Lost in translation

Not so very long ago, I bought myself a very beautiful mandolin.

First, I told my friend who is a gourmand that I had bought a mandolin.

“It’s coming from America and I just can’t wait to practise,” I gushed.

“Why would you order one from America?”

“Because the one I really like is there.”

“Do you really need to practise?”

“Well, yes, I’ve never used on before.”

“It’s as easy,” she told me patiently, “as grating carrots.”

“What?” I was bemused.  “It’s a musical instrument,” I stated what I thought was the obvious.

“Ohhh!” She said, “I thought you meant a mandolin slicer to slice veges real thin!”

Then I told my uncle who has a very thick Scottish accent and believes that he is the only one who speaks clearly.

“I’ve got a mandolin,” I told him with great enthusiasm.

“What have you got?” he asked.

“A mandolin,” I repeated.

“Yeah, what have you got her?”

“What?”

“What have you got Amanda Lynn?”

Starting to understand why this instrument is called a “mando” by those who play.

About Birdie in Beijing

Live in Beijing from 2012 til .... who knows? Right now, it suits me just fine.
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2 Responses to Lost in translation

  1. Jamie says:

    That’s awesome! You now need to meet Amanda Lynn and grate some carrots for her.

    • The story continues – A mate called the other day and opened the phone call with “What are you doing?”

      “Practicing my mandolin,” I told him.

      “Oh, yeah,” he said. “You’re going back soon, eh?”

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