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Author: langbot
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English[en]
Once again, I battled with the gears of the vehicle: Crunch! Crunch! Crunch! Paul helpfully assisted the process by asking: “Are you sure you can drive this thing?” (and other questions in that vein.) Thanks, Paul. In any event, I eventually found a gear that was low enough to allow the truck to move off with a lurch. “Now, that’s a fine gear,” I observed as we cruised along at 4 or 5 mph. “I think we should stick with that one, don’t you?” Paul and David huffed in contempt – as one – but made no verbal reply. That was a little bit disturbing. After all, Paul hadn’t fully recovered from his bite as yet. Oh well, Paul would soon be at the Baillieu – and no longer my problem. We exited College Crescent and entered Royal Parade, heading South. I needed to find the entrance on the West side of campus which would take me neatly to the front of the Baillieu. (This route is no longer possible – too many new buildings on campus.) I did, of course, have plenty of time to keep a look-out but was conscious of the fact that we were travelling, in effect, in the service lane of Royal Parade. The width of the service lane was quite tight and I was hemmed in on both sides by rows of mature elm trees. (Very pretty, of course, but a real problem when trying to manoeuvre a large truck.) I spotted the entrance – eventually – and applied the brake very gingerly. I didn’t want to stall the bugger after all this – and I couldn’t actually remember how to re-start one if the engine stopped. I didn’t share this fact with my passengers, deciding that they wouldn’t be much interested in my ignorance on this point. Left turn. Side swipe the trunk of a very large tree. (Crunch!) Drive over the top of the gate-keeper’s booth. (Loud metallic, crumpling sound.) Smash through boom gate. (Snap!) “Fuck!” screamed my gay friends in unison. “Hmm,” I said. “Yes, that did go well, didn’t it?” “Are we there yet, Dad?” said Paul in a weak and quavering voice.
Cornish[kw]
Unnweyth arta, my a wrug bresel gans maglennow an kert: Krakk! Krakk! Krakk! Paul a’m gweresas dre y gwestyon: “Esosta sur ty dhe alloes lywya an dra ma?” (Ha dre gwestyons erell a’n par na.) Meur ras, ‘Bowl. Yn neb kas, wor’tiwedh, my a gevis maglenn isel lowr rag gasa an kert dalleth gwaya - gans lamm. “Wel, ott maglenn deg!” a verkyis vy ha ni korsyes, 4 po 5 mildir an our agan toeth. “Ni a dalvien triga gans an huni na, dell grysav, ay?” Yn kettermyn, Powl ha Davydh a hwythas yn ughel – yn keth maner poran - mes nyns esa gorthyp kewsys vyth dhiworth an eyl po dhiworth an gila. Gans hemma, yth en nebes troblys. Wosa oll, nyns o Powl hwath omwellhes yn tien. Da lowr, y fia Powl yn skon y’n Baillieu – ha ny via na fella ow hudynn vy. Ni a asas Kromman Kollji hag entra yn Kerdhva Ryel, ow kwaya troha’n dhygowbarth. Res o dhymm kavoes entrans an howlsedhes a ylli ow hemmeres dhe dharas a-rag an Baillieu. (Nyns yw possybyl na fella gul devnydh a’n fordh ma drefenn bos lemmyn drehevyansow nowydh warnodho.) Yth esa, heb mar, termyn lowr rag lywya gans rach ewn mes yth esen ow lavurya, yn effeyth, yn len-servis Kerdhva Ryel. An len-servis ma o nebes ynn hag yth en keys a-ji war an dhew du gans resyow elow koth. (Pur deg, heb mar, mes kudynn gwir pan assayen vy trabellhe kert meur.) My a aspias an entrans – wor’tiwedh – ha gwaska an fronn gans rach. Ny vynnen an jynn euthyk dhe fyllel wosa oll an hwarvosow ma – yn hwir, ny yllen perthi kov dell o dasdhallethys mars o res y wul. Byttegyns, ny vynnen kevrenna an kevrin gans an re erell. My a erviras na via hemma meur a vern dhedha, ow fowt skians a-dro dhe’n mater ma. Torn a-gledh. Y frappyes dhe du gwydhenn veur. (Krakk!) Ena, y lywyes dre (hag a-ugh) skovva porther. (Tros ughel a alkan ow therri.) Ena, y frywes der an yetbren. (Skwatt!) “Re’n jyowl!” a grias ow sos gethreydel yn unnlev. “Hmm,” yn-medhav. “Yn hwir, yth eth henna yn ta, hay!” “Eson ni ena hwath, ‘Dasik?” yn-medh Powl, gwan y lev ow krena.