No Good Boyo drove our car, Old Mossy, to a rendezvous at midnight this weekend. He was proud of the chance to use headlights, and had studied the car manual thoroughly to this end.
Sad to say he did not read the paragraph on the car's reading internal light, and fumbled in the dark for the switch. Like most Bernsteinian revisionists he was happy to settle for any switch, and so drove out into the night with the sun-roof open.
Into the freezing Berkshire night he drove. A pale moon backlit the snowflakes as they settled on his head, muffling his sobs.
21 comments:
He is clearly a man of deep emotion underneath his jocular exterior. You had the privilege to look into the the soul of a Welshman, Mrs Boyo.
I'd always pictured life in the Boyo household as being somewhat like a Truffaut film! Ours in more like a slice of Italian neo-realism, De Sica’s Bicycle Thieves perhaps, with plenty of furrowed brows and pacing around, punctuated occasionally by uncontrollable joy over acquisitions like a particularly tasty onion or a new second-hand pair of trousers.
Mr Dilo, I'm pleased to hear that Romanians, like their Italian cousins, still value the simple things in life.
There is an excellent Russian film called "Gorod Zero" (Zero Town) that foresaw No Good Boyo's doomed attempts to leave our house by whatever means at hand. Review here:
http://movies.nytimes.com/movie/review?_r=1&res=9A04E0D7123AF931A15750C0A967958260&oref=slogin
Mr Bananas, like Nietzsche I sometimes fear No Good Boyo's soul may look back into me if it ever managed to focus for long enough.
Well, Italy's gone to the dogs now; they're all poncing around with Gucci handbags full of money and makeup and souls full of nothing. While here we've remained true to neo-realist principles and, culturally, everything is still shot in black-and-white. :-)
For the sake of humanity and all that is holy, Mrs. B, allow The Boyo’s soul to remain unfocussed: wasn’t it only when Nietzsche’s sister started crystallising the philosopher’s ravings into a plan of action that all the trouble started?
Mr Dilo, helping to keep Boyo blurred is a simple and satisfying task, effected by ensuring an unsteady supply of Batko Voskoboynykov's horilka and an unvarnished shed.
My one visit to Romania confirmed the impression you give of a country that said "This is 1952, and we like it. Let's stay." Lack of ambition becomes them.
I think 1952 was a bit too post-modern for them. They'd have prefered to have stayed in 1922: after the Treaty of Trianon but still before The Enlightenment.
Is Batko Voskoboynykov a real person?? I've done many bad things in my life, but I'd never call a child of mine Batko!
By the way, I was worried that you'd get women readers writing in to comment upon Boyo’s nocturnal switch-groping endeavours, but fortunately you haven't.
Batko is a real man, the father of a friend. He devotes his life to turning potatoes into something more interesting. "Batko" simply means "father" in Ukrainian, although I confess even his wife calls him that. Country ways...
I've come to realise that other women have little interest beyond the sociological in No Good Boyo, and think I could have driven a harder bargain at the garden centre. Too late now.
Mrs B, from this and previous posts it may be adduced that NGB is wont to break down at the slightest provocation. On behalf of the rest of British manhood, may I just say that this is neither common, nor socially acceptable. The proper manner in which to show emotions is through drink and casual violence.
Seen any good romantic comedies recently, Mr Ward?
Oh, sorry, I really should have more respect. And batko undoubtedly sounds better in a Ukrainian accent than in the silly one I use inside my head. May his картопля коньяк preserve him ever!
One's given the impression that all marriages are romantic comedies. Having just embarked on one, I'm hoping it's true :-)
There was something in my eye. And I haven't sobbed since Brazil got knocked out of the World Cup in 1982 - an omen if ever there was one.
I cried in Kenneth Branagh's spectacularly loud and muddy film of Henry V, when he declared "For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman".
As if our woes were not enough, now this floppy-banged ham wants in, I thought.
"I cried IN Kenneth Branagh's spectacularly loud and muddy film of Henry V..." (my emphasis).
Excuse my prepositional pedantry, but were you an extra or summat, like a dead Frenchie?
Branagh and Emma Thomson. How many invitations for dinner did their friends turn down?
I cried during* Das Boot.
"Kenneth Branagh: worse than, well, only my younger self, perhaps". I always found Emma Thomson very foxy though.
* That's correct, isn't it?
I stand corrected. It ought to have been "during".
I've never been in a film, although my brother Bendigeidfran was an extra in First Knight when it was filmed in the environs of Trawsfynydd.
Film trivia: the mountain scenes in Carry On Up The Khyber were shot at Tanygrisiau near my hometown of Dolgellau, and Michael Mann's Transylvanian oddity The Keep was also filmed in Snowdonia.
Emma Thompson was a delight in The Tall Guy and Fortunes of War, but Branagh swapped her loveliness for luvviness. Now she's unbearable. Audiencies cheered as she was tortured in Imagining Argentina, I gather. Not that I in any way condone blah blah.
Ah, I always wondered why those outdoor scenes in Carry On Up The Khyber reminded me of my damp childood holidays! I've never been in a film but I was once on You've Been Framed.
You've Been Framed - is this a programme in which the presenter sets up traps for unwitting members of the public, or a Romanian Police training film?
Ha! It was a bit of both, Mrs. B. Jeremy Beadle, the erstwhile presenter, was later revealed to have been a Romanian spy - hence his ridiculous beard and lack of charisma.
My contribution to the show was as a member of The Balalaika Dance Group. During a lively dance - very possibly your own Hopak, yes - my trousers started falling down, but like a trouper I carried on, managing to kick them off at an opportune moment and finishing the dance. The performance was in a hospice full of elderly ladies, who begged me for my phone number afterwards ;-) We got £250 for sending in the video. Best anecdote of my life and now I’ve used it up, ah well.
You've Been Framed is the sort of thing I'd like to base my pet project "Idiot TV" on.
It would cover the same areas as BBC1, but with idiots chosen deliberately as presenters, rather than accidently as at the BBC. Apart from idiots, we'd also showchase other bright ideas of mine as the Tourette's Male Voice Choir.
Well, I'd watch it. I'd watch that clip of your trouserless hopak too. Sharyvary are difficult to keep up at the best of times.
If you think the Boyo has problems with his own car, wait until he's held a licence long enough to hire a van. I once did an entire trip to Essex and back in a hired Transit during which I helpfully signalled people out of sideroads by washing the windscreen, and greeted the gathering dusk by getting the horn stuck full on.
Let me know in good time if Boyo is to drive one, so that I can either leave the country well in advance, or volunteer to come alog as co-driver for the entertainment value.
My hope is that No Good Boyo will continue his lifelong trend towards downscaling by moving from saloon car to moped to just sitting around in his shed as soon as possible. I may even increase his horilka ration to that end.
Post a Comment