Don't judge a book by its smell...or Bill. RIGINAL.
Pliny the Roman historian may or may not have been the original explanatorial incumbent to flay open or decipher the meaning "worth their weight in salt?" According to a site my Rome ing finger tripped over, Roman hard -working soldiers were paid in salt.
Therefore if someone said to you in passing, "I was really IN salted by that utterance/inference, I felt like peppering that person or at the very least giving them a good salt shaker...over their vitals" -is that a fair comment?. Or, a donkey in passing says it has been ass salted by its owner. Does that mean the asinine insult/assault was a sort of hardworking resultant 'reward?' Is the ass entitled to think it's worth its bray power in salt? Take a complimentary beating? Or should it ass salt its owner by peppering the arrogant sod with its hooves at the earliest opportunity?
Words and meaning of by a learned person of proper diction, usually in most cases with a photographic memory, never cease to fascinate me. I could listen to them all day and night. Although some are so pedantic,so serious, you don't dare converse on their level, or even attempt to,for fear of being ass salted and harried to death and made to feel that because a brain is like grey porridge the intelligent one is suggestive of us mere mortal diction strugglers; best to boil some milk, put our false top teeth plate upside down, pour the milk up our nostrils and eat a portion of our grey matter 'cereal' with the aforesaid inverted teeth to make room for 'incoming brilliance' spouted thereof by scholaristic scribes.
Or simply don't say anything of substance and just nod wisely during the diction bombardment and come to the realization that if you had of paid attention at school or the diction God had given you an extra dollop of grey without the fifty shades of, you would not have to stand there impersonating a automotive dashboard 'nodding dog'.
So it was with much aplomb that I felt not superior but on level ground walking into a demolition yard with my grey porridge having not been partaken of or milk nostrilised inversion creating an internal head space cereal fest...so far.
Bill,that's the name he liked to be called. Possibly because that was his name...smelt. He is 76. I had been going there to get bits and pieces for the restoration of my horse.Yes, I said horse. The horse/house is galloping away with my money which they tend to do. Anyway it would appear Bill seems to have only one filthy faded blue check shirt. Pants to match. Demeanor to suit...don't think he has ever had a wrestle with one? Several people I met told me Bill is a mean cantankerous overcharging old git. But at a discreet downwind distance I managed to pry into Bill's life. I think he liked me joking round with him about irrelevant stupid stuff.
He just had a cow's heart valve or one fashioned out of, installed in his heart. We joked it was hopefully not a mad cow's valve. He had never been married,had been forced to put his 90-year-old mother in a home some time back.
I told Bill bout my dyslexia my non-appearance memory which had forced me to basically ad-lib my life from a fairly young age. Bill started to talk. The guy had not a photographic memory but a damned fine one. I stood there astonished. Listening to the font of knowledge pouring forth from this old critter.
He touched on the Bible,and he was factual in a matter-of-factual way. Not forcing those facts down my throat but methodically reasoned and very interesting stuff about everything. Bill had this disconcerting way of talking. He would speak for a while and then stop. Every time I thought it was my cue to talk he'd fire up again. I just prompted and listened.
He finished up saying,"I 'm not bad for an old fella am I ?" Love talking to people like Bill. He had worked hard during his life...on excavators,etc, at tips (might have been where he salvaged the shirt from?). I bought a couple of things off him I didn't really need. I had twenty bucks in my pocket and thought bout giving it to him for a new shirt at least, but I thought it might have been mistaken for a rude gesture. He drives an old rusty red van, hobbles on a stick. Then as I was about to leave Bill told me he was going to sell up. His holding of five acres-without stock- he was asking one and a half million dollars for.
He also had another five acres down the way. You just can't judge a book by its smell can you? A bloody interesting man is Bill. This was a true story from the start of the mention about Bill. Who first invented words,meaning off,why new words keep sprouting up to replace older withered ones which in turn may be abbreviated 'modified' at a later date- I have no idea.
But as long as people like that old font of knowledge live on top of the ground I don't think too much of the older spiel will be lost...or will it? Bit like new fashions? Will the future be that of bright new fashionable words? A pedantic guy knocking on doors from the diction factory. "New diction lamps for old?" Light up your pedantic fess, but please...every once in a while grin...at least to yourself...no need for an avalanche of mirth...could suffocate?
I cooked two sausages and wove an egg over them for tea last night when a thought interrupted just out of the blue as they sometimes do.
I meant to get the sauce out but picked up the washing detergent bottle instead. Squeezed it over the sausages and egg.
You don't do things like that now do you? I rinsed the fare under the tap best I could and ate it. Hate wasting. I felt a sparkle inside. Same as when you talk with someone and they surprise the living daylights out of you and you share a bond of sorts. Sort of bond that makes you glad you're alive.