A Very Uncomfortable Suit

Image via Tom Häkkinen
A rainy afternoon at Circular Quay.

I have nothing against suits. Regular readers might remember my article about wearing a tie in an Australian public school. But this particular suit that I met today might explain why some people do dislike “suits”.

Catching the ferry into the city again this morning, I felt something of a trailblazer, as, on account of a minuscule spattering of rain, all of the other ferry commuters were huddled inside, and no-one else was standing on the outside decks. So, Columbus like, I showed the way by opening the door to the front deck and bravely standing out in the elements. Truly the rain was insignificant, it was like a Hertfordshire spring shower, some of the rain drops were so tiny that they didn’t even fall down, instead just swirling about in the air, but still the open deck at the front of the ferry remained empty except for myself. Looking back, the doors to the inside area of the ferry resembled the doors to the Hydrotherapy pool at your local public baths - all fogged-up and sweaty. I was perplexed that I was really the only one who preferred the fresh sea air to a room packed with wet human beings.

As the ferry got moving, some others also came out onto the front deck. Obviously following my brave example. By the time we’d reached Circular Quay, I was in a state of complete content, conscious that I should savour the serene beauty of this rainy morning on the harbour.

However, I soon discovered that at least one of the suits who’d ventured out onto the open-air front deck was an unwilling convert to the outdoors lifestyle. After struggling with the door back into the ferry and in an obvious state of agitation he turned to me, stuttering and stammering to release all of the obscenities he thought necessary to explain the “disgraceful” level of service on the ferry, he complained that the air-conditioning in the ferry had broken down.

Image via Tom Häkkinen
Sunset over Port Jackson.

He was indifferent to my attempt at being agreeable and completely ignored my comment that yes, inside it was in fact “like a sauna”. Perhaps because I had ignored my own advice from last week’s blog and pronounced sauna like it is in Finnish (rhymes with shower, not corner); or more likely because he had made a bee-line to someone who would be much more useful for the purposes of expressing grievances. As I overheard him repeating his complaint to a member of staff (this time sans obscene language), I realised that he wasn’t in fact making friendly conversation, rather I was just the first person unfortunate enough to come within range of spraying out a load of invective.

When I got off at Circular Quay, instead of jumping on the first available train, I walked another 7 minutes to the next nearest train station, just to savour a little more the lovely peace and quiet afforded by the rain.

NB: I didn't have the presence of mind to take photos of Circular Quay on my rainy morning trip - so rainy afternoon photos will have to suffice.

Anglicisation Anxiety

Image via Tom Häkkinen
Des croissants, confiture et jus d'orange.

Recently in a discussion with a friend, I got into an argument as to the correct pronunciation of “prima facie”. Having tentatively dipped my toe in the Italian language, I assumed that a Latin expression would follow Italian pronunciation, hence: “pri-ma fah-chi”. But no, apparently everyone says “preemer face-ee” as in the word “face”. Wikipedia’s IPA spelling suggested the unhappy compromise of “prima fay-shee”. I decided in the end, that however the phrase is properly pronounced in Latin, it’s best to go with the common pronunciation. But this question frequently vexes me, how much should one anglicise foreign loan words when using them in everyday sentences?

Take “croissant” for example. Is there any other word for which I exercise so much anxiety when I’m called upon to use it in conversation? Where do you draw the line when it comes to pronouncing the word properly? Do I cough-up a great big ball of phlegm when pronouncing the “r” in “cr-” and do I, like “un vrai français” pronounce the “-oi-” as “wah”? Of course I’m not going to pronounce the final “t” but should I also properly nasalize “-ssant” and thus produce a passionate and fully rounded “kr-wasson”?

No, that would sound ridiculous.

Should I instead, like every other Aussie, refer to a croissant the same way I would refer to my auntie when she’s angry about something?

Oh, if only I could just ask my whole question in French and remove any ambiguity:

“Deux croissant s’il vous plaît.”

But I’m not sure the pimply apprentice at Baker’s Delight would understand what I was talking about. Looks like I’ll just have to say:

“May I have two cross aunts please.” (Although really I’d prefer it if my aunts remained their cheerful old selves).

But this is the dilemma. On the one hand, I can sound like an uneducated bogan, on the other a pretentious merchant banker. Where is the happy middle-ground?

Of course the French have no such anxiety. The resolve the question rather bluntly by simply Francifying all foreign loan words. I don’t think anyone in France would get any sort of higher esteem or caché for pronouncing “le showbiz” like some marketing executive straight off the plane from Los Angeles. Rather, my pocket Larousse’s IPA guide suggested something much more like “le chobiznès”. While it is generally a mark of intellect being able to pronounce foreign loan words correctly in English, the French have no such hang-ups. “Naples”, “Genoa”, “Moscou”; if you ever wondered why we call Florence “Florence” when the actual denizens of that city call it Firenze you can thank the French. Yes the English assiduously tried to copy the names properly - but the English copied them from the wrong language!