feed a small army. It’s parked outside the front entrance. You and Charles must come with us. You’ll be much safer with the others at the Baillieu, now that they will have food.” Paul turned it over in his mind. There was a problem. “How will I sell it to Charles? He thinks the zombies are roundhead soldiers from the mid-17th century. He doesn’t understand the danger we are in by staying here – more or less alone and isolated.” “Leave it to me, my Friend.” I ran into the crypt, ahead of David and Paul, exclaiming breathlessly: “Your Royal Majesty, I have just received word from Henrietta-Maria (i.e. Jude). The cavalier troops have regrouped not far from here. She begs that you join them and take command.” A king should sit at the head of his army, shouldn’t he? “Oh, goody. We do love that girl!” came Charles’ joyous response. No more problem – it was Paul’s turn to admire my own wit and guile. Quickly Paul and Charles gathered their essential belongings and, with only minimal resistance from the zombies who had gathered about in apparent curiosity, we succeeded in getting back to the truck and piling into its cab. (Speed was the key to our safe passage.) “And now, to the Baillieu!” I shouted.
Yma tybyans da dhymm.langbot langbot
5 sinne gevind in 3 ms. Hulle kom uit baie bronne en word nie nagegaan nie.